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Prologue
Now is come oure leyser and oure space
In whech we may - aftir oure grete labour
Of other materis, now we have grace -
Turne ageyn and tast the swete savour
Of this clene virgine, of this wele savoured flour,
Whech with fyve braunchis grewe thus here in erde:
The first, the secund, the thrid, and the ferde
Have ye perseyvyd if ye have red alle;
Now shall the fyft be schewid unto youre syght,
For now me lyst this lady a rose to calle,
Of fyve braunches full preciously i-dyth.
The rede coloure that shon in hir so bryght,
That was hir martirdam. The fyve leves grene
Betokne hir lyffe, thus distincte, I wene,
In dyvers bokes, like as we have dyvysyd
Beforn this tyme; and now this is the last.
These fyve leves, rith thus are thei sysyd
That on the stalke thei cleven wondir fast;
The reed floures kepe thei fro the blast
Or thei hemselfe thus lateth hem abrode,
And aftir that thei make here than abode
Even undir the same swete floures -
Betokynyng that hir liffe was sprede
With martirdam and with scharp schoures
Whech for Crist both suffered and dede,
For in divers bokes, as I have oftyn rede,
Martirdam hath a suffereyn dignyté
Above all vertues whech that gostly bee.
Thus grew this rose oute of the thorny brere
Whan that this martir of hethen was bore.
I will declare yete, if ye will here,
Why that these leves clevyn so sore:
Thre of hem are berdyd and noo more,
And too stand nakyd withouten dagge or berde -
Thus are thei wont to growen in oure yerde.
These fyve leves, as I seyd wolate,
Betokenes these bokes whech we haven in hand:
Too of hem expresse the tyme and the date
In which this lady, as I undirstande,
Leved as hethen and so dede al hir land.
Therfor are thei naked in her kynde,
Expressyng thus this ladies levyng blynde.
Blynd I calle hir whill she was in that lyffe,
Knew not Criste baptem, ne had non take,
Of hevynly thinges litil inquisitiffe -
Hir elde oppynyones had she noth forsake.
Fro this blyndnes Crist made hir awake
In oure third boke, rith as we seyd before -
It nedith not as now it rehers nomore.
The othir thre with berdis are so i-growe
That leves of vertu men may hem calle.
To all the world opynly thus it is knowe
That she hath grace whech may not falle.
So are hir leves endewyd and evyr shall:
Evyr are thei grene and evyr more shall bee,
Regnyng with Cryst in very felicyté.
And in hir honour now I will procede
To myn fyfte boke, in whech I will speke
Of hir martirdam, so as the story will lede -
How God the quelys for His cause dede breke
And on the puple took full grete wreke.
Thus shall it be translate now new fro Lateyn,
To the worchip of God and of Seynt Kateryn.
Chapter 1
Whan these clerkys had made thus her compleynt
Of all her errour and wrong credulyté,
The emperoures hert for sorow gan to feynt,
For now is none that dare speke but he -
In all these materis convicte is this mené.
Wherfor with angry chere and wordys full dispitous
Thus seyd he to hem as he stode in that hous:
"Fy on youre scole! We had ful grete trost
Ye schuld a made wele all that was amysse.
All oure expens, all oure consayle is loste!
Ye have reved me of this worldly blys -
Noth worldly but gostly, for I seyd amysse -
It is gostly joye and longith to oure feyth.
Here ye noth now what that the puple seyth?
"Thei seyn a maydyn hath convicte in this place
Fyfty clerkis in this world non lych.
Thei sey thei wollyn the same feyth purchace -
Thus sey thei all, the pore and the rych.
Wold God ye had be byryed in a dych
Whan ye cam heder, for now all is lost:
Labour and connyng, rydyng and mechil coost.
"Lete now youre prudens make yow a new corage,
That ye lese noth youre cunnyng and youre fame -
Thinke what I hyth you, worchep and wage;
Lyft up youre hertis, men, for very shame!
Beth noth aferd, for than ye lesen youre name.
Speke to this woman, with reson bere hir down,
Than are ye worthy in scyens to bere the crowne.
"Ye stand all hertles. Wher is youre cunnyng goo
That been astoyned with nature femynyne?
Be holy Saturne, I wold a supposed soo
That on of you myth a ben for swech nyne. 1
Ye faren as ye were bound with lyne:
What answere will ye gevyn of youre conyng,
Whech that at nede avaylith nothing?"
Chapter 2
The grettest of hem and leder eke,
The same Ariot of whech I spake before,
Onto the emperour thus he gan to speke:
"Onto thi courte come we, lesse and more,
Thi goddes servyse to gefe and restore,
And, as I wene, of all the est syde
Of all this world to seke fer and wyde
"Shuldist noth fynd swech a pykyd cumpany
In gramer, rethoricke, and thoo artes alle,
But speciall in naturall philosophie
Are we endewid. But to sciens whech thei calle
Theologie, to that coud we not falle
Till that this lady bryngyth us to induction -
Evyr blyssyd be she for hir good instruction!
"What manere man that wolde or this tyme
Dispute with us be reson and auctorité,
His demonstracyouns cowde us neyther trappe ne lyme,
But he was caute for all his sotelté.
He pased not fro us withoute a velonye -
This was oure usage ryght than for victorye,
So loved we these wordes of veynglorye.
"Now it is turned, oure fortune and oure chaunce,
Oure appetyte eke - I wote nevyr how it is went.
This mayden makyth that we falle in traunce;
Oure conyng now, it semyth that it is spent.
Sche spekyth of Godd whech that was hangen and rent
And gostly spech hath sche browte to place;
Naturall scyens hath in this matere no space.
"Therfore can we as in this solemnyté
Speke ryght nowte, but resones make sche grete.
Hir prechyng paseth all oure carnalyté,
For whan I fyrst thus mystly herd hir trete
In my body my bowelles sore gune bete,
For very rebuke that I hir langage
Cowde not conceyve. Wherfore, syre, alle your wage,
"Alle your rewardes whech ye profyrd us,
We refusen; youre goddes and youre lawe
We renunce for the love of oure Lorde Jhesus.
Schew ye summe resone pleynly that we may knawe
If that your goddes with her rowe pawe
Have othir evidens that ye can preve this tyde,
For in this errour we wyll no lengere abyde.
"Cryst, Goddes Sone, that with His blyssyd passyoun
Bowt all mankynde, here we now confesse.
Onto His mercy ryght with goode devocyoun
We now commend us, the more and eke the lesse.
Slee and flee, brenne and put in dystresse,
Other feyth schall thu nevyr plant
Into oure hert, for nothing now we want
"But of baptyme, this holy sacrament.
God, as He bowte us, on us have mercye."
Thus seyden his felawys all with oon entent,
"There is no Godd but He that syttyth on hye;
On all these maumentys evyre sey we 'fye!'
We schuld dey rathere than we schuld forsake
The Crysten feyth whech we have now take."
Chapter 3
Now wax the emperour ny wode and oute of mynde:
His eyne rolled as thei wold fall oute.
"Fy on yow," he seyd, "charles unkynde!"
Now is oure feyth for yow more in doute
Than evyr it was to hem that stonden aboute!"
He thoo comaundyd in ful hasty wyse:
"I wyll her deth that ye thus devyse.
"A fyre I wyll that ye hastely make,
Ryght in the myddes of the grete cetee -
Spare no wode for holy Saturn sake.
