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|
Jesu Cryst, lord of myghttus most,
Fader and Son and Holy Gost,
Grant hem alle Thi blessyng
That lystenyght me to my endyng.
Yf ye that her ben awhyle dwell,
Seche a sampull Y wyll yow telle,
That he that woll hit undurstand,
In hart he schall be full dredand
For hys synnus, yf he woll drede
And clanse hym her of his mysdede.
In Yrlond byfyll sumtyme this case
Sethyn God dyeyd and from deythe arase.
Aftyr that tyme, as ye may here,
A thowsand and a hondryt yere
And nyn wyntur and fourty,
As it hys wretyn in tho story,
I woll yow tell what befell than
In Yrlond of a rych man;
Tundale was is right name.
He was a man of wykud fame.
He was ryche ynow of ryches,
But he was poore of all gudnesse.
He was ay full of trychery,
Of pride, of yre, and of envy.
Lechery was all his play,
And gloteny he loved ay.
He was full of covetyse
And ever slouthe in Goddus servyse.
Nou warkus of mercy wold he worch;
He lovyd never God, ne Holy Chyrch.
With hym was never no charyté;
He was a mon withowton pyté.
He loved well jogelars and lyers.
He mayntyniod ay mysdoers.
He lovyd ay contakt and stryve.
Ther was non holdyn wors on lyf.
Yett nold not God is sowle tyne,
For He hit boghthe from Hell pyne,
For His mersy passud all thynge.
But Tundale had an hard warnyng,
For as he in his transyng lay,
His sowle was in a dredeful way.
Ther hit saw mony an howge payn,
Ar hit come to the body agayn.
In Purgatory and in Helle
As he saw, he cowthe well telle.
But how he had a hard fytt,
Yf ye woll here, ye may whytt.
Tundale had frendys full mony,
But he was full of trichery.
Of his maners mony had dred,
For he was lythur in word and dede.
Throw ocur wold he sylver leyn;
For nyne schyllyng he wold have ten.
For frystyng wold he ocur take,
And nothyng leyn for Goddus sake.
When he sold his marchandyse,
He sold ay derur than ryghtfull prise.
He wold gyve dayes for his best,
But he sold the derur for the fryst.
Tundale, he went upon a day
To a mon to ascon his pay
For thre horsus that he had sold,
For the whych the penys wer untold.
That mon hym prayd of respite
Unto a day the deyt to quytte
And proferud hym sykurnes by othe.
Anon he grucchud and waxyt wrothe
For he had not evon tho pay,
But thratte hym fast and made gret deray.
But Tundale was bothe quynte and whys;
He sette the horsus to full hye prise
For he had no pay in honde.
To hym the mon in scripture hym bonde.
The mon spake to hym curtesly
And broghtte hym owt of is malycoly.
He sobort his hart that was so greyt
And made Tundale dwell at tho meytt.
And when he was seytt and servyd well,
A greytt evyl he began to fele.
At the fyrst mossel soo syttand
He myght not well lefte up his hond.
He cryed lowde and changyt chere,
As he had felud dethe nere.
To the weyf of the howse than callud he,
"Leve dame," he seyd, "for charyté
Loke me my sparthe wher that he stande,
That Y broghtt with me in my hande,
And helpe me now hethon awey,
For Y hope to dye this same day.
So harde with evyll am Y tane
That strenthe in me fell Y nane.
For now my hart so febull Y fele,
Y am but dede, Y wot full wele.
A Jesu Cryst, Y aske Thee mercy,
For can I now non odur remedy."
Ryght as he schuld ryse of that stede,
Anon in the flore he fell don dedde.
Tho that wer his frendys by sybbe
Herd of that cause that hym bytydde.
Thei comyn to hym with hart sore
And saw Tundale lygge dedde in the flore.
For hym wer the bellus yronge
And "Placebo" and "Dyrge" sone ysonge.
All his cloths wer of hym tane.
He lay cold dedde as any stan,
But of the lyft syde of Tundale
Was sumwat warme the veyne corale,
Wherfor sum hyld hym not all dedde;
Forwhy thei flytte hym not fro that sted.
But styll as a dedde mon ther he lay
From mydday of that Wenusday
Tyl the Setturday aftur the none;
By than wyst Tundale what he had done,
Then he lay dedde, as ye han hard,
But herus now how is sowle fard.
Wen Tundale fell don sodenly,
The gost departyd sone from the body.
As sone as the body was dedde,
Tho sowle was sone in a darke sted.
Full wrechudly hit stod allone;
Hit weput sore and made gret mone.
He wend to a byn dampnyd ay to payne
And never a com to tho body agayne
For the synnus that the body dyd,
That myght nether be layned nor hydde.
He had lever then al mydylerde
Ha ben agayne, so was he ferd
But he sawe mony a hydwys payne
Or he come to the body agayne,
But sum had more and sum had lasse,
As tho story beyrthe wyttnesse.
I Passus
As the gost stod in gret dowte,
He saw comyng a full loddly rowte
Of fowle fendys ay grennyng,
And as wyld wolfus thei cam rampyng.
He wold a flown from that syght,
But he wyst never whydur he myght.
Thes fowle fendys cam to hym ther.
The sowle for ferd made drury chyr,
And that was full lytull wondor;
He went to a byn ryvon asondur.
Thei wer so loghtly on to loke,
Hym thoghtte the eyrthe undur hym schoke,
Her bodys wer bothe black and fowle;
Full gryssly con thei on hym gowle.
Her ynee wer brode and brannyng as fyr;
All thei wer full off angur and yre.
Her mowthus wer wyde; thei gapud fast.
The fyre owt of her mowthus thei cast.
Thei wer full of fyr within.
Her lyppus honget byneythe her chyne.
Her tethe wer long, tho throtus wyde,
Her tongus honged owt full syde.
On fete and hondus thei had gret nayles,
And grette hornes and atteryng taylys.
Her naylys wer kene as grondon styll;
Scharpur thyng myght no mon fyll.
Of hem cam the fowlest stynk
That any erthyly mon myght thynk.
With her naylys in that plas
Ychon cracched other in the face.
Thei faghtton ycheon with odur and stryvon,
And ychon odur all toryvon.
Hit was a wondur grysely syght
To see how thei weryn all ydyght.
In tho word was no mon alive
That cowthe so grysely a syghth dyscryve.
Full grymly thei on hym staryd,
And all atonus thei cryd and rored
And seyd, "Gow abowte we yond wykyd gost
That hathe ey don owre cownsel most
And syng we hym a song of deyd,
For he hathe wroght aftur owre red."
Thei umlapud the soule abowte
And creidon and mad an hugy schowt
And seyd, "Thu synfull wrecchyd wyght,
In Hell a styd is for thee dyght,
For thu art now owre owne fere.
Thu art deythus doghttur dere.
And soo to fyr withowttyn ende
And to darknes art thu frend,
And to all lyght art thu foo;
Therfor, with us schalt thu goo.
This his thi felyschyp, thu caytyff,
That thu chase to thee in thi lyffe;
Therfor, with us schald thu wende
To dwell in Hell withowton ende.
Thu hast ybyn bothe fals and fykyll,
And thu hast seyd fals sclandur mykyll;
Thu lovedyst stryft nyght and day,
And thu and we lovyd ay.
