Poems from the Garrett ms. / [ed. Robert K. Root]. Root, Robert K. (Robert Kilburn), 1877-1950. 15 pages, ca. 35 kb University of Michigan Library Ann Arbor, Michigan 2018 CME00084 04078047 BAV3562

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 Englische studien : Vol. 41, p. [360]-379. [20] p. ; 23 cm. Leipzig O. R. Reisland 1910 Title from email of 2000-03-08 ; description based on email note. Corpus of Middle English. "Robert K. Root"--Editor, p. 379.

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84 CME00084 CME00084 I. Here begyneþ seint gregories trentel. Iffynde wreten a good storie, þe pope of rome it wrot, seynt gregorie, Off his moder & of hure liif, That men helden an holi wif, So sad of maner, so mylde of modo Evidently a miswriting for mode., That alle men helden hure holi good, Deboner, deuout, so mylde of steuen, þat alle men seide sche scholde to heuen. As holi holden as sche was, Þe fende felde in a foule cas. He gilde hur with tricherie, And ladde hure into þe synne of lecherie. That lest with loue hure so bigilid, So foul þat sche was with childe. And so preueli sche hit bar, That þer-of was no whiȝte war. And for no wiȝthe scholde wete hire cas, Anoon as þe child I-bore was, Bi þe necke þe childe sche weried, And sone aftir sche hit beried. Sche was combred in a foule cas, And was noȝt schreuyn, alas! ffor sche wolde holi holden be, Sche tolde neuer prest here preuite. Alle men were glad of here good fame, So holi sche was holden & of good name. Efte-sonys hure bi-fil þe same cas, Riȝt as bi-forn tid hure was. ffor sche was comyn of hiȝe parage, Of riche kyn & gentel lynage,— Hure sone was seint gregorie þe pope,— Men helden hure holi in al hure hope; Therfor sche lefte hure schrifte to schowe. Lest þroȝ scherfte hure synne were knowe. Schame makeþ men to holden here scherft, And lesen þe grace of godis gifte, And seþen to lyuen ful synnfulli, And foule to deiȝen & sodeynly. This womanys dedis were not aspyed, And soþeli sone þerafter sche deied. Whan sche was seien so gostli die, Men helden hire in heuen ful hiȝe. Men helden hire so holi & deuowt That of hure deþ hadden þei no dowt; But wende witterli alle to wisse That sche were sent to heuen blisse. Here-aftir with-inne a litel tyme, Sone oon a day aftir-þe prime, Here sone þe pope at þe masse stode, And of his moder ne couþe but good. Al sodeynli in myddis his masse Drouȝ to him-warde a gret merkenesse, That blacked alle þe daies liȝt, And was as derke as eny nyȝt. And in þat derkenus with suche a mest among, Þat al astonyed he was of steynche strong. Þer-of ful grisli he was agast, That swownyg he was al-mast. Bi-sides lokede vnder his lere, In meddis þat derkenesse þer þrouȝ on nere, A wonder grisli creature; Riȝt as a fende was his feture, So ragged, so rent, so elynge & euel, As foule to siȝt as eny deuel. Mouþe & nose, eris & eyȝes fflamed ful of fyri sperkeles. He asked holiche þrouȝ his myȝt That alle fendis scholde drede & diȝth, And also bi vertu of his blode That for mankynde deiede on roode:— Seye me soþeli þe soþe sone, What hast þou in þis place to done? What is þi cause, þou cursed wreche, Thus at my masse me to dreche? § The gost answerede with rewli chere:— I am þi moder þat þe bere, That for vnschreuyn dedis derne, In better peynes þus I brenne. Thanne answerede þe pope, & seide alas! Alas, my moder, þis vnder cas! Alas, my moder, how may þis be, In suche aray þe to se? Men wende witterli alle I-wisse Thou were worþi to haue heuen blisse, And ful wel with god þou were, To prayen for vs þat ben here. Sey me, moder, with-outen feyn, Whi art þou put to suche peyn? Sche