Spede yow fast these renegatys that ye see,
Frye hem in her grece, for be that deyté
Of swete Apollo, I schall not ete ne drynk
Tyll that I se hem bothe brened and stynke.
"Put in rosyn, pych, and othir gere;
Spare no coste, for in this do ye servyse
Onto oure goddys, withouten any fere.
Thus schul thei dey that oure goddis despyce.
I schall be there myself as justyse
And see these I wele don in dede.
Whan ye have don ye schall have ryght goode mede.
"I wyll ye bynde hem bothe fote and hande,
Drawe hem forthe as dogges unto the place.
Youre ropes loke thei be myghty and youre bande -
Spare neythir body, heedys, nyn her face.
God gefe hem all swech a sorye grace
That thus forsake oure goddys that be eterne!
Loke none of hem skape yow in non hyrn.
"Thei schal be brent dede, ryght as I have seyde,
Brent into askes - thei gete no remedye.
Lete hem crye now on this wylfull mayde
Whech hath browte hem into that heresye!
I wyll noo wordes as now multyplye:
Goo now forth in hast and do youre dede;
Whan it is done, treuly schall ye have your mede."
Chapter 4
Thus are thei draw with grete vylony
Onto her dome - thei wrestyll not ageyn.
Men myght se there many a wepyng eye,
But for fere no man dare now seyn.
Glad are these meny alle of very peyn.
The mayster of hem thus he cryed that tyme:
"To God be it that for no synne ne cryme
"Be we appechyd but only for trew feyth.
Therfor, felawys, in Cryst youreselfe comfort.
Whatevyr this tyraunt doth or seyth,
Thank oure Lorde, for we are in His port
Whech that ledyth us to that blyssyd comfort,
Where all seyntys are gadered togedyr be grace
In an hevynly, joyful, blessed place.
"Oure Lorde hath called us fro oure olde erroure
Onto this ende: thank we Him therfore
Whech onto the beuté of His meroure
Wold of His goodeness newly us restore.
In this world, as for me, I wyll no more
But that we schuld ben baptized or we deye;
Than were we redy for to walke that goode weye.
"For that same baptem is an holy werke:
It causeth grace and feyth and eke endewyth;
Betwyx God and man it is a very merke
That whosoevyr Crystes steppes sewyth
All his levyng sothely he renewyth,
Whan that he waschyth in this watyr his synne.
Oure Lorde Himselfe was wasched therinne
"Ryght for this cause: that no man shulde dysdeyne
To use the same whech that this Lorde used.
Of my conceyte I wyll no more now feyne,
For in this matere ofte tyme hafe I musede.
Many yere this sacrament I refusede;
That I repent now, and evyr I schall it rewe,
That I so long leved a lyffe untrewe.
"Werfore my care now is this onlye:
That sythe we schall and nedys must deye,
Of all oure synnes mercy for to crye,
And all oure defautes undyr fote to ley,
To treden hem down. Than savely may we sey
That we are purged and of all made clene -
Thus must we beleven, felawys, all bedene."
Chapter 5
And onto the mayden he turned him with his voys:
"Lady," he seyd, "for God that syttyth above
And for the passyoun that Cryst had on crosse,
Prey for us to Him that is thi love;
Thu seyst full welle we may no lengere schove
Oure lyvyng dayes, for thei are nye at ende;
Prey that He wyll His mercy sende
"Onto His servauntys and spare hem at this tyme.
Suffyr us eke that we may waschyd be
With holy baptem, that we may the bettyr clyme
To that place of grete felicité;
And if this prayere plese not Him, but He
Wyll allgatys that we schall wante this thinge,
We wolde desyre than of this blyssyd kinge
"He wold with us make dispensacyoun,
For all this may He; He is omnipotent.
He lovyth all men, He lovyth every nacyoun
Egaly, ye sey, this is oure fundament.
If He dyspence with us of this sacrament,
Than for wantyng may we bere no blame,
Than schall oure deth be tyl us but game."
Than seyd the mayd untyll hem all in fere:
"Fere ye ryght nowght, thow ye want this thing.
So as I can now wyll I yow lere.
Thoo men that for love of Cryst oure kinge,
Whech wante of baptem, that holy waschynge,
Thei schall to blys, for aungellys schall hem carye -
The fendes powere no thinge may hem tarye.
"In stede of baptem servyth His passyoun:
Not only blode whech that He for hem dyd blede
But all othir deth whech with devocyoun
Thus thei suffred unto hem grete mede.
Leve ye wel this doctrine trostly as your crede,
The grete peyne the whech is dempte to yow
In stede of baptem schal be as now.
"God may with fyre purgen mannys synne,
With watyr eke as Him lyst demene;
Summe men are baptyzed, heven for to wynne,
With that watyr whech in the fonte is sene.
Summe are purgede with her blode, I wene -
Thei deyn as marteres, this is oure decré.
Summe are baptyzed, eke, as leve we -
"Thys calle oure clerkys baptem of the Goste -
In Goddys mercy, and deyen oute of synne
Ryght in her feyth that stedfastly troste.
Therfore ye knytes of Cryste new begune,
To cleym youre herytage that ye were therinne
Beth not aferde, but suffre the peyn mekely -
Than are ye baptized, trost me now trewly."
Chapter 6
Whan that thei weren of this holy mayde
Thus comforted, the offyceres comen anoon:
Thei bondyn her handys, ryght as I seyde;
Thei leden hem forth, fast as thei may goon,
Onto a strete whech was pathed with ston.
Well is him that may a fagott bere
To brene the clerkys! The emperour was there,
Sett in a stage, for he wold see the ende.
The fyre is made, blokkes are leyd on hepe,
Fagottes gan thei amonge the clogges bende.
There is not ellys but fech, renne, and lepe;
Blow now fast - the foweres shuld not slepe.
Thei bynde her fete, thei throw hem in the fere,
But thei are glad and full mery of chere,
Thankyng God that all thing made of nowte
That thei may dey for swech a Lordes sake.
Thei pray to Him ryght as He hem bowte
Her soules tyll Him now that He wold take.
What schuld I now lengere this tale make?
Thus are thei dede, her sowles onto blysse,
Eke tyll her bodyes oure blyssed Lorde grauntyd thyss:
Skyn ne flesch was non of hem brente,
Ne hede, ne clothe, ne heere of berde ne of heede.
Thei lay there dede with browes fayre bente,
With fayre face colourde bothe whyght and reede,
For lyk as the fyre makyth the rusty leede
Bryth and schene, so makyth the fyre this mené -
Whoso knew hem before myth ken hem and see.
In her peynes, men seyd, thei cryed thus:
"Blyssyd be God that we nevyr knew ere,
Blyssyd be Cryst! Honourde be oure Lorde Jhesu!
For of this tormente have we now no fere."
This was a scole mervelows for to lere:
That thei in torment myrth and joy schuld make.
Onto God only her sowles gan thei take;
Thus deyed this mené in Novembyre the thirtene day.
Aftyr her deth thei semed not to a be dede:
As slepyng men in fayre coloure thei lay,
In handys, body, legges, eke, and heede,
With coloure fresch, lovely, and also reede.
This see the puple and mervelyd wondyr sore;
God thei preysyd for than and evyr more,
For be this miracle converted was that day
Meche folke to Cryst, and for devocion
Bothe of the clerkys and eke of the may,
Thei token the bodyes with solempne orison
And biried hem there in dyvers mansion,
Trostyng to spede bettir for her cause.
Thus endyth her martirdam rith in this clause.
Chapter 7
Thoo sey the emperour: "There is non othir botte
Onto this mayden whech is so stedfast
But fayre wordes, whech draw womanhoode
And makith hem often othir thingis to tast
Than thei shulde do if thei wold be chast."
Therfor this mayden rith thus thoo he glosyth:
"Kateryne," he seyth, "there is no man supposith -
"Nothe ye youreselve - that I wold but goode
Onto youre persone. But this grete distresse
To which I putte you, spellyng yet as no bloode,
Was forto chast you fro that sekenes
Whech that ye have caute of fonned holynes,
And left the rytes that oure elderes before
Receyvyd and honouryd as for sovereyn lore.
"This was the cause why that I distressyd you soo.
But love have I onto you sekyrly
As to the best of alle, save on and no moo.
And why I do soo, if ye will wete why,
Youre beuté it causith, youre cunnyng eke; and I
Love you so wele that, if ye lyke to consent,
And thurifye to Jupiter that is omnipotent
"Ye shall have honour - no woman shall be you lich.
O swete virgyne, enclyne youre love to me!
O fayre visage of bewté now most rych,
O woman most worthy of imperiall degré,
O very merveyle, parfyth felicité,
Wold god ye knowen what care I have for yow
And what beheest I have made in myn avowe.
"Why wold ye despyce oure goddis immortall?
Why wold ye calle hem so venemous a name?
Why seyd ye that thei are develes infernall?
Why slaunder ye so her endewed fame?
For this blasfeme, iwis, ye are to blame:
'Deceyvoures of the puple,' as ye seyde.
Chaunge youre langage, ye noble goodly mayde!
"Chaunge betyme, for though thei suffir longe,
At the last thei smyten and taken hey venjaunce.
Tendir youre thought, speke no more wronge:
Thus shall ye best her yre swage.
Take youre offeryng yet, in schort langage,
And plesith hem so thei may be youre frendes,
And sey nevyr more that thei be fendes.
"If ye wil don as I you now counsayle,
This shall ye have: next aftir the qween
Shall ye be to us, withouten fayle;
To youre comaundment all men shall bene
Obeyng, but whom that ye will susteyne
He shal be favoured with all myth and mayne,
And whom that ye hate, compendiously to sayne,
"That man shall levyn in full gret distresse.
Comforth youreselve, dispice not good counsayle,
Makith not youre frendis to levyn in hevynesse,
Lete myn wordis sinken in youre entrayle:
Fle swech that may not avayle.
Withinne my kyngdam may ye have this ryght:
What that ye will shal be fulfyllyd as tyth.
"If that ye will exilen ony man,
That man shall goo - there shall no good him save.
More plesaunce to you graunt I ne can
But suffir youre will all that ye will have.
For this decré shall I nevyr more wave:
Whom that ye list of grace for to avaunce,
In joyfull dayes that same man may daunce.
"Betwix the qween and you shal be non distaunce
But only this: because of oure spousayle
Sche must of me have more dewe plesaunce -
The love betwix us, I trow, shall nevyr fayle;
But to you shall long both lawe and counsayle
Thorow all oure reme to governe at youre wille:
Rith as ye bydde all men shall fulfylle.
"Yete shall I make in the market place
A solempne ymage lich an empresse.
As man of craft will counterfete youre face
It shal be made. Ilke man, more and lesse,
Shall honour that with ful grete besynesse,
Whan thei comen forby shul fallen on knes anon.
This ymage shall not only be made of stone,
"But of clene metall, gylt full bryght and shene.
Whoso comyth forby with sufficient evidens
Shall knowen full wele that sche was a qwene
Whos ymage stante there, and that in grete offens
Shall he falle that doth noo reverens
To that ymage. And whoo flee thertoo,
What maner offens that evyr he hath doo,
"Shal be forgeve at the reverens of yow, mayde.
Thus may ye be deyfyed, if ye will it take."
Swech maner wordis untill hir he sayde:
He wold a tempill all of marbell make,
Of ful grete cost rith for hir sake,
Wenyng evyr with swech feynyd plesauns
To bryng this mayde oute of hir good perseverauns.
Chapter 8
Sche lowe a lytill whan sche had herd all this,
And than she spake with mery countenaunce:
"Full happy am I," she seyd, "unto blys,
Whan that the emperour will me thus avaunce
To reren a ymage of so grete plesaunce
In worchip of me and of so grete pryse.
Summe men wolde seyn that I were nyse
"If I refused it, for of gold it schal be
If I comaunde, but yet at the lest
Of sylvere he wyl it make and of swech quantyté
The chaungours schul stryve and be in no rest
To bregyn so mech tresoure oute of the nest
To make a memoryall of Kateryne the mayde!"
Swech manere wordes at that tyme sche sayde:
"And thow this ymage be made of marbyll grey,
Suffysyth it that to my laude eterne
Every man schall come be the wey
Where that schal be sett in a herne,
On bothe knes him must fall yerne
And do his omage, elles must him deye.
What manere wordes hope ye thei shall seye?
"'Heyl ymage, made ryght in memoryall
Of a lady full wyse and ful of prudent;
Heyle statue that art now as eternall;
Heyl sygne, made ryght to this entent -
The grete beawté of Kateryne to present!'
Wyll not this be full grete plesaunce
Tyl hem that loven this worldly lusty daunce?
"But this wold I knowyn or we this thinge make:
Of what matere schall my legges be?
What manere werkman that dare undyrtake
To make hem to meve and walke in her degré?
My handys, eke, I wolde wete how that he
Shuld make to fele and of what matere -
Or we goo ferther this wold I lere.
"The eyne eke whech this ymage schall have,
If thei schul loke ryght as I do in dede,
Where is that werkman that swech thinges can grave?
He were wel worthy to have ful grete mede!
I leve nevyr that this werk shuld well spede.
Thys matere thus sotely to congelle,
There is no werkman in erthe that can it fulfylle.
"A tunge, eke, if he shuld it make
Onto this ymage to speke and to crye:
Where is he that dare this undirtake?
If he do thus, he werkith a grete maystry,
But for this cause that there is no man so slye.
Therfor I conclude thus, in a shorte sentens:
Whan ye have wared youre witte and youre expens
"To make this ymage, it shal be unsensible,
Stond lyke a stone, and byrdes that flyes ther abowth -
As I suppose it shal be right possible
Ther shall comyn sumtyme a full grete rowth -
Here unclene dunge shall thei there put oute
And lete it falle rith on the ymage face.
Loo, swech a guerdon I may now purchace
"That men shuld dredyn and foules shuld defyle!
But whan deth hath shake on us his blast,
And that oure mynd be passed a lytyl whyle,
I am aferd this werke shall not last -
Wherfor to make it me thinkyth but a wast.
To trosten in fame and in veynglory
It is but feynyng a fekyl flatery.
"And thou thei make it as fayre as thei can,
Yette shall dogges defylen it every day.
For thow it honoured be of every man,
The small childeryn that come by the way
Shul sumtyme make there ful fowle aray.
