The Agony in the Garden and the Arrest of Jesus
Here Jesus goth to Betany-ward, and his dyscipulys folwyng with sad contenawns, Jesus seyng:
Remembyr þe wordys þat I xal sey.
þe tyme is come þat I must gon
For to fulfylle þe prophesey
þe fendys power fro 3ow to flem;
Weche deth I wole not deney
Mannys sowle, my spovse, for to redem.
Be þis jorné þat I xal take.
Be my fadyr I am sent , sertayn,
Betwyx God and man an ende to make.
Nor shewe hym vnkendenesse be no wey.
In peynys for hym my body schal schake,
And for love of man, man xal dey.
Here Jesus and his discipulys go toward þe Mount of Olyvet; and whan he comyth a lytyl þerbesyde in a place lych to a park, he byddyt his dyscipulys abyde hym þer, and seyth to Petyr or he goth:
And weche tyl I come ageyn.
I must make my prayere here 3ou besyde.
My flesch qwakyth sore for fere and peyn.
Lord, þi request doth me constreyn;
In þis place I xal abyde stylle,
Not remeve tyl hat þu comyst ageyn,
In comfermyng, Lord, of þi wylle.
Here Jesu goth to Olyvet and settyth hym down on his knes, and prayth to his fadyr, þus seyng:
O fadyr, fadyr! For my sake
þis gret Passyon þu take fro me,
Wech arn ordeyned þat I xal take
3yf mannys sowle savyd may be.
And 3yf it behove, fadyr, for me
To save mannys sowle þat xuld spylle,
I am redy in eche degré
þe vyl of þe for to fulfylle.
Here Jesus goth to his dyscipulis and fyndyth hem sclepyng, Jesus þus seyng to Petyr:
Awake þi felawys and sclepe no more.
Of my deth 3e are not agast —
3e take 3oure rest and I peyn sore.
Here Cryst goth ageyn þe second tyme to Olyvet, and seyth knelyng:
Remeve my peynes be þi gret grace,
And lete me fro his deth fle,
As I dede nevyr no trespace.
The watyr and blood owth of my face
Dystyllyth for peynes þat I xal take.
My flesche qwakyth in ferflul case
As þow þe joyntys asondre xuld schake.
Here Jesus goth a3en to his discipulis and fyndyth hem asclepe; Jesus þus seyng, latyng hem lyne:
Fulleche myn erdon for to spede:
Delyuere me, fadyr, fro þis peyn,
Weche is reducyd with ful gret drede.
Onto þi sone, fadyr, take hede;
þu wotyst I dede nevyr dede but good.
It is not for me, his peyn I lede,
But for man I swete bothe watyr and blode.
Here an aungel descendyth to Jesus and bryngyth to hym a chalys with an host þerin.
Heyl, bothe God and man indede,
The Fadyr hath sent þe his present.
He bad þat þu xuldyst not drede,
But fulfylle his intent.
As þe Parlement of Hefne hath ment
þat mannys sowle xal now redemyd be,
From hefne to herd, Lord, þu wore sent —
þat dede appendyth onto the.
For mannys synne evyr offeryd xal be.
To þe Fadyr of Heffne þat is almythty
þi dyscipulis and all presthood xal offere fore the.
Here þe aungel ascendyth a3en sodeynly.
Fadyr, þi wyl fulfyllyd xal be;
It is nowth to say a3ens þe case.
I xal fulfylle þe prophesye
And sofre deth for mannys trespace.
Here goth Cryst ageyn to his dyscipulys and fyndyth hem sclepyng stylle.
Of sclep þu wylt make no delay.
Judas is redy wit h pepyl strong,
And doth his part me to betray.
Ryse up, serys, I 3ou pray,
Onclose 3oure eyne for my sake.
We xal walke into þe way
And sen hem come þat xul me take.
Amonge myn frendys, and stond alone,
All þe cher þat þu kanst make
Geve to þi bretheryn everychone.
Here Jesus with his dyscipulis goth into þe place; and þer xal come in a x personys weyl beseen in white arneys and breganderys, and some dysgysed in odyr garmentys,. with swerdys, gleyvys, and other straunge wepoun, as cressettys, with feyr, and lanternys, and torchis lyth; and Judas formest of al, conveyng hem to Jesu be contenawns; Jesus þus s[eyng]:
To seke hym þat wyl not fle.
Of 3ow I am ryth nowth agast.
Telle me, serys, whom seke 3e?
Whom we seke here I telle þe now:
A tretour, is worthy to suffer deth.
We knowe he is here among 3ow;
His name is Jesus of Nazareth.
Serys, I am here, þat wyl not fle.
Do to me all þat 3e kan.
Forsothe, I telle 3ow I am he,
Jesus of Nazareth, þat same man.
Here all þe Jewys falle sodeynly to þe erde whan þei here Cryst speke; and quan [he] byddyth hem rysyn, þei rysyn a3en, Cryst þus seyng:
Is howth 3oure comyng hedyr for me?
I stond beforn 3ow here echon
þat 3e may me bothe knowe and se.
Jesus of Nazareth we seke,
And we myth hym here aspye.
I told 3ow now with wordys meke
Beforn 3ou all þat it was I.
Welcome, Jesu, my maystyr dere,
I haue þe sowth in many a place.
I am ful glad I fynd þe here,
For I wyst nevyr wher þu wace.
Here Judas kyssyth Jesus; and anoon all þe Jewys come abowth hym and ley handys on hym and pullyn hym as þei were wode, and makyn on hym a gret cry all atonys. And aftyr þis Petyr seyth:
I drawe my swerd now þis sel.
Xal I smyte, maystyr? Fayn wolde I wete.
And forthwith he smytyth of Malchus here, and he cryeth, 'Help! