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"De arte lacrimandi / [ed. Robert Max Garrett]." In the digital collection Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/CME00093. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 10, 2024.
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De arte lacrimandi. Prosopopaeia B. Virginie.
I.
Now late me thought I wolde begynne [fol. 35a] My synfull lyuyng to .A. bateBut thurgh fals custume of my synneI founde my selfe so endmateThat I ne wist how I myght wynThurght repentaunce my syn to hateFor nede me thought I coulde not blynTo falle to syn erly and lateThus in my mynde both made and mateBefore an image of piteKnelyng I seyde .oo. hevenys yateThat craft of wepyng lerne thou me.
II.
Purtreyd and peyntid piteouslyThis ymage was with terys of blodeAs for a meroure verylyOf oure lady I vnderstodeHir sone vppon hir kne did lyAll rent and revyn brought fro þe rodeAnd thrught this sight full sodenlyI ravished was with mayn and modeMy spiryte from my body yoodeMy minde was on that lady freMe thought she seide these wordis goodeWho can not wepe come lerne att me.
III.
Come lern att me both wyf and mannThat craftfull thyng lerned haue I.For when my blysful moder Anne.Had me brought forth on hyr body.To loue my god soone I beganAnd hym to drede most souerenly
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That oftyn for loue both pale 7 wanI yoxed and wepyde tenderly.My god my loue fast wolde I crie.Receyue the terys of my chastyte.Wherfor I sind more hardilyWho can not wepe come lerne att me.
IV.
The worlde my flessh sone I forsoke [fol. 35b] The fende my foo full sore I dredFor feere of hym ofte tyme I wokeAnd wept when other were in bedMy chastite of god I tokeAll thogh he made Ioseph me wedWithin the tempyll att my bokeWepyng my psalmes ofte tyme I redI was a gast I schulde be ledGod to displese in sume degreWith wepyng sore I was bestedWho cannot wepe come lerne att me.
V.
To saue mannes soule than had desireThe gret goodnes of god AlonHis sone iħu fro his empireDoun into erth he sent AnonMannes sowle to beye fro lastyng fire 1)In me he toke both flessh and bonThe holy gost me gan conspireAnd god and man was mad att onWhen I was his tempill and troneChosyn vnto the tryniteWepyng for ioye I mad my moneTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
VI.
My blissid cosyn was with childeElyzabeth than with sant JohnWe met and kyssid with mouth vnfilydAnd for I troude god seide anonShe seide .o. without werkes wildeBlessid mote you be in heuens tron
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For when thy voyce that is so myldeAnon into my eris gan gonWithin my wombe in bloode and bonMy sone wox glade for loue of theFor ioye then lyst me wepe and gronTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
VII.
Fro that tyme forth ay more and more. [fol. 36a] To loue my god was all my luste.Oftyn tymes I syghed full sore.For I ne louyd hym as me luste.Of my wombe counte I litill store.But for his loue that there wolde reste.And when it touched me chouch beforeI knelid doun and that I kyste.Not for my self butt for I wiste.Goddes sone in [that] 1) place chase to be.For loue than wolde my teris doun brist.Therfor to wepe come lerne att me.
VIII.
All worldly appetitt down layd.I though[t] 2) on god both day 7 myght.I yelde me as his own hande mayde.His will to do with all my myght.And yf so were I were a . strayedGood gabriell wolde come full lyght.Me to conforte heuenly araied.And of my wombe when he had syght.On knees he wolde fall down full ryght.And seyd my god in thee I see.For ioye then wolde my teres doun light.Therfor to wepe come lerne att me.
IX.
The tyme was come my childe to bere.In the worlde was neuer so colde a myghtAnd in a stalle ther we wereAll sodeynly my sone so bryghte.Lay me before with heuenly chere.Born with outyn peyn throgh goddis myght.
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Wakyd he was and all for fere 1)For colde me thoght he sterued ryght.I wolde haue helpid hym but I ne myght.Ne durst hym touch for god was he.So wofull then was neuer wight.Therefor to wepe come lerne att me.