Shall I for this leve my God forevyr
And fro His frenchip my sowle now desevyr
"To worchep develes that standen in tempil here,
Kepte as beres? Do way! It shall not be -
There shall no joy ne peyne me nevyr stere
To leeve my Lorde, to leve my felicité,
To renne in apostasie. Fye! It will not be!
Lette be youre labour, sere, let be youre promysse;
Thei shall not maken me nevyr to do amysse.
"What, shuld my lyffe bettir ben in ese
For swech a statue? What shuld it profyth
Onto my soule - me thinkith it coude not plese
No good man, for thow it were to the syth
Ful delectable, with coloures schynyng bryth,
Onto oure dayes it shuld non encres,
Onto oure sekenes it shuld non reles,
"Onto oure lyffe it shuld be no myrth,
Onto oure deth it shuld non comforth be.
None avayle to end ne to byrthe:
To what part longith it of felicité?
If it mowte kepe my flesh in swech degré
It shuld not rote, I shuld it nevyr weyven,
But as profitable I wold it than receyven.
"I have a promysse made of a gretter Lorde,
Of gretter fame than I will now expresse,
And made aforne persones of recorde
In whech is graunted, truly withoute gesse,
A memorial of parfyth stabilnesse,
As ye shall knowe, many that here be.
Leveth youre besynes as now onto me -
Labour no more to wynne me to youre parte.
It shall not be, I wil be as I am,
It will not avayle youre sotilté ne youre arte -
He is my spouse whech is both God and man;
I am His mayde. I wil do that I can
To haven His love; He is my swetnesse,
He is my joy, He is my gentilnesse."
Chapter 9
Thoo chaunged the emperour both word and chere,
And to the mayden he seyd as I rehers:
"The benynglyer that we treten you here,
As me semeth, the more ye revers.
This shall ye have, shortly in a vers,
Deth or joy whech you levest:
If ye will leve in solas and in rest,
"Than shal ye now with hey devocion
Thurifye to that magesté
Of grete Appollo. His exaltacion -
As ye knowe wele, for it is no secré -
Redressith this word with hete whech that he
Spredyth upon iche mayde. Obey thertoo!
There is no choys; this thing must nedis be doo.
"Fayre spech avaylith noth to you in no wyse.
I wold wele with solas a led youre gentilnesse,
But at my promysse ye sett lytill prysse -
Ye schal repent it sothly, as I gesse.
There is the fyre: dispose you to holynesse,
Do it with good will; ye schal the soner purchace
Pardon of synne and encres of grace.
"If ye do noth, in schort tyme ye shal be dede,
Rith in example of the puple that is here:
Her hertis arne hangyng hevy as leed;
A man may perseyven rith be her chere
It may not passen lyghtly, swech matere -
It must be punchid, rith for fere of othir.
He shuld be dede thou he were my brothir."
Chapter 10
"Peyne is welcome to me," seyd she than,
And deth, eke, I wil it noth forsake,
For thou ye smyth, fle, sle, or banne,
It skyllith me rith noth for my Lordis sake
Swech myschevys for His love to take.
He toke for me mych more wrechydnes
Whill He lyved her in this worldly wyldernes.
"Poverté He suffered than full buxumly
Whan that He myth an had riches at His will;
The same myschef yete suffered nevyr I,
But if it com, I will obey thertyll.
Ageyn blasfemewrs stod that Lord ful styll,
Gevyng exaumpil til us of paciens:
Why shull His servauntis maken ony resistens
"Whan the wykyd purposyd to don hem wrong?
For His cause, His feyth, or His love
I am now redy, be it short or long,
To suffer despite, peyne, and reprove.
I wote wele it will falle to myn behove
Whan I am gone: the more I suffyr here,
The more joy shal I haven elleswhere.
"He offered himselve to the Fader of blys
An host ful clene, undefyled with synne,
And I wil offyr my body, for it is His,
Onto His plesauns whech I wold wynne.
Loke ye youreselve whan ye will begynne,
For I am redy in body and in goost:
Sle or flee, fry or ellis roste.
"There shall come tyme thu shalt repent full sore
Of cruel domes whech thu usest here.
Of thi power settest thu ful gret store,
Whech shal rew thee ful sore aftir thi bere.
Crystes servauntis hast thu brent in fere -
In tyme comyng therfor thu shal be schent
Whan that thu with fendes in helle shal be brent.
"The more thu thretyst, the more glad am I;
The moo peynes thu applyest to me,
The more my joyes encres sekyrly.
I go not alone whan that I part fro ye,
For whan I dey many of thi mené
Of thin howsold shal folow me ful sone.
Of Cryst my Lord have I askyd that boone:
"That of thi meny rith a full grete parte
Shul trow in Him and levyn her ydolatrye.
Wayte aboute with all thin sotyll arte -
Thu shal fynd that I make no lye.
Her soules fro peyn frely thus shul flye
Streyte to hevyn, and thu shalt brenne in helle.
This thing is trew that I ye now telle."
Chapter 11
Than was the emperour ny wode for ire.
He comaund his men that stodyn hem abowte
To fetche yerdis of ful sotyll wyre;
He chase men that were of body ful stouth.
Till hem he seyd right thus without douth:
"Take this mayden and strippe hir moder-nakyd.
I trow she shal sone of hir slepe be wakyd!
"Bete hir wele, rith for hir blasfeme
To feryn hem that trostyn in hir doctryne.
Lete hir no more spekyn of that Bethleme,
Ne of Galile shal she no more dyvyne.
I trow that peyne shal hir rather enclyne
Onto oure wille than may oure plesauns.
Do ye youre dever, thou that she falle in trauns!"
The tormentoures have taken hir on syde,
Made hir naked backe and armes thertoo.
With eyrend wandes, as fast as thei may glyde,
Thei beten hir body; the blode cam fast hir froo.
Whan thei were wery, than don fresh men moo:
Thus is she betyn for hir spouses love.
Sche trostith on comforth that comyth fro above.
These weren hir wordes: "Lord send me paciens,
Make me strong to suffir this penauns.
If that I have ronne in Thi offens
Lete it be purged be this same grevauns.
Thankyng be evyr unto Thi purvyauns,
Lord, maker of man and best.
Of Thi servauntis, I that am the leest,
"Thanke Thee more for this same betyng
Than for the welthes that Thu sent me befor,
For wele wote I that this tormentyng,
It is to me as a grete tresowre.
Farewel the werd now forevyr more:
Stele and robbe the goodes that I have;
I care noth now neythir for toure ne cave."
The tyraunt aske among this byttir peyne,
Whan all was blode and the beters wery were all:
"What sey ye mayden? Will ye yete susteyne
Youre elde heresye in whech ye be falle?
If ye will mercy of oure goddes calle,
Ye shall it have, and ellys new game -
Or that ye goo, I trow ye shal be tame."
Sche answerd thus: "Sere, know this wele:
That I am strenger in body and in goost
Than evyr I was to sufferne every dele
Al maner turment, wheyther thu wolt fry or roost.
But thu, my schamful dog ful of boost,
Do what thu wilt, for I shall stronger be
In my sufferauns than thu in thi cruelté.
"Bethink thee wele, on ilke maner syde,
Whom thu may fle or bryng on dawe
The Crysten puple that knowen is so wyde,
Whech do no wrong but kepyn a ful trew lawe.
I shall dey and passen this worldes wawe,
Folow my Lorde and dwelle with Him in blys,
Wher that no thing is thout ne do amys.
