Kleinere publikationen aus me. handschriften / [ed. Max Kaluza]. Kaluza, Max 11 pages, ca. 46 kb University of Michigan Library Ann Arbor, Michigan 2018 CME00080 04078010 BAV3525

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 Englische studien : Vol. 14, p. [165]-188. [24] p. ; 23 cm. Leipzig O. R. Reisland 1890 Title from email of 2000-03-08 ; description based on email note.

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80 CME00080 CME00080 THE EREMYTE AND THE OUTELAWE. (A Balade.) I. Almyghty god, that man gan make And suffred ded for oure sake, So let us never spylle: Graunt us alle hys blessynge, Shryft, housel and gode endynge, Lord, ȝyf yt be thy wylle! 6 gyf. A man, that wylle synge or carpe, Be hyt wyth geterne or wyth harpe, Be hyt never so schrylle, Ȝyf anothyr be ludder than he, 10 Gyf. Lyttyl lykynge ys in hys gle, But men be fast and stylle. II. Wyth yn a lytel whyle we have sen, 13 seyn. What pestelence ther hath ben A few yere here byforn. Unbrest wondrys ther have falle 16 fawn(!). And many a stronge battayl wyth alle 17 wyth awe(!). And also derth of corn. Ther ben few, that joyen othyr, Unneth the systyr dothe the brothyr Of o modyr y-borne. Vnkyndnesse waxeth ryve; 22 waxed. God graunt us so to thryve, That oure sowles be nought lorn. III. Off tweye brethyrn y may you tell, By olde tyme how hyt befelle, 26 be∣fylle. Whylom, by olde sawe. That on was an errant theff, To robben and reven hym was lef And was a wylde outlawe. That othyr was a gode ermyte, Off grey clothyng was hys abyte And dwellyd by wylde wode schawe And ȝede barfote and nought y∣schod; 34 gede. The heyr he weryd for love of god, His flesche to byte and gnawe. IV. He wolde comen in no town, Wyth man or woman for to rown, To bryngen hym in to synne, As othyr ermytys don now a day; They rekken never, what they say, Ne how that they bygynne. World and wethyr ensampyl schewes, How man and woman kepen wyth þewes, 44 dewes. Of synne that wylle not blynne. V. Now mo ye here of thys outlawe, That hawntyd the wyld wode schawe, To robben men and slo. As he stode on a gode fryday, He sey moche folke come by the way, Barfote they gonne to go. 51 thay they (!). In hys hert he toke gode hede, How men and wommen barfote ȝede 53 gede. And why they wentyn so. He sey a woman, that come hym by, 55 by hym by(!). Went barfote and was sory For synnes, that sche hadde do. 57 ydo. VI. As sche come walkyng by the strete, Wyth that wylde outlawe sche gan mete, Hys bowe bare bent in honde. 60 ybent. 'Abyde!' he sayde, 'thou schalt dwelle; Here anon y schall the quelle, 62 Hore. Styll but ȝyf thou stonde. 63 gyf. 'Syr', sche sayde, 'at thy wylle, For goddys love do me none ylle, Neythyr schame ne schonde.' A synful woman have y be Passyng XXX wyntyr and thre, Most comyn of all thys londe'. VII. 'Tell me!', he sayde, 'y the hote, Wherfore that thou gost barfote, On haste tell thou me, And also othyr men thys day, Come walkyng by the way, For what thyng yt myght be'. 'Syr', sche sayde, 'y schall the tell: Thys day the Jewes Jesu gan quelle, To saven bothe the and me. 61-78 stehen nach 79-96. He, that forsakyth hys foly And Jesu Chryste mercy wyl crye, Tyl hevens blysse schal he'. VIII. 'Woman, for thy wordys hende To chyrche wyth the wyl y wende, To wetyn, what men don there; 84 thare. For by hym, that thys world wrought, Goddys servise ne hurde y nought 86 servise] vise (auf rasur). Of alle thys twentye yere. Never hadde y wyll to huyre messe, 88 masse. But thus lyved forth yn wyldernesse; 89 wyldernysse. No godenesse wolde y lere. Thowe men wolde me take and slo, To chyrche wyth the wyl y go, Goddys servise to here'. 