Thu hast ylovyd myche lechery,
And myche thu hast usud voutry,
Pryde, envy, and covetys,
Gloteny with all odur vys.
Why wolddust not thu leyve thi trichery
Whyle thu levedust and was myghty?
Wher his now all thi vanyté,
Thi ryches, and thi grette mayné?
Wher is thi pompe and thi pryde?
Thi wyckydnes may thu not hyde.
Wer is thi streynthe and thi myght
And thi harneys soo gayly dyght?
Wher is thi gold and thi tresour?
Wher is thi catell and thi stor,
That thu wendyst schuld never thee fayll,
And now may all hit not thee avayle?
Thu lovyst neyver God, nor Holy Chyrch,
Noo warkys of mercy woldyst worch.
All the gud that in tho erthe is,
Nor all the matens ne all the masse
Myght not help thee from the peyn of Hell
For eyvermore therin to dwell.
That wykkyd thought that was in thi brest,
Woldyst thu never schowe it to no preste.
Wreche, thu thar not calle nor crye.
Thu wendust with us withowton mercy."
Ther the gost stod. Hit was darke as nyght
But sone he saw a sterre full bryght.
Tundale fast that sterre beheld.
Full wyll comfortud he hym feld.
Throw tho vertu of his creatur
He hopeyd to geyte sum socur.
That was the angell to beton is bale
The whych was emer of Tundale.
The angell sone with Tundale mett,
And full mekely he hym grette.
He spake to hym with myldde chere:
"Tundale," he seyd, "wat dost thu here?"
When Tundale herd hym his name call
And saw hym bryght schynyng withall,
He was fayn and began to crie
And seyd, "Swete fader, mercy!
These fowle fendys for my mysdede
To tho fyr of Hell thei wold me lede."
Then onsweryd tho angell bryght
And seyd to the drefull wyght,
"Fader and lord thu callust me now.
Why woldyst thu not er to me bow?
Y was thi yemer evon and moron,
Seython thu was of thi modur boron.
Thu woldyst neyver to me take tent,
Nor to non of myn thu woldest not sent."
Tundale seyd, and sykyd sore:
"Lord, Y saw thee never before,
Nor never myght Y here thee lowde nor styll,
Therfor, wyst Y not of thi wyll."
The angell that was of gret might
Chasyd won that was a fowle wyght.
Of all that fowle company
Ther semed non soo uggly.
"Tundale," he seyd, "this is he
That thu dyddest know and not me.
Aftur hym thu hast alwey wroght
But in me trystys thu ryght noght.
But Goddus mercy schall thee save,
Allthaff thu servydyst non to have.
Bot Y woll welle that thu wytte,
Thee behovyt fyrst an hard fyght."
Than was Tundale full glad.
But he was aftur full hard bystad,
For he saw peynus greyt and strong.
And sum of hem was he among.
Well he cowthe tell yche a peyn
When he come to the body ageyn.
Tundale therowt the angell hym drowgh,
For hym thoght he had drede ynow.
When that thei saw, tho fendys felle,
That he schuld not goo with hem to Hell,
Thei began to rore and crye
And sclanderyd then God allmyghty
And seyd, "Thu art not tru justyce.
Thu art fals and unryghtwysse.
Thu seydust Thu schuldust reward sone
Ylke mon aftur that he hathe done.
Tundale is owrus with skyll and ryght,
For he hathe sarvyd hus day and nyght,
Full wykydly has he levyd longe.
Yf we leyf hym, Thu dost hus wronge."
Thei rorud and crydon, so wer thei woo
That Tundale schuld wend hem froo.
Ychon faght and with odur dyd stryve
And with her naylys her chekus dyd ryve.
So fowle a stynke, as thei cast than,
Feld never before yrthely man.
Then seyd the angell to hym at the last,
"Tundale, com forthe and folow me fast."
Then seyd he and sykud full sore,
"Lord, than seyst thu never me more.
Yf Y goo behind thee, then am Y schent,
Thes fendys from thee wold me hent
And leyd me with hom to Hell peyn,
Then getust thu me never ageyn."
Then seyd the angell, "Have no drede.
Thei mey no wyse from me thee lede.
As mony, as thee thynkuth, semyth here,
Yet ar ther mo with naylys full nere.
Whylus that God is with us bathe,
Thei may never do hus skathe,
But thu may rede to fende thee with,
In the profecy of Davyd,
That ther schall fall of thi lyft syde
A thowsand fendys in short tyde
And of thi ryght syde semand
Schall fall also ten thowsand.
And non of hem schall com to thee,
Bot with thi eyn thu schalt hom see.
Thu schalt ysee, or we too twyne,
What peynus fallyth for dyverse synne."
II Passus
When the angell had told his tale,
Throw an entré he lad Tundale,
That was darke; they had no lyght,
But only of the angell bryght.
Thei saw a depe dale full marke,
Of that Tundale was full yrke.
When he hit saw, he uggod sore.
A delfull dwellyng saw he thore.
That depe dale fast he beheld.
A fowle stenke therof he feld.
Alle the grond, that ther was semand,
Was full of glowyng colis brennand.
Over the colys yron lay,
Red glowand hit semud ay.
Fowr cubytus thyk hit was,
Tho heyte of the fuyr dyd throw pas.
That yron was bothe large and brad.
For full strong payn was hit mad.
The heyte of the yron was more
Then all the fuyr that was thore.
That fyr was ever ylyche brannyng
And ever mor stronglyke stynkyng.
Of that fyr com more stynk
Then any erthely mon myght thynk.
And that was peyn to hym more
Then all that he saw or he com thore.
Apon that yron, as hit was seyd,
Fendus with the sowlus wer layd.
And in that stynke dyd thei brenne than
And wer molton as wax in a pan.
Thei ronnen throw fyr and yron bothe,
As hit wer wax throw a clothe
Thei weron gederud and molton agayn;
And fro thes therin to new payn.
Then seyd the angell to Tundale.
"Her may thu see mykyll bale.
For every mon is dight this payn
That fadur or modur has yslayn,
Or any odur throw cursyd red,
Or ben asentyd to any monus ded.
Of this geyte thei never reles,
For this peyn schall never ses.
In odur peyn yet schall thei be
Then this that thow may herre see.
But of this peyn schall thu not fele,
And yett thu hast deservyd hit full welle."
III Passus
Thei passyd forth from that peyn
And comyn to a greyt montteyn
That was bothe gret and hye.
Theron he hard a delfoll crye.
Alle that ton syde was semand
Full of smoke and fyr brennand;
That was bothe darke and wan
And stank of pyche and brymston.
On that todur syde, myght he know,
Gret was the forst and snow,
And therwith gret wyndus blast,
And odur stormus that folowyn fast.
He saw ther mony fendys felle
And herd hom loghtly rorre and yelle.
Thei hadon forkys and tongus in hand
And gret brochys of yron glowand
With hom thei drowyn and putton ful sore
The wrecchyd sowlys that ther wore.
Owt of that fyr thei conne hom drawe
And putton hom into the cold snowe,
And seython into the fyr agayne
Thei putton hom into odur peyne.
Her peyn was turnod mony folde,
Now in hotte, now in cold.
Then seyd the angell, that was soo bryght,
"This peyn is for thefus dyght
And for hom that robry makus
Or agayn mennus wyll her guddus takus
Or throw falsehed any mon bygylys
Or wynnyght mennus gude with wykyd wylys."