"Ther schall I dwelle in joye and in solas
Whan thu thiself schalt be in horrybyll peyne.
Thou schalt than desyre, but thu schalt have no grace;
Thou schalt be bounden with that wofull cheyn
Of obstynacy; thu schalte repente and seyn,
'Allas that evyr I wrowth swech torment
Onto youre hevenly blyssyd covent!'
"Thus schalt thu wayle qwan thu sest us in blysse,
And thu in sorowe withouten remedye,
Lyeng in peynes whech shul nevyr mysse,
This shalt thu knowe uphap hastyly.
Therfore fulfylle now of ire thi malencolly,
And I shall suffyr for the love of God of heven."
Thus seyd the lady with a ful bold steven.
Chapter 12
The emperour comaunded onto his servauntis anon,
"Ye take this mayd and into prison hir lede.
I will ye put hir in the depe cave of ston,
No man so hardy in no maner hir to fede.
I will," he seyth, "that this be done in dede:
All these fourty dayes whech that I shall ryde,
Lete hir no mete have to slake therwith hir pryde.
"Geve hir no drynke, ne lete hir no drynke have.
Whoso otherwyse do ageyn my comaundment -
So holy Jubiter mote my soule save -
Whan I come home, sone shall he be brent!
I will that ye fulfylle all myn entent
Even streytly, withoute delacion:
No man so hardy of no maner nacion
"Bere hir mete or drynke or eny lyght."
This cruell maundment and this same decré
Made the emperour thus ageyn the law o ryght
And is redyn forth with his mené
Up into the lond for cause whech that he
Had for to don as potestates have.
And thus is this mayde left alone in cave,
Withouten ony comforth or ony solas.
But Cryst hath noth forgetyn His wyffe
All these fourty dayes, of His good grace,
He wolde noth levyn hir like a caytiffe.
He sent down His servauntis fro the hows of lyffe -
His aungelis I mene - to comforth this mayde.
Swech maner wordes thoo til hir seyd thei:
"Oure Lord comaund that ye shuld be glade -
Suffir this desese with sobir paciens.
Mete shal ye have - ye nevyr swech had;
Lith hath He sent yow with oure presens.
The emperour for youre cause renneth in offens
Whech he shall sumetyme ful sore repent."
Thus was she comforted in hir torment
With lyght of heven and with hevenly mete,
With presens of aungelis. For thei that hir kepte,
Thei myth here the noyse, how thei hir trete.
Thei myth sene lyght as it gan strepe
Thorow the slarrys - thei myth not slepe.
So have thei merveyle of all this thing,
But rith noth told thei onto the kyng.
But to othir folke in the courte there
Sprong this word there, how that this mayde
Was kept fro lyth, in ful grete fere,
And fro mete eke, as I ere sayde,
And how the jayloures were so afrayde
Of certeyn lyght at the dongon dore:
This word in the courte goth aboute sore.
Chapter 13
The tydens are come onto the qwenes ere
Of the cruel sentens and of the lith eke,
How that the mayden without ony fere
Had answerd the clerkys in the tothir weke,
And how that the mayden with wordes meke
Had turned hem to Cryst, and how thei were brent,
And she for that cause in prison is ny shent.
The emperour was absent, as I seyd before,
Forth unto the lond redyn in hast.
Thei tolde the qween that he comaunded sore
That she neythir mete ne drynke shuld tast,
But for pure hungyr she must dey and wast -
These last wordes seyd he on the heth:
"No man gefe hir mete ne drynke ne lyght in peyn of deth."
This meved the qwen of very womanly peté
To have compassion of these peynes alle
Whech that this lady, be very cruelté
Of the kyng, had suffered. Thus is she falle,
The qwen, all in stody walkyng in the halle,
Thinkyng besyly upon this mayde,
And til hirself pryvyly thus she sayde:
"These Cristen folke, thei do no man wrong:
Alle that thei bye trewly therfor thei pay;
Onto her God thei syngyn ful goodly song
New and new, as men seyn, every day;
Wastfull are thei noth in no maner of ray;
In gloteny ne drunkchip wil thei nevyr be -
This same lyffe full wele it plesith me.
"And on of hem had I ben or nowe,
Had not oure lawe forfend us that scole.
If it were sene that I to hem drowe,
Men schuld seyn that I were a fole.
It myth turne me eke to mekyl dole
If that my lorde myth this changyng knowe.
But yete in my herte there begynnyth to growe
"A grete desyre for to sene this mayde.
Allas, how shall I fulfylle myn entent?"
Thus be hirselve the lady thought and sayde.
But in this stody even as she went
Happyd to come, as thow God had him sent,
A noble knyth, a wysman in all thing,
Pryvy of counsayle ryght speciall with the kyng,
Governowre of knytes, leder of hem alle,
A very fadyr to yong folke that shuld lere -
Porphery the storyes rith thus thei him calle.
Onto the qween he kneled with ful sad chere.
"I am glad," she seyd, "Porphery, that ye be here.
Ye ben a man that may mych avayle.
To you now I will tellen my pryvy counsayle.
"I am so trobilled newly with Crysten lawe
I can noth slepe, I may neythir ete ne drynke.
Every day, or it begynnyth to daw,
And eke all nyght, on this matere I thynke -
I trow I am ful ny my lyves brynke,
But I have comforte ryght thus." Thoo sche sayde,
"Goode Porphyry, me muste nedes se yon mayde.
"Orden ye the meene ryght as ye can -
Gefe the gaylere gold and sylvyr enowe;
Ordeyn so that ye and I may than
Speke this ladye. To Godd I make a vowe,
Loke my lorde nevyr so wrothe and rowe,
I must nedes speke hir or I schal be dede,
For in this matere myn hert is hevy as lede."
Porphyry seyde, "Madame, it schal be do:
I schal parforme this thing, trost in me.
In swech degré the dorys schal be ondoo
There schall no man be pryvy but we thre -
That is to seyn, the gaylere, I, and ye.
Drede yow noth, ye schal have your entent.
With this matere have I sore be torment:
"Me thinkyth grete wrong that this lady suffereth here
So horribily beten, kept fro mete and drynke,
And she no harme doth in no manere.
Ful often tyme she made me on hir to thynke
Sithin I hir herde the noble argumentis clynke
With the clerkys, whan she convycte hem alle.
Therfor, madame, falle what so befalle,
"We wil se hir, and with good leysyre,
And speke with hir this same nyte folowyng.
Grete giftis shall I geve to the gaylere
To kepe counsayle and speke of this nothing.
Goo ye to chaumbir and whan I geve warnyng
Comyth forth alone and lete youre women slepe -
Loke ye be redy whan I shall you clepe."
Chapter 14
Thus be consent the qwen and Porphiry,
Whan all men slepyn to prison are thei goo
Alle alone, rith seyth oure story.
Whan thei comen there, thei too and no moo,
So grete lith in prison sey thei thoo
That thei fallen down withouten spech or breth -
Thei hopyd nevyr to a ben so ny her deth,
For that brytnes was lych a lythnyng
Whech thei sey than, so wondyrfull and bryght
Her wytt is goo, and down in stameryng
Are thei falle for fere of that syght.
There was a savour, also, with the lyght;
Thei felt nevyre swech, the story seyth, certeyne,
For with that savour her comfort cam ageyn.