93 servise] vise (auf rasur). huyre. IX. And as the outelawe in the chyrche stode, He loked aboute, as he were wode, And grete ferly hym thought. To the autere he gan wende And lenyd on hys bowys ende; So wondyrly ther he wrought . . . X. Tyl that god hym sent grace, That fayre convertyd he was Wyth thundyr blast, wynde and reyne XI. And sythen he was apostyl gode; For goddys love he schedde hys blode; Hys sowle ys nowe yn blysse. And ȝyf thou wylt thy synnys forsake 106 gyf. And do pennance, that y the take, So may thou thryve, ywys'. 'A, syr vycary, tel thou me, What pennance yt schall be. But sette me nought amysse; But ȝyf thou do, y do yt nought; 112 gyf. For evyr yt hadde be in my thought, My lyfe to lede yn lysse'. XII. 'A, son, thou most barfote go And wolward therto also Alle these yerys sevene!' 'Syr', sayde thys outlawe, 'nay! Barfote ne wolward gon y may, Though y schall never come in hevene'. 'Sone', he sayde, 'never the latyr, Mayston faste brede and watyr? 122 Maysten. Lustyn vnto my stevene!' 'Nay, ywysse, that myght y never; To suffur deth me were lever, Thenne more there of nevene'. 126 revene. XIII. 'Thanne a pater nostyr loke thou say And a ave every day 128 aves evry. In remission of thy synne!' 'Pater nostyr ne can y none Ne ave Marye, by sent Jon, I not never, where to bygynne'. 'Mayston suffren no grefance? 133 Mayston. Doon thou most som pennance, Heven ȝyf thou wylt wynne. 135 gyf. Whyle thou art yong of age, Do thou most som pylgrymage, Eythyr more or mynne'. XIV. 'On pylgrymage may y nought gon And alle so spendyng have y none; To beggyn y ne can; I hadde lever smyte of my heed, 142 sm.] to sm.—heved. Thanne y schulde beggyn my bred Of woman or of man'. The vyker torned to the cros hys hede And sayde: 'Lord, what ys thy red, That alle thys world wan? Suffre not thys man to spylle!' He bad to good wyth so good wylle, The terys out of hys eyȝe ran. 150 ought; am rande out. XV. 'Syr vykery', he sayde, 'have good day! There nys nothyng, that me helpe may, I se yt ryght wel byforn. Alle thou hast in waste ywrought, For to don pennance may y nought, Thow y schulde be forlorn'. 'Sone', he sayde, 'lysten ȝyt to me! 157 ryght; am rande zyt. Thorowe grace of god savyd may∣stou be, 158 mayston. That of Marye was born. Tell me,' he sayde, 'wythouten bost: What thyng hatystou to don most? 161 hatyston. Tell me, wythouten shorne!' 162 sherne. XVI. 'Syr,' he sayde, 'so have y querte 163 querte] þerne. To drynke watyr doth me most smerte, 164 d. me m. sm.] was (w unterstrichen, am rande n) me never lef. The sothe for to say; Never sythe y couthe sowke, Watyr wolde never my body browke 167 my] in my. For nought, that man do may. 'Sone', sayde the vyker, 'what byfalle, In remyssion of thy synnys alle Drynk no watyr to day 171 Dryng. And y assoyle the of thy synnys fre; 172 assayle. Loke, thys forward y-holde be, No more penance y the pray.' 174 Ne. XVII. 'Syre', he sayde, 'yt schall be holde, The penance, that thou hast me tolde, And ellys y were to blame; Ȝyf yt be, as y thynke, 178 Gyf. To day wyl y no watyr drynke, 179 no] ne mit verweisungszeichen vor wyl. To suffre deth or schame.' 'Fare wel,' sayde the vykerye, 'Thenke on god and crye hym mercye And go on Chrystys name!' 'Fare well, syr vycary,' the outlawe sayde, (Wyth thys penance he helde hym payde) 'God wote, whan we meten in same.' XVIII. Nowe mowe ye here a ferly thyng, 187 Yowe. How sone he fyl in fondyng, From chyrche when he was went. Unneth he hadde walkyd a myle; 190 Duneth; in der anmerkung: unneth. walkyth. Swych a thyrst hym tok that whyle, 191 wyle. Hym thought hys body to-brent. 