X.
Aungelys fro heuyn come in a brayd [fol. 36b] And gabriell that my frende isToke vp and in my armes leiedMy sone and bad I schulde hym kysseThat so I dide god wolde he saydeThen was my herte fulfillid with blysTremblyng and qwakynge with cold afraedFor lake of clothyng gret peyne was his.An oxe and an asse soon aftyr thisWith breth did plese his souerenteHis colde mad me full woo IwisseTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XI.
Full sore me lust both wepe and groneIn my sones circumcisionSo tendir a babe was neuer nonTherfor I had gret compassionTo see his flessh kut with a stonThe droppys of blode distillid dounWhat modir wolde not make hyr moneTo se without occasionHir sone suffyr such a passionO . lorde for pure aduersiteMe thouth that tyme me lust to swounTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XII.
When tyme was come I wolde not cesseTo do the Lawe with pure ententWith my sone therfor in a resseInto the temple forth I wentOlde symeon amonge the preseAnon hym in his harmes hente
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He thankyd god and prayd hym of peseAnd than this sawe to me he senteHe seyde .o. woman innocent.Thy herte with woo schal persyde beMy sones passion then he mentTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XIII.
Alwey with ioye I had mornynge [fol. 37a] For when the herdmen comen were. 1)And kyngs .iij. with her offeryngeAnd soght my sone with humble cherreTo worschip hym as heven kyngeThis was to me ioye singulereBut heroud than all chyldyr yongeThat were in Age within .ij. yere.Bad sle and kyll and I for fere.With Ioseph and my sone gan flee.To wepe than I myght not forbere.Therfor that crafte cum lerne att me.
XIV.
My son and I was in exile.In egipt the full of seuen yere.We had not entyrede in a myle.But throght all tempplys þt ther were.Their feyned goddes fals and ville.Fell doun when my son com nere.I sewed and span the meen while.For owre lyuynge whils we were there.Thus were we chasyd out for fere.Fro kyn and all affynyte.For woo oft tymes chaunged my chere.Therfor to wepe com lerne att me.
XV.
When Heroude then hym self had slayn 2)Archilaus his son was kyngeAn aungell bade ioseph certeynMy sone and me that he schulde bryngeTo israel I was full faynYit was he aferde to do þt thynge
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The Aungell bad hym eft agaynTo make no lengare taryengeBut lede my sone tendyr a thynge.Fro nazareth into galilee.For this trauell I made mornynge.Therfo to wepe come lerne at me.
XVI.
My sone woxe vp vnto .xii. yere. [fol. 37b] And Archelaus was exilidVnto Ierusalem 1) in feere.We thought to be then reconsilydThedyr we went with my sone dereThat neuer was of werkis wildeWithin a while whiles we were therreFrom vs was lost my sone so myldeI ran and cryed where is my childeI sought hym fully dayes thre.I fonde hym not the teres doun fyledTherfor to wepe com lerne att me.
XVII.
Anone when thre dayes were pasteVnto the tempyll gan we drawe.Amonge the doctours att the lasteI fonde my sone techynge the lawe.Of his wisdome they wondyrt fasteHer bokys he made hem to knoweI thought then in my mynde to casteAll his werks vppon a rowe. 2)I wyste he purposyd for to sheweSume poynte of his diuiniteFor ioye than luste me wepe athrawe.Therfor that craft com lerne att me.
XVIII.
Vp rose my sone and aftyr thisTo nazareth agayn we wenteWas neuer wyues childe IwisseTo modyr more obediente.
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Then was my sone kyng of all blysseTo serue me with pure entente.Full oftyn me lust hym hals and kysseSwete was the breth betwyx vs wenteThe holy gost was ay presenteThe flammynge fyre of charyte.Made me wepe I was so brenteTherfor that crafte come lerne atte me.
XIX.