Tho spake the mayden swech wordes to hem:
"Ryse up syster, ryse up brothir in fere.
Cryst that was bore in the cité of Bethleem,
He hath callyd yow onto His servyse here.
Be glad and mery, be of ryght goode chere;
Oure Lord hath chose yow newly to His grace -
For that cause He sent yow to this place."
Thei behelden the mayde at that tyde,
How that sche sate on knes full mekely.
Many aungell sey thei on every syde,
With swete gummes anoyntyng hir softly;
Evyr as thei touchede with handys by and by
The flesch was helyd, the skyn closed ageyn,
With mech more beauté, sothely for to seyn,
Than evyr it was whyle that it was hole.
Thus can oure Lorde redresse all dolour
Whech men suffre, be it in hede or soole.
He can in lesse tyme than in halfe a houre
Hele oure sores, comfort oure laboure.
These folk there hadden a blysfull syght,
Ful of comforte, ful of hevynly delyte.
There satte besyde eke sundry ful elde men
Gevyng comforte ontyll hir hevynesse.
There were in cumpanye no mo than nyn or ten -
Of her noumbre have I no sekyrnesse -
Thei were sent thedyr, sothely as I gesse,
Because this woman was withoute solace,
Hir to comfort with summe hevynly grace.
On of hem helde in his hande a crown
Fayre and reall - we can it not dyscryve -
Ryght fro his hande Kateryne toke it down.
Onto the qwen thus she seyd belyve:
"This crown, systir, with these braunches fyve
Shall ye haven and weryn upon youre heed
As for asay; but aftir, whan ye be dede,
"Than shall ye have it for reward evyrlestyng."
Onto the old men tho turned that mayde
Whil she helde the crowne, in the settyng,
Thus tyl hem with meke voys she sayd:
"For these personys to my Lord I prayd
Thei shul be writyn in the boke of lyffe.
Therfor, seres, as I, Crystes wyffe,
"Graunted be patent, so wil I that ye wryth
These too names in that boke forevyr.
Clense her synnes, make so that hevy with
Fro my Lord nomore hem desevyre.
I pray to God that now mote thei falle nevyre
Aftir the tyme that thei reseyvyn the feyth."
On of the eldest ageyn onto hir seyth:
"O preciouse spouse of God that syttyth above,
O gemme reall schynyst in chastyté,
Whatevyr thu aske of Cryst that is thi love,
It cannot fayle, so precious to you is He.
Onto thi persone, therfore, trost thu to me:
This lady shall preve onto grete perfeccion,
This knyte shall have eke swech progression
"In vertuous lyffe that thorow his gode counsayle
Too hundred and moo fro her fals beleve
Shall turne to Cryst and ful sore for her synne wayle
Her fals feyth whech thei cannot preve."
Thus have these folke of Kateryne take her leve,
Walkyng to chaumbyr with hertis suspens,
Kepyng this matere alle cloos in sylens.
Chapter 15
This mayden is kepte in prison evyr stylle
With swech comforth as ye have herdyn here.
Of mannys comforth hath she neythir lettir ne bylle -
No man dare doo it, swech is now her fere.
Fourty dayes full thus was she kepyd there
Withouten mete, but in all these dayes
Of hevenly mete had she swete assayes.
For He that fedde Danyel the prophete in the lake
And caryede Abacuc so ferre oute of Jude
To bryng him vytayle, that same Lord myth make
That in prison this mayden thus fedde shuld be.
In storyes that I rede, in dyvers too or thre,
A fayre dowe fro heven brouth hir mete -
Wheythir bodyly or goostly it is hard for to trete,
For, as Austen seyth, that same seede
Whech oure faderes receyvyd in wyldernes,
Whech served hem than in stede of brede -
This very doctir seyth in sothfastnes -
That possybyll it is swech seedes more or lesse
Shuld be noryshyd in the eyyere be supposicion,
In the lowere part whech hath desposicion,
Sumwhat to the erde acordyng in nature:
This is his sentens, whoso wil it rede,
In his boke whech tretyth in Scripture.
I trow this same was don here in dede:
The Holy Gost this goodly mayden gan fede
With hevenly thyng whech had erdly kynd:
Thus wene I, but I wil no man bynd,
But if he will for to levyn my tale.
She was fedde - that have we of treuth.
If God had left hir in so byttyr bale
Withouten comforth it had ben grete reuth.
In that pryson she lyved withouten sleuth
Alle fourty dayes, but in the last of alle
As she in prayyer ful besyly gan calle
Onto Cryst, she saw an hevenly syth:
Oure Lord Himselve to pryson is com down,
With many aungellys shynyng wondir bryth,
With many maydenes of ful grete renown -
For very joy Kateryne fell in swown.
Oure Lord comforth hir with ful goodly chere:
"Dowtir, lokyth up whom ye se here.
"Know youre makere for whom alle this dysese
Ye have suffered. Take it evyr in pacyens -
The more ye suffyr, the more ye Me plese.
Kepe youre constans, drede no worldly offens,
Thinke 'not long,' leve noth with herte suspens.
I am with yow, I shall you nevyr forsake.
Many an hert ful redy shul ye make
"Onto My servyse or ye part fro this lyffe;
Grete nombre of puple shall ye returne -
Many a husbond, mayd, widow, and wyffe
Fro her maumentrye shall ye hem returne,
Onto My feyth ledyn hem to sojorne."
Whan this was do oure Lord went up to hevyne
With grete brythnes as it were a levyne.
She lokyd aftir tyll she sey no more,
Returnyth to prayyer, as evyr was hir usage,
It was to hir a ful grete tresore
That Jhesu lyst to make that pylgrymage.
Hir hertly sorow so for to swage
With His presens, blyssyd evyr He be,
And be this mayden comend to Him be we.
Chapter 16
Whan his causes arne brouth fully to the ende
With that he rode forth - Maxens now I mene -
He is comyn home. Anon he gan to send
For hir be sex knytys, rith as I wene.
If thei be fals, sone it shall be sene,
Thei that kepte hir; it shall hem ovirthynke
If it be provyd thei goven hir mete or drynke!
Alle the cyté is gaderyd to sene this syth,
A grete puple; summe for cruelnes,
Summe are there that han ful grete despyth
At the emperour for his wykkydnes -
Thei thinke this lady is put to grete distresse
For no cause only but for gode.
The emperour seyd with ful sturdy mood,
"Bryng forth this woman, bryng forth this concionatrix!
Bryng forth this scolde or a wycche; no man may turne hir herte!
In hir errour is sche made so fyx
That fro it no man may make hir sterte.
But if it she do, ful sore shall she smerte."
Thus is she brouth before his presens.
He supposed veryly that for hir abstinens
She had be pynyd even to deth.
Now lokyth she fresch with colour.
For very angyr his hert ny it sleth,
For she is fayrere than she was that hour
Whan he comaunde to ledyn hir to that tour.
"Traytoures," he seyd, "ye shal dey ilke one
But ye telle me in this place anon
"Who hath fedde ageyn oure comaundment
This froward caytyff that no man may evyr lede!
I swere be Jubiter, which is omnipotent,
It shal be wist who that dede this dede.
There shall no man for no maner mede
Do this thing whech we forfend soo."
He dede hem bynd with eyryn be too and too.