192 tobr.] alle tobr. He hadde lever have dronkyn a drawght, 193 leve. Thanne alle the good, that ever he aught; So sore com hys talent. And as he walkyd in the strete, Wyth a wenche gan he mete, That semed hym semely gent. XIX. On her hed sche bar a canne; The watyr over the brerde ran, 200 brere. That semed hym fayre and cler. 'Wenche,' he sayde, 'me thyrsteth sore. 202 thyrsted, d unterstrichen. ist in der copie als 10 gezählt u. s. w. If that watyr thou berest thare, 203 barest. Set thonne thy pot ryght here!' 204 schryft, y über der zeile nachgetragen. 204 in] most unterstrichen, am rande in. 'Syr,' sche sayde, 'at thy wyl Here may thou drynke thy fylle!' Sche made hym noble cheere. He tok the pot and wolde drynke; Sone on hys schryft he gan to thynke; Tho wax he al in were. XX. 'A, lord', he sayde, 'how may thys be, That thys lykyng falleth thus on me?' (The watyr he gan beholde) 'Yong ne olde y lovyd yt never And now me were a drawght lever, Thanne all thys world of golde; And though y never forth schulde gon, There of wyl y drynk none, Deyghen thow y scholde'. 219 Deyghten. Wenche and pot he let there stonde, (Hyt was the devyll, that hym gan fonde) Thorough goddys grace drynk he nolde. XXI. Forth he walkyth by the strete; An othyr wenche he gan mete; A pot sche bar in honde, A fayre dyssche therwyth also. 'Wenche', he sayde, 'whydyr schaltou go?' 227 wythyr schalton. Sche gan abyde and stonde. 'Syr,' sche sayde, 'seystou for why? 229 seyston. Ȝyf thou wylt drynke, yt ys alle redy, 230 Gyf. None fayrer watyr in londe.' Sche fyllyd a dyssche and to hym toke; He thought on the vycar and yt forsoke; The devyll thus hym gan fonde. XXII. 'A, lovely lord, how ys thys? Swyche a thurst on me ys, Me thynketh my hert wyl chine. 237 kine. Thowe y never furthur schuld gon, Water wyl y drynke none, 239 drynge. My lyf thow y schuld tyne.' In that wyl he gan forthe passe A furlonge wey and lasse; 242 zwischen and und lasse ein grösserer zwischenraum. Harde hym thought hys pyne. By the wey he fond a welle; A wenche ther in a pot gan fylle, Ther watyr was cler as wyne. 246 cler] as cler. XXIII. As he stode by the wellys banke, He ne myght stonde on foot ne schank, So feble he was and faynt. Vnneth he myght a worde speke; Hym thought hys hert wolde tobreke, So thrust hym hadde atteynt. 252 thrust, r unterstrichen. He beheld the watyr, how yt ran And how the wench fyllyd her canne; 254 her, r über der zeile nachgetragen. For drynke he made hys playnt. The wenche fyllyd a dyssch stofull And bade the outlawe drynke a pull; That schrewe was sleyȝ and queynt. 258 y sleyeȝ and þreynt. XXIV. As he stode at the wellys brynke, On hys knyfe he gan to thynke, That hanged by hys syde. He onbottoned a sleve of hys arme And smote a veyne, that was ful warme And made hyt blede that tyde. Ther he drank hys owne blode; Hym thought, hyt dyd hym moche gode; The wownde was dep and wyde. XXV. The outlawe bledde forthe wyth mayne; He nyst, how to stop yt agayne He bledde hard and sore, Tyl he saw, that he schulde dye; 271 deye. He fyll on hys knees and lowde gan crye: 'Jesu, mercye, thyn ore! Ne suffre nought my soule to spylle, Lord, ȝyf hyt be thy wylle, 275 gyf. Of Mary thou were bore!' 276 borne. Thus he prayd in that stownde, Tyll he fell grouelynge to grownde, 278 grene∣lyche, in der anm. erklärt 'immediately'. That leven he myght no more. 279 ne. XXVI. Then come out of the blysse of hevene 280 Then, n unterstrichen, am