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Upon his bere ay lyth this Innocent Biforn the chief auter whyl masse laste, And after that, the abbot with his covent Han sped hem for to burien him ful faste; And whan they holy water on him caste, Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was holy water, And sang—“O Alma redemptoris mater!”
This abbot, which that was an holy man,
“My throte is cut unto my nekke-boon,"
“This welle of mercy, Cristes moder swete,
• “Wherfor I singe, and singe I mote certeyn
This holy monk, this abbot, him mene I, His tonge out-caughte, and toke away the greyn, And he yaf up the gost ful softely. And whan this abbot had this wonder seyn, His salte teres trikled doun as reyn. And gruf he fell al plat upon the grounde, And stille he lay, as he had ben y-bounde.
The covent eek lay on the pavement
3 BALADE DE BON CONSEYL
FLEE fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse,
Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse,
2 the crowd.
3 prosperity blinds everywhere.
That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse,13
Therfore, thou vache,15 leve thyn old wrecchednesse;
Explicit Le bon counseill de G. Chaucer
JOHN LYDGATE (1370?–1451?]
THE CHILD JESUS TO MARY THE ROSE
My Fader above, beholdyng thy mekenesse,
As dewe on rosis doth his bawme sprede, Sendith his Gost, most soverayne of clennesse,
Into thy breste, A! Rose of Wommanhede!
Whan I for man was borne in my manhede
Benygne Moder, who first dide inclose
The blessèd budde that sprang out of Jesse,
Chose of my Fader for thyn humylite
Without fadyng, most clennest to bere meFor which with roses of chast innocence
I me rejoyse to pley in thy presence. 13 willing obedience.
O Moder! Moder! of mercy most habounde,
Fayrest moder that ever was alyve, Though I for man have many a bloody wounde, Among theym alle there be rosis fyve,
Agayne whos mercy fiendis may nat stryve; Mankynde to save, best rosis of defence, Whan they me pray for helpe in thy presence.
ROBERT HENRYSON (1425?—?)
6- THE BLUDY SERK
This hindir yeir I hard be tald,
Thair was a worthy King;
He had at his bidding.
And sexty yeiris cowth ring;
A lusty lady ying.”
Off all fairheid schoo bur* the flour;
And eik hir faderis air;
Meik, bot and debonair.
On fold wes non so fair;
In cuntreis our all quhair.10
Thair dwelt a lyt besyde the King
A fowll Gyane" of ane;
Away with hir is gane;
1 "to fald”: on earth. ? young. 3 she.
10 i.e., everywhere.
6 heir. 8“ bot and”: but also, yet. 11 giant.
And kest hir in his dungering,
Quhair licht scho micht se nane: Hungir and cauld, and grit thristing,
Scho fand in to hir waine.12
He wes the laithliest on to luk
That on the grund mycht gang: His nailis wes lyk ane hellis cruk,
Thairwith fyve quarteris lang.
In rycht or yit in wrang,
The Gyane wes so strang.
He held the Lady day and nycht,
Within his deip dungeoun; He wald nocht gif of hir a sicht
For gold nor yit ransoun, Bot gifel4 the King mycht get a Knycht,
To fecht with his persoun, To fecht with him, bot day and nycht,
Quhill ane were dungin doun.
The King gart seik baith fer and neir,
Beth be se and land,
Wald fecht with that Gyand.
Hes tane the deid on hand,
And held full trew cunnand.15
That Prince come prowdly to the toun,
Of that Gyane to heir; And fawcht with him, his awin persoun,
And tuke him presoneir;
14 “ Bot gife”: unless.