When thei hadon seyn that wykyd turment,
Furdurmore yette thei went.
IV Passus
The angell ay before con pas,
And Tundale aftur that sore aferd was,
Thei hyldon ey forthe the way
Tyll thei come to anothur valay,
That was bothe dyppe and marke.
Of that syght was the sowle yrke.
In erthe myght non deppur be.
To the grond thei myght not see.
A swowyng of hem thei hard therin
And of cryyng a delfull dyn.
Owt of that pytte he feld comand
A fowle smoke that was stynkand
Bothe of pycche and of brynston,
And therin sowlys brent, mony won.
That peyn hym thoght well more semand
Then all the peynus that he byforyn fand.
That peyn passyd all odur peynus.
That pyt stod betwene two monteynus.
Over that pyt he saw a bryge
Fro tho ton to tho todur lygge,
That was of a thowsand steppus in leynthe to rede
And scarsly of won fotte in brede.
All quakyng that brygge ever was,
Ther myght no mon over hyt passe,
Leryd nor lewyd, maydon ne wyff,
But holy men of parfyt lyff.
Mony sowlys he saw don falle
Of that brygge that was so smalle.
He saw non that brygge myght passe,
But a prest that a palmer was.
A palme in his hond he had,
And in a slaveyn he was clad.
Ryght as he on erthe had gon,
He passyd over be hymselve alon.
Then seyd the sowle to that angell tho,
"Y was never er soo wo.
Wo is me; Y not hom to passe,
So sor adred never er Y wasse."
The angell seyd to Tundale ryght,
"Drede thee noght her of this syght.
This payn schalt thu schape full well,
But odur peyn schalt thu fell.
This peyn is ordeynyd full grevos
For prowd men and bostus."
The angell toke hym be the hond swythe
And lad hym over, than was he blythe.
V Passus
Yette went thei foryt bothe togeydur,
But tho sowle wyst never wydur,
Be a longe wey of greyt merknes,
As the story beryth wyttenes.
Thei passyd that and com to lyght,
But he saw then an hogy syght.
He saw a best that was more to knaw
Then all tho monteynus that thei saw,
And his ynee semyd yette more
And bradder then the valeyys wore.
In all his mowthe, that was so wyde,
Nyne thowsand armyd in myght ryde,
Betwene his toskys, that were so longe,
Too greyt gyandys he saw honge.
The hed of the ton hyng donward
And tho todur is hed stod upward.
In myddys his mowthe stodon on yche syde
Too pylers to hold hyt up wyde.
Tho pylers weron sette on serewyse.
In his mowthe wer thre partyse,
As thre gret yatys that opon stode.
Gret flamus of fyr owt of hym yode,
And therwith come also fowle a stynke,
As tong myght tell or hert thynke.
Thei hard ther a dylfull dyn
Of mony thowsand sowlys withyn.
Gowlyng and gretyng thei hard within among.
"Welaway" was ever her song.
Lowd thei hard hem crye and yell;
Hor sorow myght no tong tell.
Befor that bestys mowthe was sene
Mony thowsandus of fendys kene,
That hyed hem with myght and mayne
Tho wrecchyd sowlys to dryve to payne.
With brennyng baelys thei hem dong
And with hem droffe to peynus strong.
When Tundale had that best yseen
And tho wykyd gostys, that wer so kene,
Tundale spake full delfully,
When he hard that hydos crie,
And seyd than to that angell bryght,
"What bytokenyth this hydos syght?"
The angell onswerud hym anon.
"This best is callud Akyron,
And ther throw byhovyth thee to wend,
Yff we schull goo owre way to the end.
Non from this peyn may passe quyte,
But cleyne men of lyffe parfyte.
This hogy best, as Y thee kenne
His sette to swolo covetows men
That in erthe makyght hit prowd and towghe
And never wenon to have ynowghe,
But evur coveton more and more
And that hor sowlys forthynkon sore.
In tho profecy hit is wryton thus,
That a best schall swolewo the covetows.
So muche thurst hathe that best
That all the watur most and lest
That evur ran est or west
Myght not stanche the bestys thurst.
Therfor, this payne is redy ydyght,
Namely for yche a covetows wyght
That wenon never ynow to have,
Ne holden hom payd, nor vochensaffe
That God hom sent of His grace.
Therfor thei schen say, 'Alas! Alas!'
For ay the more that thei han free,
Tho more covetows a mon may hem see.
The gyandys, that thu syst with ee,
Hongyng betwene his toskus so hye,
Goddys law wold thei not knowe,
But thei wer trew in hor owne lawe.
Of whom tho namus wer callud thus:
That ton hyght Forcusno and that toder Conallus."
"Alas," quod that sowle, "suche peyn have thay,
Whedur thei schull never thennus away."
Quod the angell, "Thee falon no glee;
And in erthe seche hast thu ybe."
When he had seyd thus, ther thei yode,
And byfor the best bothe thei stode,
But that was agayn Tundaleis wylle.
The angell vaneschyd and he stod stylle.
No wondur was thaw he had drede.
The fowle fendys comyn gud spede,
Thei token hym and bowndyn hym fast,
Withynne that best thei connen hym cast.
Awhyle within he most dwell.
Ther was he beyton with fendys fell,
With kene lyonus that on hym gnowe
And dragonus that hym al todrowe.
With eddrys and snakus full of venym
He was all todrawyn yche lym.
Now he was in fyr brennand,
Now in yse fast fresand.
The terys of hys ynee two,
Thei brendon as fyr. Hym was full wo.
Strong stynke he feld of brymston.
He was in peynus mony won.
With his nalys in angur and stryfe
Hys owne chekus he con al toryfe.
Of yche synne that evur he dudde
He was upbraydud. Ther was non hudde.
In grett wanhope was he ay.
He went nevur to have passyd away.
But sone he come owt of that peyne.
He wyst not how. He was full fayne.
Ryght now was he in full grett dowt,
And anon aftur was he withowt.
He lay awhyly as he wer deed,
And sone aftur he stod up in that sted.
As he hym dressyd so syttande,
He saw the angell byforyn hym stand.
He had comfort than of that lyght,
When he saw thys angell bryght.
The angell twoched sone Tundale
And gaff hym strynthe. Than was he hale.
Then lovyd he God of His grace
With terys sore gretand in that place.
He thus passyd that turment,
But fordurmore bothe thei went.
VI Passus
Anodur wey thei to con take,
Tyll thei com to an hydous lake.
That lake mad an hydous dynne
Throw wawys of watur that weron withyne.
Tho wawys of that watur roos as hye
As any mon myght with is ee ysee.
Therin wer howgy bestys and fell
That hydously con crye and yell.
Her ynee wer brode and brandon bryght,
As brannyng lampus don on nyght.
On yche a syde thei waytud ay
To swolow sowlys that was ther pray.
Over that lake then saw thei lygge
A wondur long, narow brygge,
Too myle of leynthe that was semand
And scarsly of the bred of a hand,
Of scharpe pykys of yron and stell.
Hit was grevows for to fele.
Ther myght non passe by that brygge thare,
But yeff her feet wer hyrt sare.
The hydous bestys in that lake
Drew nerre the brygge her pray to take
Of sowles that fell of that brygge don.
To swolow hem thei wer ay bon.
