This boke is compyled by Dan Iohn Lydgate monke of Burye, at the excitacion [and] styrynge of the noble and victorious prynce, Kynge Henry the fyfthe, i[n] the honoure glorie [and] reuerence of the byrthe of our moste blessed Lady, mayde, wyfe, [and] mother of our lorde Iesu Christe, chapitred as foloweth by this table
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- Title
- This boke is compyled by Dan Iohn Lydgate monke of Burye, at the excitacion [and] styrynge of the noble and victorious prynce, Kynge Henry the fyfthe, i[n] the honoure glorie [and] reuerence of the byrthe of our moste blessed Lady, mayde, wyfe, [and] mother of our lorde Iesu Christe, chapitred as foloweth by this table
- Author
- Lydgate, John, 1370?-1451?
- Publication
- [Imprynted at London :: In the Fletestrete, by me Robert Redman, dwellynge in saynt Dunstones parysshe, next ye churche,
- In the yere of our lorde god. MCCCCC.XXXI. [1531] The fyrste daye of the moneth of Nouembre]
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- Subject terms
- Mary, -- Blessed Virgin, Saint.
- Link to this Item
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http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A06560.0001.001
- Cite this Item
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"This boke is compyled by Dan Iohn Lydgate monke of Burye, at the excitacion [and] styrynge of the noble and victorious prynce, Kynge Henry the fyfthe, i[n] the honoure glorie [and] reuerence of the byrthe of our moste blessed Lady, mayde, wyfe, [and] mother of our lorde Iesu Christe, chapitred as foloweth by this table." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A06560.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 4, 2025.
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of Christes byrthe / and other wōderfull tokenes ∵ Capitulo. L (Book 50)
••Or on this night / by euery creature
Was sothely shewed his natiuite
In Bethleem / howe of a mayde pure
A chylde was borne / moste souerayne of degre
And fyrste of all in Rome the cyte
His byrthe was shewed / hyghly by myracle
For walle and rofe / Toures and pynacle.
¶ Of the Temple / moste famous in the towne
To god of peace / that was consecrate
The same night / the grounde fyll downe
Playne with the erthe / waste and dissolate
In whiche Temple / moste ryall of estate
The statue stode of mighty Romulus
And at the byldynge / the storie telleth thus.
¶ Of this Temple / they of Rome went
To Appollo / with humble sacrefice
To haue answere in her best entent
Howe longe this fane ryall of asyse
So stronge bylte / and in so trusty wyse
That it sholde laste euer and endure
Agayne the assente / of ony creature.
¶ Or parturbynge / on any maner syde
And he gaue answer vnto one and all
Howe this Temple / with his walles wyde
With his crestes / and batalinge ryall
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Shall euer stande sure withouten fall
Unto the tyme / that a mayde chylde
And they anone / that fyrste made it bylde.
¶ Of this answer glad / & full credible
That this Temple euer sholde stande
For hem thought it was inpossible
A mayde euer eyther on see or lande
To haue a chylde / and so they vnderstande
And they anone / gaue to the Temple a name
By one assent / for the greate fame.
¶ And called it / as I can discerne
The Temple of peace / with his walles whyte
And therwith named is eterne
And at the entre / so they dyd wryte
But on the night / the trouthe to endyte
Whan Christe was borne of a mayde clene
This Temple fyll downe / enlonge the grene.
¶ To fulfille the trewe prophecye
Of Apollo / that tolde hem all this thynge
And in that place / in worshippe of Marie
And of her sone of heuen / and erthe kynge
Standeth a chyrche full ryall of byldynge
And euen lyke the selfe / the same tyme
The greate statue / longe or it were pryme.
¶ Of Romulus / that was edefyed
Fell to the erthe / and braste on peces smale
And though Romayns made hym stellefyed
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His greate heed / for all tht dyd auale
Of whome all the werkmen made a tale
That forged it many a day afore
And in so••h / tyll a chylde were bore.
¶ Of a mayde / it sholde stande vp right
This greate ymage / and neuer his heed encline
But he alowted vpon the same night
Whan Christe was borne of a pure virgine
Lyke as the werkmen dyd aforne deuine
Agayne the conceyte / and the entencion
Of that he mente in his opinion.
¶ I fynde also that the skyes donne
Whiche of custome / curteyne so the night
The same tyme / with a sodayne sonne
Enchaced were / that it wexed all light
As at mydday / whan Phebus is moste bright
To shewe sothely / that the sone of lyfe
Was borne that night / to stynte all our stryfe.