Glorious mayde and moder, which that

never

my

Were bitter, neither in erthe nor in see, 50
But ful of swetnesse and of mercy ever,
Help that: fader be not wroth with me!
Spek thon, for I ne dar not him y-see.
So have I doon in erthe, allas ther-whyle!
That certes, but-if thou my socour be, 55
To stink eterne he wol my gost exyle.

He vouched sauf, tel him, as was his wille,
Bicome a man, to have our alliaunce,
And with his precious blood he wroot the
bille

Was signe of thyn unwemmed maidenhede.

Thou art the bush on which ther gan descende

The Holy Gost, the which that Moises wende

Had ben a-fyr; and this was in figure. Now lady, from the fyr thou us defende 95 Which that in helle eternally shal dure.

Noble princesse, that never haddest pere, Certes, if any comfort in us be,

That cometh of thee, thou Cristes moder dere,

We han non other melodye or glee 100
Us to rejoyse in our adversitee,
N'advocat noon that wol and dar so preye
For us, and that for litel hyre as ye,
That helpen for an Ave-Marie or tweye.

O verrey light of eyen that ben blinde, 105
O verrey lust of labour and distresse,
O tresorere of bountee to mankinde,
Thee whom God chees to moder for
humblesse !

From his ancille he made thee maistresse Of hevene and erthe, our bille up for to bede.

ΠΟ

This world awaiteth ever on thy goodnesse,

For thou ne failest never wight at nede.

Purpos I have sum tyme for t'enquere, Wherfore and why the Holy Gost thee soughte,

Whan Gabrielles vois cam to thyn ere, 115 He not to werre us swich a wonder wroughte,

But for to save us that he sithen boughte Than nedeth us no wepen us for to save, But only ther we did not, as us oughte, Do penitence, and mercy axe and have, 120

Queen of comfort, yit whan I me bithink That I agilt have bothe, him and thee,

And that my soule is worthy for to sinke,
Allas, I, caitif, whider may I flee?
Who shal un-to thy sone my mene be? 125
Who, but thy-self, that art of pitee welle?
Thou hast more reuthe on our adversitee
Than in this world mighte any tunge telle.
Redresse me, moder, and me chastyse,
For, certeynly, my fadres chastisinge 130
That dar I nought abyden in no wyse :
So hidous is his rightful rekeninge.
Moder, of whom our mercy gan to springe,
Beth ye my juge and eek my soules leche;
For ever in you is pitee haboundinge 135
To ech that wol of pitee you biseche.

Soth is, that God ne graunteth no pitee
With-oute thee; for God, of his goodnesse,
Forgiveth noon, but it lyke un-to thee.
He hath thee maked vicaire and mais-
tresse

140

Of Paradys, thou me wisse and counsaile, How I may have thy grace and thy socour; Al have I been in filthe and in errour. Lady, un-to that court thou me ajourne That cleped is thy bench, O fresshe flour! Ther-as that mercy ever shal sojourne. 160

Xristus, thy sone, that in this world alighte,

Up-on the cros to suffre his passioun,
And teek, that Longius his herte pighte,
And made his herte blood to renne adoun;
And al was this for my salvacioun; 165
And I to him am fals and eek unkinde,
And yit he wol not my dampnacioun—
This thanke I you, socour of al mankinde.
Ysaac was figure of his deeth, certeyn,
That so fer-forth his fader wolde obeye 170
That him ne roughte no-thing to be slayn;
Right so thy sone list, as a lamb, to deye.
Now lady, ful of mercy, I you preye,
Sith he his mercy mesured so large,
Bo ye not skant; for alle we singe and
seye
175

That ye ben from vengeaunce ay our targe.
Zacharie you clepeth the open welle
To wasshe sinful soule out of his gilt.
Therfore this lessoun oughte I wel to telle
That, nere thy tender herte, we weren
spilt.