Cryyng and yelling and gowling yfere,
Tho noyse was wonder dredfull to here.
These hydous bestus wer wondur grette;
The sowlys that fell wer her mette.
Tundale saw the bestys all
And fyr owt of her mowthe walle.
The fyr that he saw from hem faulland
Made the watur all hotte walland.
He saw won stond on the brygge
With a burden of corne on is rygge
Gretand with a dylfull crye
And pleynud his synne full pytuysly.
The pykys his fett pykud full sore.
He dredyd the bestys mykyll mor
That hym to slee wer ay bowne,
Yef that he had falle of the brygge don.
Tundale askyd the angell bryght,
"What meneghth that hydous syght?"
The angell onswerud thus agayn,
"For hym is ordeynyd this payn
That robbyght men of hor ryches
Or any gudys that herys is,
Lewd or leryd, or Holy Kyrke,
Or any wrong to hem woll wyrk.
But sum haght more peyn and sum lase
All aftur that her synnus his.
Sum reckys not wat thei deyre
And woll not a kyrke forbeyre.
Sum ar fekul and sum unleylle.
Sum woll robbe and sum wol stell
Thyng that to Holy Chyrche fallys;
Sacrileggi that men callys
Thei that done wronge or vylony
Within that sted of seyntwary,
Or within the sted of relegyon
Maketh any dystruccioun,
All schull thei here turmentyd be
In this peyn that thu may see.
And he that thu syst on the brygge stand,
With tho schevus so sore gretand,
Fro Holy Chyrch he hom stale,
For thei wer teythe told by tale.
Therfor, byes he hem full dere
That dede throw peyn that he haght here.
Over the brygge schalt thu wend nowe
And with thee lede a wyld cowe.
Loke thu lede her warly
And bewar she fall not by,
For wen thu art passyd thi peyn,
Thu delyvur hur me agayn.
Thee behovys to lede huyr over alle,
For that thu thi gossypus cow stale."
Than spake Tundale with drury chere,
"A mercy, Y aske my lord dere.
If all Y toke hur agaynus his wyll,
He had hur agayn, as hit was skyll."
"That was soght," quod that angell,
"For thu myghttust not from hym hur stell.
And for he had is cow agayn,
Thu schalt have the lesse payn.
Yche wyckyd dede, more or lesse,
Schall be ponnysched aftur the trespass,
But God allmyghty lykusse noght
Nowdur ell dede, nor evyll thoght."
As Tundale stod that was ylle lykand,
The wylde cow was broght to is hande.
Maygrey is chekys hym byhovyth nede
To take the cow and forthe here lede.
Hym thoght hit was to hym gret payne,
But he myght not be ther agayn.
He dud the angell commandment.
By the hornes the cow he hent.
He cheryschyd the cow all that he myght,
And to the brygge he leduth hor ryght.
When he on the brygge was,
The cow wold not forthur pas.
He saw the bestys in the lake
Draw nerre the brygge her pray to take.
That cow had ner fall over that tyde
And Tundale on that todur syde.
He was wonderly sor aferd than
Of gret myscheffe. Up than thei wan.
Thei passydon forthe, that thoght hym hard,
Tyll thei come to the mydwarde,
Odur wylye he abovyn, odur wyle the cow;
Bothe the hadon sorow ynow.
Then mette thei hym that bare the corne
Ther went thei bothe. Thei hadon ben lorne,
So narow then the brygge was
That nowdur myght for othur pas.
To hom bothe hit was grette peyn,
For nowdur myght ther turne ageyn.
Nor nowdur dorst for all myddylerd
Loke byhynd hym, so wer thei ferd.
The scharpe pykys that thei on yede
Made hor feet sore to blede,
So that hor blod ran don that tyde
Into that watur on eydur syde.
He prayd Tundale of mercy
That he wold lette hym passe by.
He seyd, "Certus Y ne may,
For Y may not passe for thee away."
Thei wepton sore. Gret dele ther was,
For nowdur myght lette odur pas.
As Tundale stod with the cow in honde,
He saw the angell byfor hym stond.
The angell broght hym from that wo
And bad hym, "Lette the cow goo."
And seyd, "Be of gud comford now,
For thu schalt no more lede the cow."
Tundale schewyd his fett, that thei wer sore,
And seyd, "Lord, Y may goo no more."
Then seyd the angell, that hym ladde,
"Thynke how sore thi feett bledde,
Therfor dredfull is thi way
And full grevous, soghth to say."
Then towchyd he the feet of Tundale,
And as tyd was he all hale.
Then seyd Tundale, "A blessyd be thu,
That I am delivered from peyn now."
The angell seyd, "Thow schalt sone ywytte,
A grett peyn abydus hus yette.
Fro that sted woll Y thee not save,
That is full and more woll have.
And thydur now behovyth thee.
Ageynes that may thu not bee."
VII Passus
Tundale went forght, as the boke says,
Throw wyldernys and darke ways.
He saw an hows hym agayn
Was more than any montayn.
As an ovon that hows was mad,
But the mowthe therof was wyd and brad.
Owt at the mowthe the fure brast,
And fowle stynkyng lye com owt fast.
The lye was bothe grett and thro
And start a thowsand fote therfro.
The sowlys withhowten that brene to noght,
That wykyd gostys thydur had broght.
When Tundale had sen that syght,
He spake to that angell bryght:
"Now goo we to a delfull stedde.
Yondur Y holde the yatys of dedde.
Who schall delyver me from that sore?
Y wene to be ther forevermore."
Then seyd the angell gud,
"Thu schalt be delyvyred from that styd."
"Gret myght he hathe of Goddus grace
That may delyver me from that plas."
The angelle sone hym answerd,
"Tundale," he seyd, "be noght aferd.
Withynne yonde hows byhovyth thee to wend,
But yonde lye schall thee not schend."
When Tundale com that hows nere
He saw mony a fowle bocchere,
Evyn in the mydward the fyre thei stond
And scharp tolys in her hond.
Summe hade syculus, knyvus, and saws,
Summe had twybyll, brodax, and nawgeres,
Cultorus, sythus, kene wytall,
Spytyll forkus the sowlys to fall.
Thei wer full lodly on to loke.
Summe had swerdys and summe hoke,
Summe gret axes in here hond
That semyd full scharpe bytond.
Of that syght had he gret wondur,
How thei smyton the sowlus insondur.
Summe stroke of the hed, somme the thyes,
Summe armus, summe leggus by the kneys,
Summe the bodyes in gobedys small,
Yette kevered the sowlys togedur all.
And ever thei smoton hem to gobbetus ageyn.
This thoght Tundale a full grette peyn.
Then seyd Tundale to the angell tho,
"Lord, delyver me from this woo.
Y beseche yow that Y mey passe this care,
For sweche a peyn saw Y never are,
And all odur turmentus that ben schyll,
I woll suffur at yowre wyll."
Then seyd the angell to Tundale thus,
"This peyn thee thenke full hydous,
But in this peyn byhovus thee to bee
And eke in more that schalt thu see."
Of that peyn he thoght more aw
Then of all tho peynus that ever he saw.
But sone theraftur he saw thare
A peyn that he thoght mare:
He saw an hydous hwond dwell
Withinne that hows that was full fell.
Of that hound grette drede he had.
Tundale was never so adrad.