seide, my sone, soþfastli I schal þe telle þe skele whi. ffor I was noȝt suche as I semed, But wickedder & worse þan men deme. I semed wickedl in my lyue, Of whiche synne I nolde me neuer schriue. Sche tolde him treweli al hure cas, ffrom ende to ende, riȝt as hit was. Sey me, moder, for marie flowre, Ȝif ouȝth may be þi sauf socoure. Wheþer penaunce or fastinge may þe alegge, Bedis or masses þi peynes abegge. Whiche crafte, whiche cost, or oþere þynge To þe may helpen eny lysnynge. § My dere blessed sone, seide sche, fful wel holpen myȝt I be, Holpen & saued I myȝt be wel, Who-so vndertoke a trewe trentel Of ten chef festis of þe ȝere, To synge for me on þis manere: Thre masses of cristis natiuite, And of þe epiphanye oþir þre; Thre of þe purificacion, And þre of þe annunciacion; Thre of þe resurreccion, And þre of þe ascencion; Of þe pentecoste oþir þre, And þre of þe trinyte; Thre of maries natiuite, And of hure assumpcio oþir þre. These aren the masse ten, That souereynli socouren synneful men. What good prest þat syngeþ þese masses can faile? To synful soulis þei scholle a-vaile In oon ȝere with-outen treyne Delyueren a soule oute of peyne. But let seyen þese masse bi ȝoure heste With-inne þe vtas of þese festes. And he þat þese masses schal do, Lat him seie þer-with þis oreson þere-to, Trewli with outen were Eueri day in þe ȝere. Do him to seie hit euery day, Or he þat doþ þe masses say. Who so wole knowen þe orisoun clene, Hit is in engleische þus to mene: God oure veri redempcioun, Oure soþfaste soule saluacoun, That chose alle oþer londis bi-forn The lond of bi-heste in to ben born, And þi deþ suffredest in the same, Delyuere þis soule fro gult & blame. Take it oute of the fendes bonde, And þat lond fron heþen honde, And þe pepil þat bileueþ noȝt on þe Þrouȝ þi vertu amende mot be; And alle þat trustyn in þi merci, Lord saue hem sone & sothfali. O moder, seide gregori, þat wol I do, ffor I am man most holden þer-to. Thou were my moder, I was þi sone; To syngen þo masse I ne schal noȝt schone. God graunte, moder, þei stonde þe in stede Aȝenest alle þe synnes þat euere þou dede. And I charge þe, moder, holi here Thus tyme twelfmonþe to me þou apere, holli þi stat to me to telle, How þou fareste of þi peynes felle. My sone, sche seide, I wol in fay. And with þat word sche wente a-way. So from day to day þat ȝere gan passe; The pope lefte neuer to seyn his masse The same daies þat weren asygned To helpen his moder þat was so peyned, And tok þe orisoun al-gatis per-to, As his moder prayede him to do. Þat tyme twelfmonþe at þe masse he stod, Holli in praiour with deuocioun good; And in þe same tide a pliȝth He sawȝ a swiþe semeli syȝth, A comli ladi, so dressed & deiȝth, That alle þe worlde of hure schon brith, Comli crownyd as a quene,— Two angelis ladden hure hem bi-twene. He was rauassched so of þat siȝt, Al-most for ioie he swowned riȝt. He fel don flat bi-forn hure feet; Deuout teres þer he lette. He grette hure with ful myld steuene, And seide, ladi, quene of heuene, Moder of ihesu, myld marie, ffor my moder merci I crie Do way, sche seide, I am noȝt sche That þou wenest þat I be. But sooþli as þou seest me here, I am þi moder þat þe bere. By-forn I ferde as þou westest welle, ffarynge foule as þe deuel of helle. I am suche now as þou seest here þrouȝ helpen & vertu of þi prayere, ffrom derkenesse dressed to blisse clere; The tyme be blessed þat I þe bere. And for þi kyndenesse of þi dede Souerein ioie schal be þi mede. And alle þat þe masses leten þus be do Schul sauyn hem-seluen & þat þo The vowel, which is written above the þ, is uncertain; it may be e. soule