He woxe in age to .xxx. yereBaptyzed he was and to deserte.Lede be his spirite to be there.Temptyd of the Deuyll to malaperteEft all a weddynge where we wereHe was both wyse secret and perteArchitrichyn 1) will witnes bere.Watyr turnyd into wyn aperteI kepte his werkys all in couerteAnd wepte for pure aduersyte.In wepynge thus way I experteTherfor that craft come lerne att me.
XX.
Fro that tyme forth my sone beganTo werke myracle gloriouseHe kyst oute feendis of many a manDume defe blynd lame all maladiouseHe made hem hole that to hym wanAnd taught hem to be vertuouseVnto the temple went he thanDroue oute marchaunts of godds houseHis prechyng was so precouse.Folke folowed hym of ylke contreFor ioye my teres were copyouseTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XXI.
Eft on a day ful tendyrly.My sone sayde modyr make gode chere
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For tyme is come I muste dye.To beye mannes soule fro peynes sere.That word enteryd so piteouslyInto my herte att myn ere.That on my knees all sodenly 1)Before my sone I fell doun thereAllas I cryed my dere sone dere.Vpon thy modyr haue pyteAnd let vs both dye in fere.Who cannot wepe come lerne att me.
XXII.
Allas iħu my sone so mylde [fol. 38b] Yf thou be ded who schal me kysseWhome schall I halse and clype my childeWho schall thy modyrs bryst blysseBeholde the mylke that neuer was filydIt was thi foode haue mynde of this.Late neuer the Jewes fals and wyldDeparte vs two .o. kynge of blysseI muste nedis dye he saide. IwisseMankynde ellis may not saued be.I cried allas I ferde a mysseTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XXIII.
Then went my lorde my gode so sweteWith his apostylls all in fereHe made hem soupe he wesshid herre feeteTolde hem his deth aprochid nere.Vnto the mounte of OlyueteWith hym they wente with heuy chere.The Iewes come hym for to meteThe apostylls fled and left hym thereThey took an[d] bonde my sone so dere,Pullyd hym drewe hym with cruelteTo thinke on this woo I may not forbere 2)Allas allas come wepe with me.
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XXIV.
When fals Iudas hade hym betrayedFor loue my sone lyst hym kysse.Vnto the Iewes mekely he saydeHe that ye seke I am ywisseMyn apostylls ben all afraideSuffyre hem passe for ryght it is.And with that worde all in a braydeVpon my sone kyng of blysse.They ranne and cryed where is he thisCome furth burdeyn the kylle schal weThey lede that lambe that neuer ded a mysseAllas allas come wepe with me.
XXV.
To Anna and caiphas they hym lede. [fol. 39a] For ioy of hym her herte gan hoppeHe spornyd att stonys his fete sore bledeThey blynfeld hym with many a chopeThey seide prophet we wolde thou reedeWhat beusher last gaf the a pope.His faire face no thyng thei feredBut spet on it many a droppe.All his beaute fro rote to croppeWith betynge spittynge lost hade he.Allas he dranke withoute cope.Who cannot wepe come lerne att me.
XXVI.
His berde his here dispituouslyThey pullyd that gret peyne was his.Fro euynsange tyme they were besyVnto mydnyght allway with this.They buffete hym unmoderlyWhich was my barne and all my blysseTyll att the laste they wer wery.And thoght hem self thei fered a mysseVnto aston pyllare IwysseFull colde and faynt then bounde was heI myght not come hym for kysseAllas allas come wepe with me.
XXVII.
Vppon the morn next folowyngeErly thei led with peynes gryll
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My ioye my blysse and my derlyngeMy sone my comforte loude and styllVnto pilate on hygh cryengeThat thorugh his dome he schulde kyllBut be his trew examynyngeHe fonde no cause hym for to spillWith folke that were of cruell willVnto Heroude then sent was he.For his repreuys me lykyd yllAllas allas come wepe with me
XXVIII.