Than the mayden to excusen hem alle
Seyd to the kyng swech maner wordes certeyn:
"Thu art a lord, an emperour men thee calle;
Thu art ordeynyd all treuth to susteyn.
Thei that don ageyn thi lawe or seyn,
Hem shuld thu ponyshe, but innocentes non:
If thu dost, thu dost ageyn thi trone,
"For these men whech had kepyng of me
Brout me neythir mete ne drynke, thu undirstand.
I was susteyned all in anothir degré
Be my Lord whech is alle weldand,
For be His messangeres sent He me to hand
Alle my sustenauns - no dore myth hem lette,
To spere hem out thu canst not gette.
"Therfore these innocentis, do hem no torment;
Thei be not worthi, sere kyng, I sey thee whi:
Be holy aungellis my Lord me mete sent -
Non erdly creature was therto pryvy -
For hungyr He wold not suffyr me to dey.
He is my love, I am His forever;
Joy ne sorow shall us not desever."
Chapter 17
Tho these wordes the tyraunt with dobylnesse
Answerd ful fayre, that thei that stodyn abouth
Shuld not suppose in him swech cruelnes -
The sturdy hert in him whech was so stouth
Was hid with langage as venyn in a clouth;
Ful fayre wordes at that tyme he sayde:
"I am for yow ful sory, most goodly mayde.
"Ye born a kynges dowtir, of kyng and of qwene,
Cosyn to lordes many that servyn me:
The best born woman of this cuntré ye bene,
Thus are ye namyd, and all this with sotylté
Of certeyn wytchis - cursyd evyr thei be -
Is turnyd and lost, for othir joy is there non
But Jhesu Cryst, Mary, Petyr, and Jon,
"Whech are tratoures proved be the senate
And dampned to the deth for treson and heresy.
Whi will ye lesse thus youre honourabil astate
And gevyn attendans to witchcraft and lye?
It had ben bettir to a kepte the same sophye
Whech that ye lerned fyrst in scole.
This maner lernyng will prove yow a fole.
"Eke ageyn oure holy goddes servyse
Ye speke and cry, and that so malicyously,
With word and chere ungoodly hem despyse:
This causeth me, I sey yow sewirly,
That, notwithstand, so mote I have mercy,
That I wold save yow, I must nede punysh this pryde
Ryth for my puple that stand here besyde.
"Therfore chese now wheydir that ye will deye
With swech deth as law will dampne you too,
Or ellys youre feyth, if ye will reneye,
Than shall ye have mercy and worchip eke alsoo.
Com of anon, let se what ye will doo:
Offir to Jubiter, youre god omnipotent;
Youre tendyr body with yrn shall ellys be rent."
Chapter 18
The mayde answerd to the emperour ageyn:
"Thou that my lyffe be ful swete to me
Yet had I lever with a swerd be slayn
Than that my lyfffe in ony maner degré
Shuld offend the blyssyd majesté
Of my Lord God. I sey thee, Cryst is my lyffe
And grete encres, thow I dey on a knyffe,
"So that I dey in charyté and for His sake.
Therfore, thow deth come to me this houre,
For His lufe ful mekely I wyll it take;
I schall nevyr with myght ne with laboure
Gruch ageyn my Lorde, my savyoure.
Deth schall avaunce me with gret emolument.
Deth is a chaungoure: fro this lyffe present
"To bettyr he ledyth us. This is oure beleve:
Oure dedely bodyes whech are coruptible,
Whan that he comyth, he bryngeth hem to this preve,
That thei schall rest and rote as seyth oure byble.
Aftyr that restyng, yet it is possible
Onto oure Lorde the bodyes to rere ageyn
In fayrrer forme than evyr thei were seyn.
"Therfore, thu teraunt with thi feyned langage,
Do what thu wylt: put me to torment,
Brenne me with brondys, thin yre for to swage.
I wold offyr to Cryst whech is omnipotent
Summe plesaunt offeryng, summe delectable present;
Kyin and calveryn or schepe I all forsake -
Myn owe body to offeryng wyll I take.
"But for I may not lefully do it myselfe
As make this offeryng, therfore thi cruelté
Schall bydde thi servauntys eythere ten or twelfe
With veniable hert to make a hende of me.
Too Him that was offered in Calvery on a tre,
To Him I offyr my flesch, my blode, and my felle.
But for thi cruelnes, yet eft I thee telle,
"Thou schalt ful sore hereaftyr this thing repent
Not oonly in helle, whech thu schal be inne,
But here in erde schal thu fayle thin entent:
For thi dedys, whech are full of synne,
God schall rere a lorde the whech schall wynne
Alle thi londes fro thee and make the pore,
Take awey thi worchepe and thi tresoore.
"Yet schal he slee thee as thu art worthy:
That wykkyd heede he schall make of smyte,
Thi blode shall be offered than full solemply
Onto thi goddys ryght for despyte.
Loke my wordys that thu note and wryte:
This man that shall brynge thee thus a dawe
Schal be a lorde of the Crysten lawe.
"Yet may thu skape all this grete myschauns
If thu wyll turn ye and aske God mercy
Of thi wykedenes, if thu have repentauns
And forsake the maumentys whech stand on hye!"
These are the wordes whech that this ladye
Seyd at that tyme this man to convert,
But all hir wordes sett he not at hert.
Tho semeth it wele this lady for holynesse
Was so avaunsed whyll sche was lyvande
That God made hir as a prophetesse
To tell thinges that were aftyr comaunde,
For this same deth, as I undyrstande,
Had this same Maxence as sche seyd, trewly.
For in storyes I am well avysed that I
Have red of him that he went to Rome
To fyght with oon whech had governauns
Of all that cyté, and oonly onto his dome
Stode all that cuntré with all her pusauns,
Bothe Ytayle and Almayne, Ynglond, Spayn, and Frauns -
Constantyn he hyght, whech thoo baptyzed was
Of Seynt Sylvestere be a ful specyall grace.
This same Constantyne discoumfetyd in batayle
This forseyd Maxence, for all his pompe and pryde,
As this lady in prophecye whech myght not fayle
Had seyd before - the fame was bore full wyde
And merkyd full wele, the day and eke the tyde,
Of sundry men whech aftyrwarde full wele knewe
All that sche seyd was full stable and trewe. 2
Chapter 19
But whan these wordes were seyd of this mayde,
He cryed lowde to the puple abowte,
So was he with hir wordes afrayde.
What he shall do now is he fall in dowte.
Swech was his crye: "Fy on swech a rowte
That schall thus suffyr a woman here defame
Oure hye goddys, her servyse, and her name!
"How long schall we this whych thus susteyne?
How long schall we suffyr this cursidenes?
To all good leveres it schuld be very peyne
To here a woman with swech sturdynesse
Ageyn all men, the more and eke the lesse,
Thus evermore crye - ley on hondys, for schame -
Ye stand as men me thinkyth were lame!"
Thus cryed this tyraunt with full lowde noys,
Thus berkyd this dogg ageyn that hevynly name,
Ageyn Jhesu that was hangyd on croys.
His men abowte him thus gan he to blame:
"Com forthe anon; loke ye tak this dame,
Bete hir and rende hir with yrn and plumbys of lede -
Leve not youre labour tyll that sche be dede!"
Sche was bete now than befor his face
So dispytously that schame it was to see,
For many a man that stode thoo in that place
Myght not loke on hir for reuthe and pytee.