180

Now lady brighte, sith thou canst and wilt
Ben to the seed of Adam merciable,
So bring us to that palais that is bilt
To penitents that ben to mercy able.
Amen.
184

32

But yet encreseth me this wonder newe,
That no wight woot that she is deed, but I;
So many men as in hir tyme hir knewe,
And yet she dyed not so sodeynly;
For I have sought hir ever ful besily
Sith first I hadde wit or mannes minde;
But she was deed, er that I coude hir
finde.
35

Aboute hir herse ther stoden lustily,
Withouten any wo, as thoughte me,
Bountee parfit, wel armed and richely,
And fresshe Beautee, Lust, and Jolitee,
Assured Maner, Youthe, and Honestee, 40
Wisdom, Estaat, [and] Dreed, and Go-

vernaunce,

Confedred bothe by bonde and alliaunce.

A compleynt hadde I, writen, in myn hond,

For to have put to Pite as a bille,

But whan I al this companye ther fond, That rather wolden al my cause spille 46 Than do me help, I held my pleynte stille; For to that folk, withouten any faile, Withoute Pite may no bille availe.

Then leve I al thise virtues, sauf Pite, 50 Keping the corps, as ye have herd me seyn,

80

Withoute you, benigne creature?
Shal Crueltee be your governeresse?
Allas! what herte may hit longe endure?
Wherfor, but ye the rather take cure
To breke that perilous alliaunce,
Ye sleen hem that ben in your obeisance.
'And further over, if ye suffre this,
Your renoun is fordo than in a throwe;
Ther shal no man wite wel what Pite is.
Allas! that your renoun shuld be so lowe!
Ye be than fro your heritage y-throwe
By Crueltee, that occupieth your place; yo
And we despeired, that seken to your

grace.

85

That, by my trouthe, I take +kepe

Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth,
Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth.

Al is y-liche good to me-
Joye or sorowe, wherso hit be-
For I have feling in no-thing,
But, as it were, a mased thing,
Alway in point to falle a-doun;
For +sory imaginacioun
Is alway hoolly in my minde.

And wel ye woot, agaynes kinde
Hit were to liven in this wyse ;
For nature wolde nat suffyse

To noon erthely creature
Not longe tyme to endure

5

Withoute slepe, and be[en] in sorwe;
And I ne may, ne night ne morwe,
Slepe; and thus melancolye,
And dreed I have for to dye,
Defaute of slepe, and hevinesse
Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse,
That I have lost al lustihede.
Suche fantasyes ben in myn hede
So I not what is best to do.

25

So whan she coude here no word That no man mighte finde hir lord, Ful oft she swouned, and seide 'alas!' For sorwe ful nigh wood she was, Ne she coude no reed but oon; But doun on knees she sat anoon, And tweep, that pite was to here. 'A! mercy! swete lady dere!' Quod she to Juno, hir goddesse ; 'Help me out of this distresse, And yeve me grace my lord to see Sone, or wite wher-so he be, Or how he fareth, or in what wyse, And I shal make you sacrifyse, And hoolly youres become I shal With good wil, body, herte, and al; And but thou wilt this, lady swete,

105

ΠΟ

115

70

This king wolde wenden over see.
To tellen shortly, whan that he
Was in the see, thus in this wyse,
Soche a tempest gan to ryse
That brak hir mast, and made it falle,
And clefte hir ship, and dreinte hem alle,
That never was founden, as it telles,
Bord ne man, ne nothing elles.
Right thus this king Seys loste his lyf. 75
Now for to speken of his wyf :-
This lady, that was left at home,
Hath wonder, that the king ne come
Hoom, for hit was a longe terme.
Anon her herte +gan to erme ;
And for that hir thoughte evermo
Hit was not wel the dwelte so,
She longed so after the king
That certes, hit were a pitous thing
To telle hir hertely sorwful lyf
That thadde, alas! this noble wyf;
For him she loved alderbest.
Anon she sente bothe eest and west
To seke him, but they founde nought.
'Alas!' quoth she, 'that I was wrought!
And wher my lord, my love, be deed? 91
Certes, I nil never ete breed,

I make a-vowe to my god here,

80

85

121

Send me grace to slepe, and mete
In my slepe som certeyn sweven,
Wher-through that I may knowen even
Whether my lord be quik or deed.'
With that word she heng doun the heed,
And fil a-swown as cold as ston;
Hir women caughte her up anon,
And broghten hir in bed al naked,
And she, forweped and forwaked,
Was wery, and thus the dede sleep
Fil on her, or she toke keep,
Through Juno, that had herd hir bone,
That made hir [for] to slepe sone ;

125

130