Accusynge hym with fals witnesse [fol. 39b] Agayn to pilate they hym laddAnon they bound hym be processeVnto a pyllare all vncleddWith scourges full of byttirnesseThey bet hym for no thynge þei ferydThat euery parte more and lesseOf his body piteously bleddThey dassh they lassh no thynge þei dred.His flessh to rent me thought piteeTo se his blode thus spilte and schedAllas who lust not wepe with me.
XXIX.
With cruell and sharpe thornes keenA crown was thirst vppon his hedeThat frome his brayn ouer his eenDistyllid blod in dropes redeSuch penaunce was neuyre herd ne seenShortly thei demyd hym to be dedApon his nek to do hym teenA cros they leyd heuy as leedeTo caluary a . shamfull stedBad hym to bere ther on to dye.To thynke on this who wolde not redeAll erdly folk to wepe with me.
XXX.
Though he were feynt the crosse to bereThe fals Jewes wolde hym not spareFull sore smertynge his shuldyrs wereHis woundyd flesh that burdyn bare
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I ran full faste to come hym neereHym for to helpe in all that care.The Jewes me kyst on rude manereVnto the grounde and left me thereI cryed sone or thou further fareIħu my childe kysse wolde I theThey shote hym forth [they] noght forbare 1)Allas allas come wepe with me,
XXXI.
Apon his flesh all blody bete [fol. 40a] The Jewes a purpor cloth had casteHote blode rawe flessh dry cloth were meteFryenge dryenge they festen fasteThen handes smerte on hym they setteThe blode out throgh the purpor brasteWhen all was hard they wold not letteThe cloth that on his flessh was caste 2)They reste it of att the lasteBut deth no gretter peyne myght beOf hym thei were no thynge agasteAllas allas come wepe with me
XXXII.
I hastid faste vnto my sone.Hym to a faldyn into myn arme.But for he was so blody beroneI was agaste to do hym harme.I prayde hym as itt was his wooneTo reste his body in myn armeTo wype both swet and blode doun roonAnd clense his face whiles it was warmThe iewes wold not but cryed AlarumNayle we this theef vnto this tree.I coude not ellis but cry and yarme.Therfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XXXIII.
Nakyd he was with outyn clothTo hyde his shape for all was bare
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And were the iewes neuyr so lothYit with the kerchef that I bareI keueryd hym for I was lothAnd eke shamfull to se such sare 1)The iewes swore many an otheThat for my sake wors schulde he fare 2)Out of my armes they reste [hym] there 3)With scorn dispute and cruelteI coude not ellys but cry and rareAllas allas come wepe with me.
XXXIV.
Vppon the crosse doun they hym layde [fol. 40b] Onmete for hym was euery boreThey fest .ij. ropes in .a. braydeSume drewe behynde and sume beforeHede arme and foote all they astrayedWith nayles .iij. they fest hym thereI fell on hym doun dismaydTo kysse his mouth with herte full sore.Into a mortesse withouten moreThe cros and hym born vp theyThey lat doun dassh allas ther for.Who cannot wepe come lerne att me.
XXXV.
When he on crosse thus was displayedOn me he lokyd full heuylyI fell on kneys and thus I saydeBe holde thy modyr tendirlySen I the bare hole vnfraydeFro peyn preservyd bodylyWhi haue I now be for me laydeSo moche penaunce vnworthilyRather thou lete me with the dyeOr ell who schall my keper be.That worde hurte hym so piteouslyAllas allas come wepe with me.
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XXXVI.
Hangynge on crosse his blood be ronTo me he sayde and to saynt JohnWoman be holde take ther thy soneAs who saie modyr haue I noonThus straungely was that worde begoonHade he sayde modyr make thy mon 1)Such sorow to my herte had roneThat lyf fro me hade paste a nonI sowned I cryed and hertyly did gronHis hede meuyng when I did seTo bere it vp thynge had I nonAllas allas come wepe with me.
XXXVII.