Wen he had seyn that syght,
He bysoght of that angell bryght
That he wold lett hym away steyl,
That he com not in that fowle Hell.
But the angell wold not for nothyng
Grant hym hys askyng.
The wykyd gostys that wer within
Abowt hym com with gret dynne,
With hor tolys and with her geyre,
That he saw hom byfore beyre.
Among hom thei tokyn Tundale
And hewyd hym in gobettus smale.
He myght not dye for that peyn,
For he was sone hole ageyn.
The most maystur of that hows hyght
Preston; that was his name ryght.
He saw and hard wyle he was thare
Gowlyng and gretyng and mykyll care.
The lye that he saw withowtton passe
Wastyd all that theryn was.
Ther was full delfull noyse and crie
And hongur for glotenye,
That all the sowlys that therin wer
Myght not stanche the appetyt there.
Tundale saw theryn allsoo
Men and wemen that wer full woo,
That peynud wer in her prevytys
And all tognawyn bytwene hor kneys.
He saw within that dongeon
Mony men of relygeon
That full wer of fowle vermyn
Bothe withowttyn and withyn.
Strong vermyn on hem he saw,
And on every lym beton and gnaw.
Tundale knew summe ther full wyll
That worthy wer that peyn to fele.
But he com sone owt of that peyn.
He wyst never how. Than was he fayn.
Then stodde Tundale in a darke stede,
That was callyd the cawdoron of drede.
As he satte, his syght was dym:
He saw his angell byfor hym.
He seyd to the angyll, "Alas!
Wher his the word that wryton was
That Goddus mercy schuld passe all thyng?
Here see Y therof no tokenyng."
Then answeryd the angyll and seyd anon,
"That word desseyves mony a mon.
Allthauff God be full of myght and mercy,
Ryghtwessnes behowyth Hym to do therby.
But He forgevyth more wykkydnes,
Thenne He findeth ryghtwesnes.
Tho peynus that thu haddus wer but lyght.
Grettur thu schuldyst have tholud with ryght."
Tundale than began to knele
And thonked God He schappud so wele.
Then sayd the angell to Tundale,
"Wherto schuld any mon geff tale,
Yf God schuld ay forgeffe hym sone
All tho synnus that he had done
Withowttyn any peyn to fele?
Thenne nedyd a mon nevur to do wele.
But thei that ar wykyd and synfull kyd
And no penans in body dyd,
God takyth on hem no venjans,
Yf thei hadon any repentans.
Throw His mercy ar thei save.
But yette the sowle som peyn schalt have.
Oftontymes from mony a wyght
Guddus, that han to hom be dyght,
Fro hym God hom hathe ytake
And dothe here his peynus slake,
For insted of peyn is worldus catell,
Yf that a mon thonke God of all yll.
So schall ther sowlys have lasse peyn
Wen dethe to grond hathe hom slayn,
And the seyner from all peyn wende
To the blysse withowtten ende.
But in the world is non, Y wene,
Be he of synne nevur so clene,
Noght a chyld, for sothe to say,
That was boron and deed today
Have peyn and drede he schall ryght well,
Thaw he schull not hom sore fele.
To love more God he woll be fayn
That soo may schape suche payn,
As the mon that dampnyd is
To Hell for his wykkydnes.
He schall suche joy in Hevyn ysee
That more icy myght nevur bee.
That schall greve hym more the syght
Then all the peyn that in Hell is dyght,
When he may see that grette blysse
That he schall forever mysse.
But the prest that tho palmer was,
That thu saw ovur the brygge pas,
He saw all the peynus stronge,
But non of hem was he among,
For he lovede God almyghty ay
And servyd Hym well to his pay.
Goddes joy may he not mysse,
For he hathe a trone of blysse."
When the angyll had thys told
To make Tundale the more bold,
The angell lad hym yett furdurmare,
Tundale folowyd with myckyll care
Passus VIII
A wondur hydous best thei saw,
Of whom Tundale had grett aw.
That best was bothe felle and kene
And more than he had evur ysene.
Two grett wyngys that wer blacke
Stod on eydur syde on his backe.
Two fett with naylys of yron and stell
He had, that weron full scharpe to fell.
He had a long nekke and a smalle,
But the hed was grett withall.
The eyn wer brode in his hed
And all wer brannand as fyr red.
His mowthe was wyd and syde-lyppud;
Hys snowt was with yron typpud
Fyr, that myght nevur slakyd bee,
Owt of is mowthe com gret plentee.
That best sat evyn in mydward
A lake, that was froson full hard.
That lake was full of gret yse.
Ther had sowlys full gret angwysse.
That best was bothe fell and gredy
And swollod tho sowlys that wer redy,
And when the sowlys wer theryn,
Ther wer thei peynod for her syn.
In strong fyr ther brand thei ay,
Too thei wer ner wastud away,
And than ycast fro that peyn
Tyll thei wer covert agayn.
Then wax thei blacke and bloo
For sorow and care and muche woo.
As wemen doght bothe meke and mylde,
When thei ben in berying of chylde,
Thei playnod hem and seydon, "Alas!"
Harde wer hor peynus for hor trespas.
For strong bytyng thei had withyn
With wood edderys and odur vermyn
That was withynne hem gnawyng ay,
As thei among snakys lay.
When thei her tymys myght know and see,
Thei made hem sorow then gaynyd no glee.
Thei made suche dylle sothe to telle,
That noyse of hem nygh fylled Hell.
So dylfull a noyse was never hard
Of men and wemen, so thei fard.
But her tyme behovys hem to kepe,
When the edders schulld owt of hem crepe,
Noght only throw prevy place,
But throw ylke a lym maketh her trace.
Throw hed and feyt, backe and syde,
Throw armus and leggys thei con glyde.
Throw wombe and brest thei wer crepand
And throw ylk a joynt that thei fand.
Thei crepud owt all attonus.
Thei sparud neydur flesse nor bwonus.
Tho eddres wer full gret and longe
With hedys of yron that wer full stronge.
Thei had mowthys of fyr glowand
And glowand tongus owt schetand.
Her taylys wer full of smale broddys
As wether hokys wer the oddes.
Whan the vermyn wold have owt crepon
At the holys that thei made opon,
Thei myght not wyn owt hor taylys,
Soo fast hyldon the crokyd naylys.
Thei turnyd her hedys in agayne thar
Throw ylke a joynt thei madon full bare.
Thei fretud hom within and hem gnew,
And all her bowell they owt drew.
Thei smyton her hedds owt and yn;
Her taylys thei myght not owt wyn.
When tho hokys thay hom ageyns tyt,
Thei turnedyn ageyn and toke ther bytt.
Fro hed to fotte ay was gnawyng,
Scrattyng, fretyng, fleyng, and styngyng.
To Hevon the noyse myght have ben harde,
So hydously thei crydon and sowle fared.
The sowlys thei crydon for grett angwis
And pleyndon gretly ther folys.
Thei wer not lyveryt of hor payn,
For hit was newed ay agayn.
Tundale seyd to the angyll bryght,
"Lord, this is a dredfull syght.
Me thynkyght this peyn well more
Then all tho peyn that Y saw before."
Then onsweryd the angell ageyn
And seyd, "Tundale, this peyn
Ys ordeynyd for men of relygyon
That kepud not well hor professyon;
For monkus, channons, prestus, and clerkus,
And for odur men and wemen of Holy Kyrke
That delytus hor bodys yn lechery
Or in any odur maner of foly,
And dothe not as ther ordyr wyll,
But ledus hor lyffe aftur ther wyll.