rande r. Mo angels, thanne y can nevene 281 nemene Or wyth tunge telle And toke the soule wyth joye and game And let lygge that lykhame Uppon the banke of the welle. Forthe they wentyn everychone By the ermytage sone anone, Ther hys brothyr gan dwelle; And whan he herde the angels songe And hys brothyr hem amonge, On knees to grownde he felle XXVII. And sayd: 'Lord, what may thys be, Thys myrthe and thys solempnite, My brothyr ys now ynne, That never wrought wel, ywys, But alle hys lyf hadde ladde amys And ay do wo and synne? For to defoylen mayde and wyfe, Thus he hath ledd hys lyfe; Ne wolde he never blynne. Now methynketh, y lyve to longe Othyr ellys god deyth me wronge, That he thus heven may wynne XXVIII. And y, that suffre payn and wo, Evyl lygge and barfote go And faste unto watyr and brede: Here of me thynkyth grete ferly, That he may com to heven or y, For ever he was a queede. I wyl be a owtlawe and non ermyte And caste awey my grey abyte 311 myne unterstrichen, am rande my grey. And alle myne othyr wede And robbe and sle bothe on and othyr And com to heven, as doth my brothyr; Thys ys my beste reed.' 315 beste, e ausgestrichen. XXIX. Thus to God he gan to chyde; An angel com to hym that tyde Ful hastly and ful blyue And sayde: 'Syr ermyte, y the sey, Thy brothyr hath suffered more to day, Than thou dedyst yn alle thy lyve. 321 lyue, u in v geändert. Thys day he gan hys synnes forsake And swyche a vyker hym penance gan take; Clene he gan hym schryve. To holde hys schryft hym self gan quelle And ther he lyth at swyche a welle 326 lyeth, e aus∣gestrichen. And in hys honde the knyf. XXX. Loke, ermyte, thou lete hym nought, To crysten grave that he be brought; A martyr he ys to day. Holde stylle thy lyfe, as thow began, 331 And holde. And be forthe ryght a gode man And loke, what y the say, And have no wondyr of goddys myght; Hys mercy ys redy day and nyght To alle tho that wylle to hym praye.' Thus the angell the ermyte gan telle; Ther wolde he no lengyr dwelle; To blysse he went hys way. XXXI. The ermyte went forthe anone, Tylle he to the place come, Ther that the vycary was, And sayd: 'Syr, for charite, A worde or to in pryvyte Of a wonder cas. I hadde a brothyr, an owtlawe bolde, Thys day an angel sothe yt me tolde 347 Thys, s über der zeile nachgetragen. Thorugh myght of godys grace. Al hys lyfe he gan me telle And ther he lyth at swyche a welle Ded in that ylke plas.' XXXII. The vycary sayde: 'Sothe to say, Wyth me was swyche a man to day; I knowe hym wel in mynde. Go we and seke hym togeder!' 355 Go we] To wo(!). They wentyn, but they nyst whedyr, Ȝyf they myght hym fynde. 357 Gyf. On her way they gonne hem spede; By dalys and downys forthe they ȝede, 359 gede. They spared neythyr reyn ne wynde, Tylle thay come, ther he lay ded At a banke be syde a stede, Fayre under a lynde. XXXIII. A knyfe they fownde yn hys honde; Therfore the vycary gan understonde, Wherefore yt was and why, 366 Werefore. As he lay at that wellys banke, That he hys owne blode dranke; Hys mouth was alle blody. Thys the vycary the ermyte gan telle: 'To holde hys schryft hymself gan quelle.' Thonkid god and mylde Marye. To holy churche they hym gan brynge And for hym dude rede and synge, As he was welle worthy. XXXIV. Thus the owtlawe heven wan; The ermyte was forthe a gode man, As the angel thanne bade, And aftyr, whanne he made an ende, To heven blysse wythouten ende Wyth angels hys sowl was lad. God graunt us grace in oure lyfe; 382 graunt, u über der zeile nachgetragen. Of our synnes wel to schryfe And oure penance don so