When I this herde and se it tho [fol. 41a] I cryed allas iħu my childeWilt thou me leeue and dye me froHaue mercy on thy modyr myldeSen thou ert myn I thyn alsoOf flessh of blood that neuer was fyledTo deth to gedyr lete vs goAnd leue me not wt the iewes wildeAftyr thi deth to be reuylydSith thou art god take me with theWhen he this herd his hed doun fyledTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XXXVIII.
Swete sone here how I cry and yarmMy mone antende and my mornynge 2)Receuye me vp into thyn armeWith the on crosse that I may hyngeThynke how thou lay vppon myn armeAnd soke my brest whil thou were yongeI left the not thou doste me harme,Yf thou me leue att thi dyengeI flede with the from heroude kyngeLeue me not sone or I leue theBe not vnkynd att thy endyngeWho cannot wepe come lerne att me
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XXXIX.
Thou ert my god thou ert my childeAs god thou maist do what thou willAnd as my sone thou scholdest be myldeAnd tendyr for to do my will 1)Thy soule and myn was neuer fylydOn lyfe thei louyd both loud and styllTherfor I wolde thes iewes willdeTo gedyr schulde vs both kyllSwete sone my prayer thou fulfillReceyue my soule to weende with theWhen he this herd his herde dide gryllTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XL.
Vnto the crosse than wold I sterte. [fol. 41b] And folde it frely into my arme.The bloode fro his wondys smarte.Wolde ren and falle doun in my barmeThen wolde I kysse with pitouse herteThe blody cros where it was warmeThe iewes were euer to me frawartAnd caste me doun and do me harmeFull pituously then wolde I yarmHis blody face when I it see.To staunch his blode I cowde no charmAllas allas come wepe with me.
XLI.
Vith pituouse voice on hygh certeynHe cryed and sayde this worde I thursteMannes soule he ment to haste fro peynFor whom to dye was all his lusteTo offyr hym the iewes were faynAysell and galle to staunch his thursteHe tastyd it an gan restreyne,His hed a way and I ne wisteWhat for to doo I wolde haue kysteHis mouth deceyuyd when I hym seeFor woo my herte began to brysteWho cannot wepe come lerne att me.
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XLII.
Betwyx .ij. theues they made hym hyngeHe prayed for hem that dyd hym wooHely he cryed and now this thyngeIs broght to ende it muste be soo. 1)To his fadyr on hygh cryengeHe yelde his goste it past hym frooThe sunne for woo loste his shynyngeThe erd trembylyd stonys brast in twooThe vaile breste in the temple thooThe grauys oppynede for pure piteI fell in swoun I myght not gooTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
XLIII.
The folke went home I set me doun [fol. 42a] Vndyr the crosse my selfe alone.With my .ij. sustrys fallen in swunWith mary maudlen and saynt JohnThen come knyghtes out of the tounThe thefes leggys they brake anonI prayed hem for my benysonTo spare my child whos lyf was goonI fell on kneys with rewfull monPrayed hem of mercy and piteMore harme thei wold do hym [a]non 2)Allas allas come wepe with me.
XLIV.
His ryght syde both pale and wanThey persyde than on rude manereHis herte out from his lefte syde raneFor brennyng loue to meet the spere 3)And all this was for loue of manMannes soule to bye fro peynys sereThe wounde was wyde the blood oute span 4)Whiles att the last come watyr clere.
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Ther was no more blood for to apereThis raunson man was for loue of þeAll this see I his modyr dereTherfor to wepe com lerne att me.
XLV.
Then when I see both erth and stonThe son eke wich hath no resounIn their kynde moorn with heuy moonAnd waylle for my sonys passiounMy woofull herte began a nonTo faynt and faile and falle in swounNow cry now yarm now sygh now gronNow loke on hym and now falle dounThis was my ocupaconWhen I his bloody wondis seeTo brest my herte was redy bounAllas allas come wepe with me.
XLVI.
The conforte of the holygoste [fol. 42b] Withdrawen was in me that tydeThe Angells with the heuynly hosteTheir armony fro me gan hyde.My sone wich I louyd mosteOn lyue with me wolde not a . bydeThe iewes with scorn despite and bosteMy peyne to encresse stood me besydeI was disteyned in hwh and hydeDedly wondyd with cruelteMan thynke on this and leue þi prideAnd for to wepe come lerne att me
XLVII.