Thei schull have the same evermore
If thei amend hom not or thei goo before.
And for the same thow hast bene,
This schalt thu thole, that thu hast sene."
When the angyll had seyd thus,
The fendys, that wer full hydeous,
Within the best Tundale thei ladde,
And ther was he within full hard bestad.
Therin was he peynyd full long,
Brennyng in fyr that was full stronge.
Seththyn the best hym owt kest,
Then was he swollod as he wold brest.
All full of edders than he was,
And non of hem myght from odur passe.
But wen he shuld delyvered be,
Then he myght the angyll ysee
With mylde chere befor hym dyd stond.
He towched Tundale with hys hond
And delyvured hym of that bale.
Then seyd the angyll to Tundale,
"Com furdurmore and folow me,
For more peyn byhovyth thee to se."
Fordurmore thei went than,
But Tundale thoght hit no gam.
Thei come into a wey full derke.
Of that way was Tundale yrke,
For ther was no more lyght,
But that at come of the angyll bryght.
That way was strayt and longlastand
And worst of all that Tundale fand.
Afrontte unnethe thei myght passe
So narow of steppus don that was,
As thei had come from a hye hyll
Don into a deppe dongyll.
The more that Tundale folowyd ay,
The lengur hym thoght was that way.
Tundale feld a stynkyng ayre;
Then of his lyffe he was in speyr.
Then he sykud and wept full sore,
And seyd to the angyll thore,
"Lord, wydur schalt this way wend?
Me thenkyth this way hasse non ende."
Then onsward the angyll fre
And seyd, "Y wyll telle thee
How this way lythe and into what sted.
This is the way that lyght to the dedde."
Then seyd Tundale, "How may this be?
In boke we may wryton ysee
That the way that schall to the deythe lede
Ys bothe large and mykyll of brede.
Thys is now a narow way
That thu us ledust, and longe to asay."
Then seyd the angyll, "Wyll Y wate
That the boke spekys not of this gate,
But of the way of unclannes,
Of fleschely lust that dedly is.
Be that way men lyghtly wende
To the dethe withowttyn ende."
IX Passus
Then went thei forghthe and furdurmore
By that darke way that they in wore.
They come to a depe dongyll.
Of that syght lykyd hym full yll.
That dongyll full of smytheus stood,
And smythus abowtte hom yode
With grett homerus in hor hond
And gret tongus hoote glowand.
The smythus wer grymly on to loke.
Owt of hor mowthus com grett smoke.
These smythus wer full of sowlys within
That wepton and madyn grett dyn.
In grett fyres thei con hom cast
And sethen with homerus leydon on fast.
The master of that smythy was bold.
Vlkane was is name hold.
"Lo yond," quod the angyll, "with is gyn
Hathe made mony a mon do syn.
Wherfor with hym aftur thare dede,
Thei schull be peynod with hym in this stede."
Then asked Tundale, "Lord fre,
Schall Y among yond fendys be,
As odur that han servyd well,
So grett peynus for to fell?"
Then seyd the angyll sone,
"Tundale," he seyd, "thu hast so done
That thee behovyth to thole this turment."
And then to the smythy he went.
The turmentowrus com rennand
With furgons and with tongus glowand.
Betwene hom hent thei Tundale thar
And laddyn hym to muche care.
Tundale had thei with hom than
And leyt the angyll stond alan.
Into that smythy thei hym caste,
In myddys the fyr as hem liked best.
With gret balyws at hym thei blew,
As hit wer as yron ymulton new.
Tundale bygan to brenne yche lym,
But thowsandus thei brend with hym.
Sum of hom thei madyn nesche,
As is the watur that is fresche.
Sum wer molton as molton ledde,
Sum as yron glowyng redde.
Thei cast attonus full smartly
A thowsand sowlys full peteusly.
With yron homorus thei stode
And leyde on hem as thei wer wode.
A thowsand sowlys togedur thei dong
In a pott full wonderly long,
As men schull tempore yron and stell,
And that was a grysly peyn to fele.
That turment most thei long dre,
But yett myght thei not fully dye.
These turmentowrys wer fowle and blake.
Ylke onto odur in cownsell spake
What peynus thei myght the sowlys wyrke;
Of wykkyd labourus thei wer not yrke.
Yet thei dud hom more peyn.
Thei smyton hom all insondor ageyn.
Odur smythus wer ther that tyde
Of anothur smythy ther besyde.
Thei seyd, "Habbuth yowr wel her yowr pay.
Kest ye hom hydour, lett us asay."
Thai lepedon and roredyn and criedon fast
And bad tho sowlys to hom kast.
And so thei dedyn with greyt talent,
And odur smythus thei con hom hent
With hokys and tongus hootte glowand,
That thei hyldon in hor hand.
Hom thoght thei wer not smythyd ynoghe,
Up and don the develes hom droghe,
And in strong fyr thei brendon hom ay,
Tyll thei wer nye brand away.
But sone then aftur was Tundale
Delyvered owt of that greyt bale
Ageyns that grysly smythys wylle.
But all tho todur sowlys lafton stylle.
When Tundale com owt of that payn,
He was sone kevered ageyn.
Sone the angyllys voys he hard.
The angyll asked hym how he fard.
"Tundale," he seyd, "now may thu see
Werof thi synnus servyd thee.
Thee behowyt to have a gret angwys
For thi delytes and thi folys.
These that thu art delyvered froo,
Wer ordeynyd the peyn for to doo,
For with that same company
Foluyddyn thee yn thi foly."
Tundale stod and cowthe noght say,
For his wytte was ner away.
Then seyd the angyll as he stood,
"Looke thu be of comford gud.
Yf all that thu have had tene
In sum peyn that thu hast sene,
Grettur peynus yett schalt thu see
Heraftur that abydus thee.
Fro hem schalt thu schap full well,
But thee byhovyth sum to fell.
Thu schalt see or we wende
Sowlys in peyn withowttyn ende.
Hor mysdedys hom dampnyd has;
Therfor her song is ay 'Alas.'
But odur that soghton Goddys mercy
Passon that peyn well sycurly."
When the angyll had this sayd,
His hond upon Tundale he layd.
Then was he hoole and feld no soor;
Yett went they furthe furdurmore.
X Passus
As the angyll and he went in company,
Ther com a cold all sodenly.
Suche a cold Tundale feld
That his lymes myght hym not weld.
He was ner froson to dedde.
Strong darkenes was in that stedde.
Then was Tundale full ferd,
For more peyn never he hade.
For drede of peyn full sore he qwoke.
Hym thoght his hedde all toschoke.
All his peyn byforyn, hym thoght,
So muche as that grevyd hym noght.
Then he spake to tho angyll sone
And seyd, "Lord, what have Y done?
Y am so combret fott and hond
That Y may not upryght stond."
Then the angyll hym not onsweryd.
Then wept Tundale and was ferd.
He myght not steron lythe nor lym.
The angyll went away from hym.
When he myght not the angyll see,
Dele he made that was pyté.
He went forthe ay furdurmare.
To Helle the way lay evyn thare.
A deelfull criye he hard sone
Of sowlys that wer in peyn don,
That dampnyd wer in peyn endles
For hor synne and hor wykkydnes.