þer-to. Ther-fore, sone, þis storie þou preche, Mi dere sone, god I þe be-teche. Whan sche hadde endid þese wordis euen, Angelis hure bere up to heuene; To þat same place god vs sende, That woneþ in blisse with-outen ende. Amen. Now haue ȝe herd boþe faire & wel þe vertu of seint gregories trentel; But who-so wole doun it wel & perfiȝtli, He moste do more, sekerli. þe prest þat schal for þe soule synge, At eche a feste þat he herde mynge, He most saye with gret deuocioun Ouer euen þe commendacioun; Placebo & dirige he most seyn also, The soule to breyngen out of wo, And also þe salmes seuene To helpen brynge þe soule to heuene. Amonge alle praieres þei arn good To brynge soulis fro helle flode; ffor euery salme quencheþ a synne, As often as men doþ hem bi gynne, And with good deuocion seide hem to þe ende, þan may þe soule to heuene wende. Therfore þese salmes haue in þi þouȝt; The fyftene salmes for ȝete þou noȝt; The latenye also haue þou in mynde; Loke þou leue hem noȝt bi-hynde, With goode deuocion þou hem saye, And to alle seyntis þer-with þou praye. Pray hem to helpen þe with alle here myȝt Þat soule to brynge to heuene briȝt, There euere is day & neuer nyȝt. Crist graunte vs part of þat liȝt. Loke þese be seide al I-fere Euery day þrouȝ oute þe ȝere. Neuer a day loke þou noȝt for-ȝete; Thus to saye loke þou ne lete. Also in þe vtas of euery feste, Also longe as hit schal leste,— Eiȝthe daies men callen þe vtase,— Þe prest most seie hit in his masse. A nobel orisoun hit is I-holde, The collet þat I ferst tolde. And after þat furste orisoun, There is anoþer of gret renoun, That to þe soule is vnder swete; Men calleþ hit þe secrete. And whan þe prest haþ sacrid his masse, And I-vsed, & his hondis wassche, Anoþer orisoun he most say, That on þe boke fynde he may; The post commune men doun hit calle, That helpen soulis out of þralle. And þat þis be doun at ethe The word is distinctly written ethe, obviously an error for eche. a feste That þe trentel spekeþ of, mest & lest, Than myȝt þou ben seker & sertayne To brynge þat soule out of payne To endelis ioie þat lasteþ ay. He þat deiede for vs on good friday To þat ioie he vs brynge, That is in heuene with-outen endyng. Praye we alle þat hit so be. Amen. Amen purcharite. Amen. II. Here begynneþ þe songe of saing þe best. The grete god so ful of grace, of whom al godnes growe ganne, And alle þat listeneth me a space, God childe hem from þe fende satanne. A litil word in my hert ranne, I wole hit synge ȝif hit ȝou lest To gete þe loue of god & man, And al-wey fonde to say þe best. (2) Speke non yuel in no place, But rule þi tonge, & get þi frende, And let no wicked word out pace, ffor hit is an eggement of þe fend. Ȝif þou with oon be sore atenede, And knowist him a wickid gest, Be þou þi-silf curtese & hende, And al-way fond to say þe best. (3) ffor eny anger or eny hate Or eny enuy be þe sette, An ille word may sone make bate, Let noȝt þi wille passe þi witte. An ille word ful sore may sette, That longe in hert is kepit faste; Of þe worst commyth no profite, And þerfore fond to say þe beste. (4) ffor cristis loue þat bouȝte þe dere let noȝt þi tonge haue al his willie; What art þou þe bet or þe nere Þi neiȝbur wickedli for to spille. Ȝif man or woman com þe tille, To frayne yuel of any gest, ffor cristis loue holde þe stille, And al-way fond to say þe beste. (5) In company ȝif þat þou be, Þer men speketh vilany, Ȝyve þou be tempted, ȝet turne þe, And þan dost þou a gret gentri. A bad tale is ribaudi, Hit gete no worschip, est ne west. ffor godis loue do cortesi, And euer fond to say þe best. (6) Hoso wolde be-þenke him-silf ariȝt, A good