Beholde my sone on crosse displayedWith armes on broode the to enbrace.His hed vppon his schuldyre leydeThe fore to here and graunt the graceHis syde openyd redy arayedHis herte to yelde to thi solaceHis feet faste to the crosse forsaydeWith the to abyde in euery placeBeholde how he bowes doun his faceThe cusse of pite to offyr the.
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Haue mende whiles thou haste spaceAnd for to wepe come lerne att me.
XLVIII.
Soon aftyr this I gan AspieHow sondery folke com out of þe townMy sonys bonys I wend verilyThat thei to breste were redy bouneThen seid saynt John that stood me byBe not agaste falle not in swounIt is ioseph of AramathiAnd nychodem with out tresounWich come to take thi dere sone dounThey er oure frendes beholde and seeThus ofte renewed my passionAllas allas come wepe with me.
XLIX.
When they me see fast gan they wepe [fol. 43a] I was so faynte I myghte not goo.On kneye I ordeyned me to crepe.They ran to me her herte was woo.In wepynge were we fallyn so depeTher was no worde amonge vs thooWe wayled we wepte we fared as sheepeWhos herd was ded and lost vs froWe turnyd vs then withouten moVnto my sone with gret piteeOn kneys we fell be on . and . twoAllas allas come wep with me,
L.
We worshipped hym and then anonGood Nychodeme was redy bounSet vp a scale with pituousmone.Pulled onte the nayles and toke hym dounMy selfe ioseph and eke saynt IohnFor very pure compassione.When we hym felte flessh bloode and bonWe kyste we blyste we fell in swounI prayed hem for my benysoun 1)To lay my sone vppon my kne.
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Ther myght men here a petiouse sounAllas allas come wepe with me.
LI.
They layde my sone in my armeHis bloody mouth oft tyme I kysteHis flessh was colde and no thyng warmeWith face sume tyme faire and blysteI hym enbracede in my barmeVnto my herte I gan hym thirsteI sayde .o. sone this cruell harme.Thou maiste reform yf that thou lysteFader of heuyn in the I trusteOf hym and me thou haue piteTo longe my conforte haue I mysteAllas allas come wepe with me.
LII.
O fadire of myghtes moste [fol. 43b] Where is thi sone of thi godhedWich was my sone 1) trewly thou wosteThou haste his lyfe 2) I haue his dedHere is his flessh where is his gosteI haue not but his body redSend doun thy aungells and þi osteMe to confort here in this stedVnto my soule thou sende sume redAnd of my woo thou haue piteeBeholde thi sone and myn is dedeAllas allas come wepe with me
LIII.
Whilome his woundes kisse I woldeAnd speke to hym tendyrlySume tyme his face I did beholdeAnd seyd my sone who am I.Whi ert thou ded whi ert þu coldeVppon thy modyr thou hau mercyThen wolde I hym to my breste foldeAnd wepe and weylle full pituously
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All while my goste began to dyeAnd when my frendys thys 1) gan seeThey coude not ellys but wepe and cryeAllas allas come wepe with me.
LIV.
Then prayed Ioseph of ArmanthyTo suffyr hym my sone to graue.My herte was sore and loth was IThat he fro me my sone schuld haueThe nyght drew nere and tendyrlyThei cessyd not att 2) me to craueTo bery hym the iewes for whiWich 3) ay were prest hym to depraueThey drede shuld com with swerd 7 staue,And reue hym fro his modyr freeThat I began 4) to made and raueAllas allas come wepe with me.
LV.
Best for to doo than I ne wiste [fol. 44a] I thought I wold doo their ententeI fell on hym ofte I hym kysteWe leyde hym in a monumentOure hertys all be gan to bresteWith wayll and crye enterly shentKnelynge his body ofte I kysteOuyr wrapte in fressh enoyntmentWe toke oure leue and hom we wentAll thynge departyd with pure piteTo thynke on this who nyll assentAllas allas com wepe with me.