The tyraunt wold nevyr sey, "Now leve ye,"
But evyr he cryed, "of hir make an hende,
For if sche lyve oure puple wyll sche schende!"
Chapter 20
Thus is sche bounde and led forth in the town.
The puple that folowyde on hir thus gun crye:
"O noble mayde, why wyl ye not fall down
Onto the emperour and of him aske mercy?
We are full sory that youre fayre body
Is so rent, youre skyn is all to tore;
But ye aske mercy, ye are lost for evyrmore.
"What woman are ye that so despyse your age,
Youre body, your beuté, that ye set at nought?
Ye may have worchepe, ye may be set in stage
Ryght as a goddesse - where on is youre thowte?
And all the world for beuté schulde be bowte:
Here myght thei fynde it; thei nede no ferther seke.
Syth ye be wyse, syth ye be holde so meke,
"Why wyll ye not obey onto the kynge?
Bettyr it is to bowe than vylensly to be dede.
In youre bokes I trow ye lerned this thinge:
The grete dygnyté may ye not down trede;
It longyth to yow to obey onto your heede.
Syth it is ryght, why will ye not it doo?
We wolde do thus if ye councelled us soo.
"Ye lese the flour of youre virgynyté,
Ye lese that Godd plenteuously in yow sette,
Ye lese your herytage, ye lese youre degré,
All for a worde whech that is youre dette!
Ovyrsolenly think we that youre hert is sett
Whan that no counseyle may yow lede ne rayle,
Most specyaly whan it is your avayle."
Swech wordes spake the puple there abowte:
"Remembre yow, mayde, what ye schall now lese
All for youre hert, for it is so stowte.
Feynyth summe plesauns, syth ye may not chese -
Both body and bonys with betyng wyll ye lese;
Onys mercy may avoyde all this.
Thys is oure consell - it may yow bryng to blys.
"Youre whyght skyn that schyneth as the sune,
Ye wyll schende it and make it pale and wan,
For very betyng it wyl be all dunne;
Youre blode reall whech now that no man
In these dayes remembyr no hyer can,
This wyll ye spylle ryght upon the grounde.
Youre counsell in this is neythir sane ne sounde!"
Chapter 21
"O wykkyd counsell," seyd the mayde ageyn,
"Goo to your werkys and think no more on me.
Fy on beuté that wyll with wynde and reyn
Be steyned ful sone; my fayrnesse whech that ye
Compleyn so sore, thow that I lyve, pardé,
And fall in age, yet wyll it than apeyre.
Than for my flesch fall ye not in dyspeyre,
"But trost ye this as for a sekyrnesse:
All youre bodyes, be thei nevyr so bryght,
Shall dey and roote in her wretchydnes,
For this same deth longyth onto us of ryght,
Condempned for synne be the provydens and the syght
Of God, oure Lord. What, shall we than so wayle
For febyll beuté that so sone will qwayle?
"Every man must thus as of necessité
Deye and rote but of the speciall grace
Be graunted to summe of that deyté -
For summe with clennes be that there purchace
Swech dispensacion that in what maner place
They be leyd, thei shall nevyr roote,
Flesshe ne senowis, veynes, shete ne coote:
"This specialté is to hem graunted here
That kepe her bodyes fro all unclennes
Of lust and fylth and fro that love unclere
Whech thei calle lechery - no love, I gesse,
I calle it rather a wyld rage of wodnesse.
But now to purpos: thei that kepe hem clene,
Thei have this pardon graunted, as I wene.
"And if my Lord, my love, wil graunt me
That aftir my deth my flessh shall not roote,
Than am I more bound onto His deité
Than evyr I was and this I Him behoote:
There shall nevyr man make me so to doote
That I shall leve His love or His plesauns.
Therfore, ye puple, leve this observauns,
"Folowith no lenger, goth home to youre werke;
Wepe noth for me but for youreselve ye wayle.
I shall dey bodyly, but because I have the merke
Of Crystis baptem, I shall scape that grete asayle
Of all the fendys whech with grete travayle
Are ful besy oure soules for to gete
Onto her prison, where thei shall hem bete.
"This shall I escape and eft ryse ageyn
In fayrer forme than evyr ye sey in me -
I beleve and trost this thing as for certeyn.
Therfor, seres, for youreselve wepe ye,
For youre errour, that ye in derkenes be;
For if ye deye in this same errour,
Youre reryng ageyn shall cause you grete dolour."
Many of hem that here hir thus speke
Were converted to Cryst oure savyoure.
Ful pryvyly her maumentis dede thei breke
Whech that thei had in ful grete honour,
Withdrow hem fro synne and wayled her errour,
And pryvyly, sole hevy as ony leed,
For naturall fere that thei shuld noth be dede.
Chapter 22
Ther was a man in Alysaunder at that tyme,
Meyer and leder of alle the puple there
Undyr the emperour, puncher of all cryme,
Of whom the cyté had full mechill fere.
Venemhous in angyr was he as ony bere;
Dispitous, veniabill, without discrecyon:
Cursates thei called him thorowoute the town.
He sey the emperour in angyr and woodnes
And, of pure malice, sette him more on fere:
"O emperour," he seyd, "thi wisdam, as I gesse,
Shuld make thee ashamyd of this matere here,
That o wench shuld bryng thee thus in dwere -
Thu standyst stoyned as thow thu were bounde.
Lystyn my counsayle therfor now a stounde:
"This mayde Kateryne sey yett no torment
Whech shuld fese hir to make afrayed.
Therfor, sir, I telle you myn entent:
We shall make a thing so horrybyly arayed
It shal be dred or it be fully asayde.
Lete hir se onys this thing that I shall devyse -
She shall leve sone than, I trow, all this gyse.
"Comaund werkmen for to obey to me:
I shall be maystir, thei shall do her werke,
For I have conceyved now a new cruelté -
Ful sekyrly therof have I take my merke.
In this matere both controllere and clerke
Will I be and no man but myselve.
Werkmen will I have with me ten or twelve.
"This have I dyvysed in my besy thoght:
Foure grete qweles thus schul we make,
Swech maner wise shall thei be wrought
What maner thing that evyr thei take
Anon in pecys thei shul it rende and shake
With her sharpnes whech thei shul have,
For all the spokes that com fro the nave
"Shul have nayles sharp as a knyffe
I-fasted to the sercles round all abowth.
There is no man now that beryth lyffe,
Be his herte nevyr so styffe and stowth,
And he be onys ine he com not oute
Or he be deed and alle to pecys drawe,
Rith be experiens this thing shall we knawe.
"Sharp sawes shull thei have sumwhat crokyd,
Nayled onto the qwelys on the utter syde.
In swech maner forme thus shul thei be hokyd:
Ech of hem be othir ful sotilly shall glyde;
Summe shall com upward with her cours wide,
Summe shall go downward, and thus shall thei rend
All thing betwix hem and therof make an ende.
"Therfor lete these qweles be mad in hast.
Sett the mayd right be hem whan that thei goo -
Sche shal be afrayed or sche hem tast.
There is no man lyvyng hath sey swech whelys moo!
This same devyse shall plese youre lordchip soo,"
Seyd this Cursates. "Ye shull cun me thanke.
Yondyr will we make hem right on the banke."
The emperour comaunded, and that in hasty wyse,< |