wod how good hit is, I durst welle swere be þis liȝt He nol neuer willen to say amys. ffor good word may gete heuen blisse And do þe lyue in ese & rest. ffor cristis loue taka tent to þis, And euer fond to say þe best. (7) Loke þat þou no man de-fame, With wicked wille, so haue þou blisse, ffor ho-so haþ a wicked name, Me semeþ for soþe half hongid he is. Þou maist not make amendis his With al þi þresor in þi chest. ffor cristis loue þou þenke on þis, And euer fond to say þe best. (8) I holde þat dede to dere a stre Don to do anoþer fame; I haþ as leue þou woldest him slee, ffor þis is holde an endelis blame. ffor þou myȝtist noȝt brynge aȝaine his name þrouȝ wicked wordis þat þou seist. ffor maries loue, cristes dame, Al-way fond to say þe best. (9) In halle or chauber þer þou gos, What euer þat þou here or see, Al-way kepe þi tonge in clos, Ȝif eny man aske ouȝte of þe. Ȝif eny fiȝt or foli be, Let not þi tonge a-mys be wrest; But for his loue þat died on tre Al-way fond to say þe best. (10) ffor godis loue þenke on þis songe, Man & woman faire of face, And take þis in ȝoure hertis amonge Whare euer ȝe go, or in what place. Ihesus ȝou kepe in eueri cas, And in heuene ȝou make a feste. ffor godis loue, so ful of grace, Al-way fond to say þe best. III. Here begynneþ þe songe of þonkynge god of al. BI a way wandrynge as I went, wel sore I siȝed, for sorowe sad Of hard happes þat I haþ hende Mornyge me made al-most made. Tille a lettre on me lad, Þat wel was writen on a wal; A blisful word þer-on I rad, þat al-way seid, þonke god of al. (2) And ȝit I rad þer forther more, fful good entent I toke þer-tille, Crist may wel ȝoure state restore, What is to stryue aȝens his wille? He may vs spare, & also spille; Þenke riȝt wel we ben his þralle; What sorowe we suffer loude or stille, Al-way þonke god of al. (3) Þouȝ þou be wex blynd or lame, Or eny sikenes be in þe set, Thou þenke riȝt wel hit is no chame; The grace of god hit haþ þe gret. In sorow & care þoȝ ȝe be knyt, And worldis wele be fro þe falle, I can not say þouȝ myȝtest do bet, But al-way þonke god of al. (4) þouȝ þou weld þis worldis good, And rialli ledest þi lyue in rest, wel I-chape of bon & blod, Noon þe like neuþer est ne west, Þenke god hem sent as him lest; Riches turneþ ofte as a bal; In al maner hit is þe best Al-way to þonk god of alle. (5) Ȝif þi gode by-gynneþ to passe, And þou wexiþ a pore man, Take good comfort, & bere good face, And þenke on him þat al good whan. Crist for soþe him-silf began, He may vs reue boure & halle; No better concel I ne can, But al-way þonke god of alle. (6) Þenke on Iob þat was so riche; He waxed pore fro day to day; His bestes died in iche a diche; His catel vanescheþ al a-way. He was put in pore araye, Neiþer in purpur, ne in palle; In sympel wede, as clerkus saie, Al-way he þenke god of al. (7) ffor cristis loue now so do we, ffor he may boþe ȝeue & take; In what mysche þat we in be, He is of myȝt oure sorow to slake. fful good amendis he wol vs make, And we to him crie or calle; Þouȝ wo & anger can þe awake, Ȝit al-way þou þonke god of al. (8) Þouȝ to be in prisoun cast, Or eny distresse men do þe bede, ffor cristis loue ȝit be stedefast, And euer haue mynde on þi crede. Þenke he fayled neuer at nede, Þe dereworth duke þat deme vs schal; Whan þou sori, þer-of take hede, And al-way þonke god of al. (9) Þouȝ þi frendis fro þe faile, And deþ bereue hem þe lyue, Whi schuldest þou wepe or waile? Ȝit is not agayn god to stryue. Him-self made boþe man No gap in MS. wyue; To his blisse he brynge vs al; How euer þou þele ouþer þriue, Al-way þonke god of al. (10) What dyuerse sonde þat