LVI.
That nyght that day eke foluyngeWith mary mandeleyn and seynt IohnAnd with my susterys sore wepyngeI dwellyd full sere makynge my moneI cryed ofte tymes where is my kyngeWhere is my lorde whedyr is he gon
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Where is my loue and my derlyngeWhere is my sone saie haue I nonNow waile now wepe now crye now gronThis was my lyfe whilys I hym seAll were dispayred saue I aloneWho cannot wepe come lerne att me
LVII.
The thirde day next my sone vproseImmortall man and god all soTo comforte hem than was is purposeWich for his deth was left in wooO man full well thou mayst supposeHe was not longe his modyr froFor me his grace he gan vncloseAtt me he was with outyn mooHeyll holy modyr sayde he thoThi sone iħu beholde and seeFor ioy distyllyd myn een twoTherfor to wepe com lerne at me
LVIII.
I fell on kneys and gan enbrace [fol. 44b] Hym in my arme and ofte I kysteHis feet his handys his mouth his faceHis heuynly body oft I blysteHe seide .o. modyr make solaceThy sad beleue hath brought to resteAll holy chirch and set in graceAnd man is sauyd thorugh þi good trusteAnd deth is ouercome and lyfe hath his lysteModyr of mercy make I theFor ioye myn een with teres doun 1) bresteTherfor to wepe com lerne att me.
LIX.
To mary maudeleyn full of wooAfore other he lust to appereTo his dicipules efte alsoHe shewed hym in the same manerreIn sade beleue he set hem thoHis vprisynge he shewed so clere
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Their sharpe peyne he mad ouer gooThei thankyd god with humbyl chereHe ete with hem and drank in fereBad alwey pes amonge hem beFor ioy I wept many a teereTherfor that craft com lerne att me.
LX.
Fourty days he was in erthAftyr his resurreccionGaderyd his folke as a . noble herdeTo see his blyst AssencionFull happy was our aller werdeFull swete was oure deuocionWe war full glade and nothynge ferdeHe yaue vs all his benysonA clere cloude was redy bounHym to reseyue and vp went heFor ioy my terys styllyd dounTherfor to wepe com lerne att me.
LXI.
Thus when my sone to heuyn was went [fol. 45a] The appostylles and my self in fereTo pray and fast were diligentWhilys that the tyme approchid nereIn the wich the holy gost he senteWith brennyng tunges in sych manerFor they his grace enspiryd had henteAll language was to hem clereAll prophice gan to appereWe brent in loue and charyteI thankyd god with many a tereTherfore to wepe com lerne att me.
LXII.
Be tyme and processe aftyr thisThe apostilles went fro toun to tounAnd many a . wondyr wroght 1) IwissePrechynge the resurrecconOf my sone kynge of lastynge blysseHis lyfe his deth his passion
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Folke wich were glad to amende ther mysseThey baptized with deuocionAnd set hem in perfecconTo serue god in all degreFor ioy my terys were redy bounTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
LXIII.
Sone aftyr this when it was saideThat Iohn and Petyr takyn wereThe Apostilles all in pryson laydeStephyn broght to deth with peynys sereHow Saule the kyrke had all a frayedThrogh ire and cruelte in fereIn herte I was so dismayedThat oftyn for woo chaunged my chereTo me anon that wolde it apereHow that my sone deyd vpon a treeFor whom they broght were in such fereAllas allas comm wepe with me.
LXIV.
Thus vnto mynde alwey I brought [fol. 45b] My sonys byttir passionHis sepulcre oft tymys I soughtThe place of his assencionTo visite oft forgate I noghtWith pure and meke deuocionFallynge on knees I hym be soghtTo haste me to his mancionFor withoute gret compassionIn his absens I myght not beTo wepe I was ay redy bounTherfor that craft com lerne att me.
LXV.