He hard a strong noyse of thondur;
To here that dyn hit was grett wondur.
Noo hart myght thenke, nor no tong telle
How hydous was the noyse of Helle.
Then was that sowle in grett dowtte.
He lokyd in every syde abowtte.
Ever whan come that hydous dyn,
He lokyd to have be takyn in.
Butt he saw hym besyde
A deppe putt muckyll and wyde.
Owt of that pyt he saw comand
A grett flam of fyr all stynkand.
Suche a stynke com of that hole
That he myght not long hit thole;
Owt of that dyke ther ros evon
A pylar that ner raght to Hevon.
All brannand that pylar was
With lye abowtte as a compas.
He saw fendys and sowlys flye
On that pylar bothe low and hye.
Thei flow ay up and don fast,
As sparkelys of fyr thoro wyndus blast.
And when the sowlys wer brent to askus all,
In myddys the dyke they con falle.
They keverdyn that and wer broyght agayn;
On this wyse was ever newyd hor payn.
Tundale had lever than all myddelerd
Have turned ageyn, soo was he ferd.
But ageyn myght he not goo,
Ne styr hys lymus to nor froo.
As he was clomsyd, styll he stod.
He was so ferd he was ney wod.
With hymselffe he began to stryve
And his owne chekys all toryve.
He grevdde, he gowlyd, hym was full woo;
For he myght not ageyn goo.
"Alas," he seyd, "what is tho best red?
For now Y wot, Y am but dedde."
Tho wykyd gostus, as thei flow
Abowt the peler in that low,
Thei hardon that gowlyng and that crye;
Thei come to hym full hastyly.
Brennand hokys with hom thei broght;
To turment sowlys wer thei wroght.
Thei gretton hym, that sowle that meyné,
"Kaytyfe, wealand myght thu bee.
Thu metust well with us at home;
Tell us now fro wennus thu come.
For thi wykkydnes and thi foly
In fyr to brenne art thu worthy,
For thu come in noo peyn yet to fele.
Here in Hell fyr we woll the kele,
For now with us schalt thu wende
And dwell in Hell withowtyn ende.
Of owre maneres we schull thee kenne.
Withowt kelyng schalt thu brenne,
Evermore to brenne in fyr reed,
For thu schalt never passe this steed.
Thee tharre not thynke, on no wysse,
Too be delyvered of this angwysse
In darknes schalt thu ever bee,
For lyghtnes schalt thu never see,
Trust thu not helpe to have,
For noo mercy schall thee save.
Wrechyd gost, we schull thee lede
To Hell gatys for thi mysdede,
For in thi lyffe thu bare thee ylle
And wroghttust all ageyn Goddus wyll.
Wherfor we wyll thee with us bere
Too Satanas owre mastere,
That lythe depe in tho pytt of Helle,
And with hym schalt thu ther dwelle.
He gaffe thee full evyll reyd,
That broght thee heddur to this steyd.
Ovur late to com woll hym falle
To delyver thee from us alle.
But now sykyr may thu bee
That thu schalt nevur more hym see."
The wykkyd gostus togedyr spake
And seyd, "This sowle wolle we take.
To Satanas cast we hym, that grymly groonus.
He schalle hym swolow all attoonus."
They brawneschedyn hym and manast fast
To Sathanas that sowle to cast.
Ther he lay depe in Helle pytte.
Thydour they saydon thei wold hym flytte.
A hydous noyse the fendys made.
Hor eyn wer brannand and brade;
As brennand lampus glowand they ware.
Full grymly con they on hym stare.
Hor teyt wer blacke, scharpe, and long.
With tuskus both grett and strong,
Her bodyus wer lyke dragonys;
Hor tayles wer lyke schorpyonys.
They had naylys on her krocus,
That wer lyke ankyr hokys
As they wer made all of stele;
The poyntus wer full scharpe to fele.
They had wyngus long and brade;
As backe wyngus wer thei made.
Whedur they wold, low or hye,
With hor wyngus myght they flye.
They grennyd on hym and bleryd here yye.
That wondur hit was that he dyd not dye.
Then com the angyll that hym ladde;
Tho fendys than fast away fledde.
"Tundale," he seyd, "thu wer full radde.
Now may thu make joy and be glad.
Thow was the sone of peyn full ryght,
And now thu art the sone of lyght.
For now forward sycur thu bee;
Goddus marcy schall helpe thee.
God hathe thee grantyd, thu mayst be feyn,
That thu schalt fele noo more payn,
But Y woll well that thu wette
Moo peynus schalt thu see yette.
Com foryt with me smertly;
Y schall thee schew thi most enmy
To monkynd that ever was,
That tysus al men to trespas."
A lytull furdurmore they yode,
And sone at Hell gatus thei stode.
Ther Tundale saw a greyt pytte,
That all this world myght not hit dytte.
"Com hydour," quod the angyll bryght.
"Thu schalt here see an hydous syght.
Stond ner this pytte, and loke adon.
Thu schalt see her an hydous demon.
That pytte is ay darke as nyght
And ever schall be withowttyn lyght.
Bothe fendys and sowlys, that therin is,
Thu schalt see bothe more and lesse.
And Satanas, that lythe bound in Helle grond,
Thu schalt hym see in a lytull stond.
But they schall soo ywrekyd bee
That non of hem schall see thee."
Tundale than to the pytte wentt
Throw the angyll commandmentte.
He lokyd don with grett aw.
Sathanas at the grond he saw.
So ugly was that loghtly wyght
Nevur ar was seyn so hydous a syght.
And so orybly he fard,
And such dull he saw ther and hard,
That yeffe a mon had varely
An hundryd hedys on won body
And as mony mowthus withall,
As to yche hed schuld falle,
And yche a mowthe above the chyn
Had an hundryd tongys within,
And ylke a tong cowthe all the wytte
That all men have that lyvythe yette,
All wer not ynow to tell
The peyn that he saw in the pytte of Hell.
But Tundale toke full gud kepe
On Satanas, that lay soo depe,
And avysede hym of that syght
On what maner he myght dyscrivyn hit aryght.
He cowthe not wetton, he was so grym,
In what maner he myght dyscryvyn hym.
Hym thoght he was as grett to know
As any best that ever he saw.
His body was bothe brood and thykke,
And as blakke as ever was pykke.
So blakk was non, as hym semyd than.
Hym thoght he had the schappe of a mon.
He was bothe grett and strong
And of an hundryt cubytes long.
Twenty cubytes was he brad,
And ten of thyknes was he mad.
And when he gaput, or when he gonus,
A thowsand sowlys he swoluwys attonus.
Byfor and behynd hym was kende
On his body a thowsand hande.
And on ylke a honde was ther seyn
Twenty fyngrys with nayles keyn,
And ylke a fyngur semud than
The leynthe of an hundryt sponne
And ten sponne abowt of thyknes;
Ylke a fyngur was no les.
Hys nayles semyd of yron strong.
Full scharpe they wer and full long,
Lengur than evur was spere of werre,
That armyd men wer wont to berre.
Mony teght he had that was so wondur.
With hom he gnew sowlys insondur.
He had a muche long snowt,
That was ful large and brod abowt.
And hys mowthe was full wyde
With hongyng lyppus on eyther syde.