god þe sent, Here or in eny place, Take hit with a good entent; Þe sanner god wol send his grace. Þouȝ þi bodi be browt ful base, Lat noȝt þi hert al doun falle; But þenke þat god is þer he was, And al-way þouȝ god of al. (11) þouȝ þi neiȝbor haue þe world at wil, And þou farest noȝt so wel as he, Be not maade þenke non ille, ffor his welþe enuyus ne be. Þe kynge of heuene him-self can se Hos takeþ his sond, gret or smale; Þus iche man in his degre I rede he þonke euer god of alle. IV. Here begynne þe songe of amendis makinge. BE a wild wodis side, as I walked my-selue alone, A blisse of briddes bad me abidde, ffor cause þer songe mo þan oon. Amonge þese briddis euerychone, fful gret hede gan I take, How oon þer songe with ruful mone, Man I rede amendis make. (2) Make amendis truli, So songe þat brid with feþeres gray. In my hert ful wo was I, Whan amendis he gan to say. I stode & stodied al þat day; Þis word me made al nyȝt to wake; þan fond I be skiles in fay, Whi he seide, amendis make. (3) The first skille þat I can fynde, As it semeþ in my witte, O þynge þer is þat comeþ of kynde, That euery man schal have a pitte. Whan tope & too of þe is knytte, And worldis wele is fro þe schake, Avise þe wel or þou be ditte, And fond amendis for to make. (4) The secunde skiles þat þou schalt die, But ȝit tyme wost þou nere, ffor ȝif þou wistist sicurli, Þou woldest flee þi deþ for fere. Þi last boure schal be a bere, Ȝif þat þi frendis mowe take And stoppe þe vp, as I saide ere; And þerfore fond amandis make. (5) The þridde skiles schal do þe wo, Ȝif þou þenke þer-on I wisse; ffor whan þi lif schal parte þe fro, Þou nost wheþer to bale or blisse. I fynde no clerke can telle me þis, Þerfore my wo begynneþ to wake; Whan þou þenkest to do amys, I rede þe amendis for to make. (6) Þouȝ þou be kynge & croune bere, And þis worlde stond at þi wille, Þou schalt be pore as þou were ere, Þis maist þou knowe be proper skille; And take a schete þe with to hille, To keuer þe for chames sake; Repent þe, man, þou hast do ille, And fond to amandes make. (7) Whan þou art frik & in þi floures, Þou werest purper, perrey, & palle; In churche at matenys, masse, & oures, Þou wolt not come with-inne þe wal; ffor þire The reading is uncertain. þi sauor is ful smal. Þus wildenes þe wol awake, And in oo day þou schal lese al; Þerfore fond amandis make. (8) A sawmpil we mowe se al day, Þat god sent amonge vs alle, To day þoȝ þou be stowȝt & gay, A-morowe þou list be þe walle. Merci þan to crie & calle It is to late; þi leue is take; Þerfore, man, or þou falle, I rede þe to amendis make. (9) Ȝif þou have do a dedli synne, Whare-þrouȝ þi soule may be schent, Twelmonþe þou wolt liȝe þer-inne, And so abide vn-tille þe lent. Þan a frere wolt þou hent, Þi paresche prest þou wolt for-sake; Of suche dedes, verament, I rede þe amendis make. (10) I rede þe, man, bere þe euen, Whether þou be seruant, lord, or meyre; ffor ofte men meteþ at vn-set steuen; Couett þou not no pere to peire. Þis world nys but a chiri feire; Whan ȝe ben hiȝest ȝe mowe aslake, To day a lord, to morowe þin eire, And þerfor fond amendis make. (11) Þouȝ þou be richer man þan he, While þou lyuest on erþe here, God made him as wel as þe, And bouȝt alle iliche dere. Þouȝ he be noȝt þi worldis pere, Do him no wronge for synnes sake; To noȝt schal turne þi proude chere, And þerfor fond amendis make. (12) God þat was of marie bore, And suffred deþ on rode tree, Lat vs neuer be for-lore, Ihesu, ȝif þi wille be. Comeli quene þat art so fre, Pray þi sone for or oure sake In heuene a siȝt of ȝou to se, And here to amendis make. Amen. Princeton. Robert K. Root.