Anoon to petyr then he seydeSe that my modyrs sepultureAs I haue ordeyned be yt arayedWith worship and all honoure.The thirde day when scho is laydeI schal vpreyse hir body pureThan prayed I hym as his hand maideTo saue me fro the oppressure
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Of feendys blake and here figureHe sayde modyr and you hem seeThei schal not noy I the ensureWho cannot wepe com lerne att me
LXVI.
He sayde be glade .o. modyr myldeBe not a gast do wey all feereTo leue this world wrechid 7 wildeAnd dwelle with me thi sone so dereOf the I cam I am thi childeIn heuyn I schal make appereAbone all seyntys with flessh vnfilydEmperesse and qwene thou schal be 1) thereNext ioyned vnto the godhed clereAll seyntes in heuyn 2) abydyn theMyn een for ioy distyllyd wereTherfor to wepe come lerne att me.
LXVII.
O mercyfull and full of grace [fol. 46a] O god I seyde full of alle myghteThou ert my sone I knewe thi faceBe it to me as thou hast hyghteMy gost I yelde the in this placeAnd with that worde most heuenly brightMy soule he toke with all solaceWith pure sweetnes and bemys lyghtWith angelys songe to heuyn on hyghtBe stowed it next the triniteAtt my passynge wepped many a wightTherfor to wepe com lerne att me
LXVIII.
The thirde day next my sone went dounTo erth with mery gerarchyOf Angellys brygh and heuynly sounWith fragrant odure copyouslyToke 3) vp my body with renounIn soule and lyfe full gloriously
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Be hem was myn assumpsonSolemnyzate full graciouslyWith hym he toke me bodylyEmpresse of heuyn all wey to beFor mannes aduocate made am ITherfor to wepe com lerne att me.
LXIX.
O man yf thou to wepe wolt lereAnd for to bryst thi stony hertThynke on what I haue saide þe hereRemembre well 1) the peynys smerteMy sone hath bought thi synne so dereHis loue fro the may not asterteAske mercy for thi synnes sereAnd from dispeyr thou the conuerteThus must thou kepe thi soule in querteMercy receyue and veniaunce fleIn wepynge whiles thou be experteThus mayst thou com and lerne att me.
LXX.
Conceyue also for sothe yt is [fol. 46b] Ther was not but thi synne onlyMy sone and me that slouh IwisseHym bodyly and me gostlyAlso I pray the thynke on thisOr thou endlesse schuld wrangwislyFor lak of mercy fare amysseYf it were possible trewlyMy sone and I eke efte schuld dyeO man thynke wat I sey to theFor sake thy synne and aske mercyAnd for to wepe com lerne att me
LXXI.
Trowest thou man that the terys of bloodeWich I distyllyd on good frydayWhen my sone was brought on the roodeWith out meryte be lefte awayThey be full preciouse and full goodeAtt all tymes fressh as rose in may
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To shewe my sone when thou wer woodeThy sowle with syn luste to betrayMy brystys eke I schal displayDistillynge mylke of chastyteFor the .o. man thus schal I prayYf thou to wepe will lerne att me
LXXII.
Than schal my sone his hertes woundeKnelynge afore his faderys feeteAnd I my selfe my brestys rowndeAnd eke my blody terys weeteShew for thy sake and in that stoundeAll seyntes schal pray with prayers sweteThat yf the deuyll in helle groundeMyght trust in grace repente and greteAnd aske mercy he schulde it meteFor in that tyme the triniteWith all mercy is full repleteTherfor to wepe com lerne att me.
The author has understood architriclinus (S. John 2. 9) to be the name of the man. cf. a similar use of Centurio in 'Evangelium Nicodemi, aus MS. Sion fol. 13-39' edited by C. Horstmann in Herrig's Archiv 68, p. 214 ll. 673 and 697.
MS. To thinke on this whoo I may not forbere; 'h' added above, and 'not' underlined for erasure. Or should one omit the 'I' and read 'To thinke on this whoo may forbere'?