Hys tayle was greyt and of gret lenthe,
And in hit had he full gret strynthe.
With scharpe hokys that in is tayle stykythe
The sowlys therwith sore he prekydthe.
Apon a gredyron full hot glowand
That fowle fende was ay lyggand.
Brennand colys lay ay undur,
But they wer dym, and that was wondur,
Many fendys as gloand folus,
With balys blowyng ay at tho colys.
So many a sowle abowt hym flow,
In myddys the fyr and in the low,
That Tundale had full gret farly
How the world myght bryng forthe so many.
Satanas, that is soo grym,
Lay ther bondon yche a lym.
With yron cheynus gret and strong
On that gredyron that was so long.
As Tundale thoght, the cheynus was
Lappud abowt with walland bras
And the sowlys that he hent
With hys hondes wer all torent.
He thrast hom insondur, as men dos
Grapbys, thrastyng owt the wos.
When he had grond hom alle
Into the fyr he lette hom falle.
And yeyt they kevered all ageyn,
And ever putte to new peyn.
Tundale hard and saw allsoo
How Satanas gronod for woo,
Forwhy that he was bond so fast.
At ylke a sykyng he con owt cast
A thowsand sowlys; from hym they flow
Owt at his mowthe into the low.
They wer sone scateryd wyde
Abowt hym ther on ylke a syde.
But that peyn was not ynow.
When he ageyn his ande drow,
Alle the sowlys he cast owt,
That wer yscateryd rond abowt,
He swalowyd hom ageyn ychon
With smoke of pycche and of brymston.
The sowlys that passyd owt of hys hond
Fellon into the fyr and brand.
When thei ageyn keveryd wor,
With his tayle he smot hom sore.
Thus peynyd he tho sowlys and dud hom woo
And hymselfe was peynyd allsoo.
The more peyn that he thare wroght
To tho sowlys that thydur were broght,
The more peyn his owne was,
And fro that peyn may he not passe.
The angyll seyd to Tundale,
"Here may thu see muche bale.
Satanas," he seyd, "this ugly wyght
That semyth soo muche unto thy syght,
He was the furst creature
That God made aftur His fygure.
Fro Hevon throw pryd he fell adon
Hydour into this depe donjon.
Here ys he bounde, as thu may see,
And schall tyll Domusday bee.
For yeffe they faylyd, that hym schuld hold,
Heyvon and erthe trobull he wold.
Of tho that thu mayst see with hym,
Sum they ar of Adames kyn
And odur angells, as Y thee telle,
That owt of Hevon with hym felle.
Ther ys neydur sowle ne fend,
But they ar dampnyd withowttyn ende.
And mony mo hydur schulle come
Or that hyt bee the Day of Dome,
That forsakyth Goddus law
And Hys warkys wyll not know,
Bothe lewyd men and clarkys,
That lovyth synne and cursyd warkys.
Thesse sowlys, that thu hast here yseyn,
In all the peynus they have beyn.
Now ar they cast on this manere
To Satanas to thole peyne here.
And whosoo is broght to thys kare
Schall dwelle therin forevermare.
Men that ar of muche myght,
That don to pore men wrong and unryght,
And woll algate fulfylle hor wyll,
Whedur hyt be gud or ylle,
And streyn the pore, that ar lesse,
Thei aron prynces of wykydnes.
In strong turment schull thei bee
With fendys, that have of hom posté."
Tundale seyd to the angyll sone,
"Syr, Goddus wylle behovys to be don,
But o thyng wolld Y fayne lere.
Why gevyth not God suche power
Too all they that aron hold gud men,
That throw ryght wollyn odur ken,
As He dothe wykkyd men tylle
That evermore wykkydnes wyll fullefyll?"
The angyll seyd that, "Sumtyme lettus
The wykkydnes of suggettus
That wolle not be reulyd welle,
Therfor gret peynus behovus hom to fele,
And for sumtyme God wolle noght
That the gud men of this world wer broght
To over muche worldys guddus havyng,
Lest here tyme of gudnes thei wold lesyng.
Thes fowle kaytyf, for all his myght,
His not callyd prynse of ryght,
But hys men mey hym calle
Cheffe of markenes and pryncypalle
All theys peynus that thu hast sene,
To reckyn hom all bedene,
That ordeynyd ben for monnus mysse,
Ar but lytyll to the regard of thys."
"Sartus," quod Tundale, "ye say well.
Y have more dred now as Y fele,
Of this syght and more awe
Then of all the peyn that evur Y sawe.
Therfore, Y pray yow that ye me lede
Fro this syght and fro thys drede.
Sum felows have Y here ysee
That sumtyme with me prevey have bee.
Now is hor wonnyng here full depe;
Y cleyn forsake hor felyschepe.
And to that had Y ben worthy
Ner that Jesu on me had mercy;
To that same peyn schuld Y have goo
And dwellyd therin forevur and oo."
This worde the angyll hard, that ther stood,
And spake to hym with myld mod,
"A blessyd sowle Y may thee calle,
For thu art passyd thy peynus all.
And all the syghttus that thee have deyred,
Therof now thar thee never be aferd.
Thu hast now seyn in sorow and stryffe
Men that wer of wykyd lyffe.
And now schalt thu see that blysse
That God hathe holy choson for Hys,
And therfor glad may thu be.
Cum now forthe and folow me."
Primum Gaudium
Tundale dyd hys commandment
And with the angyll forthe he went.
Sone wax hit bryght as the day,
And the darkenes was sone away,
And the drede that Tundale hadde
Was awey; than was he glad.
Sone he thonkyd God of Hys grace
And folowyd forthe the angylls trace.
By that they hadon gon a lytull stonde.
They saw a walle was feyr and rounde.
Full hye hit was, as Tundale thoght;
But sone within the angyll hym broght.
Men and wemen saw he thare
That semud full of sorow and care,
For they had bothe hongur and thurst
And grett travell withowttyn rest.
Gret cold they hadon alsoo,
That dudde hom sorow and made hom woo.
Hem wantedyn clothys and foode;
As dowmpe bestys, nakyd they yode.
Her penanse was hard to see,
But lyght they had grett plenté.
"Thys folke," quod the angyll, "aryn all save,
But penance yett behovys hom to have.
All leved they well in honesté,
Yette grevyd they God in sum parté.
Honestely and well wold they leve,
But ovur lytull gud wold they geve,
Nowdur to clothe nor to fede
The powre men that had gret nede.
Therfor wolle God sumtyme that they had peyn,
Thoro wykyd stormus of wynd and reyn,
And throw greyt hongur and thurst
But aftur He woll that they com to rest."
The angyll wold noo more say,
But went forght fast upon his way,
And Tundale folowd aftur fast.
They come to a gate at the last.
That gate was openyd hom ageyn,
And in they went. Tundale was fayn.
A feld was ther of feyr flowrys
And hewyd aftur all kyn colowrys.
Of how com a swete smylle,
Swettur than any tong may telle.
That plase was soo clere and soo bryght
Tundale was joyfull of that syght;
Full clerly ther schon the sonne
That well was hym that ther myght wonne.
Mony feyr treus in that place stood
With all kynnus fruyt that was gud.
That Tundale hard ther ay amonge
Full swet noyse of fowlys song.
Full mekyl folke ther was seen
That of all kynne syn wer mad clene
And delyvered owt of all kyn peyn. |