sad! Marye, to the y mene my mone, In heven blysse that we may come And make us alle blythe and glad. Explicit the Eremyte and the Outelawe. Þe mon, þat is of wommon I-bore, His lyf nis here but a þrowe: So seiþ Jop vs her bifore Al in a bok, þat I wel knowe. He hedde his muynde al of his deþ; Wel sore al he con grone and grunte And seide, his lyf nas bote a breþ; Her mow we none stounde stunte. From deþ may no mon be freo, For his rihte wol he not lete. Nou beoþ þer messagers þreo Among monkuynde for to mete: Auentures, seeknesse and elde, Þeos beoþ messageres of deth; To hem we moten vs alle ȝelde And luten, þer vr maystres geþ. Whon deþ comes, þat is so derk, Þer may no mon him wiþ-stonde. I take witnesse on a noble clerk, Þat wrot þeos vers wiþ his honde: Mors vetat athletas: ego mortis nescio metas: I[n]ter res letas caueat sibi que∣libet quilibet Simeon-hs.; quilibet, i in e verbessert Vernon-hs. etas! Deþ, he sleþ þis kempes kene And kynges in heore worþli won, Riche and pore alle bi dene; Ȝong ne old spareþ he non. Þer is on of þe messagers, Þat of no mon wol take meede; He is so hardi and so fers, Þat alle men of him haue drede. Þe messager hette auentures, Aȝeynes him mai beo no stryf. Whon he comeþ to a monnes hous, He takeþ boþe hosebonde and þe wyf. He takeþ þe child in his cradel, Þauh he beo but on niht old, Þe kniht an horse in his sadel, I-armed beo he neuer so bold. Of him beo vche mon i-war And mak him clene, ar he be hent, For þer nis no ȝeyn-char, Whon auentures comeþ to turnyment. Mony mon liþ in dedly synne And weneþ, þat he beo not veyȝe, And aue[n]tures comeþ wiþ his gynne And hunteþ, til he haue his preyȝe. In dedly sinne he is I-founde Wiþ oute schrift and repentaunce, He geþ in to helle grounde, Þer to suffre his penaunce. Seint Poul bit, we schulden awake. Þis clerkes witen as wel as I, Þat we schulden vs clene make And of vr sinnes ben sori. And bote we ben, we schullen abugge; Þer schal no pledur plede þat. Þer god vs fynt, he wol vs jugge; Nou vche mon be war bi þat. For auentures wol come as a þeof Beo nihte, whon men beon a slepe, And taken awey, þat him is leof; Nou awakeþ, þat ȝe mowen him kepe. Anoþer messager þer is Of deth, whon Crist wol him sende: Seknesse, ichaue I-herd ar þis, Þe messager is swiþe hende. Whon seknesse comeþ to a mon, He may be war, ȝif he is sleih, And greiþen his in, ȝif þat he con And þenken, þat deþ is swiþe neih. For seknesse comeþ apertely; He ne dareþ not in his den. Hit is vr lordes curtesy, Wiþ seknesse forte warne men. Moni men, whon þat heo ben seke, To Jhesu Crist a clepen and crie And to his mylde moder eke And sigge: 'Nou you help, Marie! Ȝif þat we mowe beo sound and saue And keuere, þat we mowen habbe vr hele, Al þe good, þat we haue, For godes loue we wolleþ hit dele.' We loue wel god in al vr þouȝt, Whon we beo seke and sore smerte; Whon we ben hol, we louen him nouȝt, He nis no lengor in vre herte. Cum fero langorem, fero religionis amorem: Expers langoris non sum memor huius amoris. Of Crist ne takeþ he non hede, He naþ no more wiþ him to donne; To þonken him for his gode dede, He þenkeþ no more þer vpponne. Suche men beoþ ofte al one I-let, To pleye as þe foul doþ in þe lyft, Til auentures haue wiþ hem met, Bireueþ hem boþe hosul and schrift. Men ouȝten holden vp boþe her honden To god, while heo ben hole and fere, To sende, whon he wol hem fonden, Seknesse to ben heore messagere. Seint Poul seiþ, vre lordes kniht, In a pistel, þat he wrot, Þat he was strengest and most of miht, Whon god him wiþ seknesse smot. Nou ichulle siggen ow of elde; Of messager he is þe þridde. Whon monnes hed bigineþ to elde, He may not do but beodes bidde. And he leoneþ vppon his crucche; Whon deþ him bekeneþ, comen he mot, Hit helpeþ nouȝt, þauȝ he grucche; He schal wiþstonde neuere a fot. Also fareþ elde as doþ a sweyn, Þat stondeþ at his lordes ȝate And mot not wenden in aȝeyn For þe porter, þat is þer ate. For no ȝiftes, þat he may ȝiuen Ne feire wordes, þat he may speken, He worþ out at þe ȝate I-driuen; Anon þe ȝate for him is steken. Ȝif a mon may libben her And ben of pouwer, for to go Þe elde of foure score ȝer; Þat oþur del is serwe and wo. For hose wole his lyf biholde From bigynnyng to þe ende, Wel ofte may his herte colde, Þat not, what wei he schal wende. Wel we witen, we schul be dede; Vr dwellyng her nis bote a while. Jhesu Crist vs wisse and rede, Þat neuer þe feond ne do vs gyle. Nou is deþ a wondur þing And grislich forte þenken on; He ne spareþ emperour ne kyng Ne pope for al þe god, þat he con. Wher ben heo, þat biforen vs weren, Þat weoren so mihti in heore deden, Houndes ladden and haukes beren And huntyng heiȝe vppon heore steden? Deþ hit haþ hem al biraft; Wiþ hem þer nis no more pley, And al þat bereþ monnes schaft Schal go þat ilke selue wey. Vche mon may be sore aferd, Þat haþ a soule forte saue, Whon he geþ bi a churcheȝerd And seoþ, wher dede men beoþ I-graue. Riche men habbeþ riche stones, Þat alle men mouwe biholde; Þer vndur liggeþ foule bones, I-beddet al in cloþ of colde. Wel pore halle þer is I-maked Wiþ outen eny worldes winne; Saue a clout men beoþ al naked, Whon deþ is comen, I-cast þer inne. Þe halle rof is cast ful lowe; Þer beoþ none chaumbres wyde. Me may reche þe helewowe And þe wal on vch a syde. Heore bodies þat were so softe ibaþen And I-brouȝt forþ wiþ mete and drink, Þer hit schal crepe ful of maþen; In al þis world nis foulore stynk. A mon, þat such a bodi seȝe, Whon wormes hit haueþ þorw souht, He ouhte wepe wiþ his eȝe And euere haue him al in his þouȝt. Þer nis non so luite ne so muche, Þat is of flesch, blod and bon, Þat we ne schulle ben alle suche, Whon we ben huled vndur a ston. How may eny mon beo proud For eny þing, þat he may gete, Whon he is huled vndur a schroud, Þat þing, þat is wormes mete, Þat þing, þat is vre moste fo; Þerfore we don a gret folye, To loue þat þing, þat doþ him wo, And eke vr dedlich enemye. Ȝif a mon may libben her As longe as dude Matussale, Nyne hundred and nyne and sixti ȝer, So longe on eorþe liuede he: Þat nis not also muche tyme Aȝeynes þe tyme, þat comeþ aftur∣ward, As fro þe sonne risyng to prime; To synful men þat is ful hard. Þat I schal seie, nou takeþ kepe, I drawe to witnesse seint Austin, Þat a mon schal more wepe, Þat dampned is to helle pyn, Þen is watur vndur þe sonne, And he wepe vche day a ter. Auyseþ ou nou, ȝif þat ȝe cunne And doþ, þat ȝe ne come not þer. A mon, þat dampned is to helle, His peyne may not ben forbouht; Ak endeles he schal þer dwelle, Almes dede helpeþ him nouht. Þeiȝ al þe men, þat libbeþ nouþe, Weore prestes and masses dude singe And duden al, þat þei euere couþe, Ne scholde him of pyne bringe. Þat ilke soule, þat is driuen Wiþ feondes in at þe helle ȝate And his juggement beo him ȝiuen, To bidde merci hit is to late. Heuene hit is vre heritage; To vre bihoue hit is diht; We han do feute and homage To vre lord, as hit is riht. Sinful mon, ȝif þat þou falles, Arys vp and mak þi pes And cum to Crist, whon þat he calles, To joye, þat is endeles. He, þat is almihti kyng, Þat heȝe sitteþ in trinite, Graunte vs alle his blessyng, Amen, Amen, par charite!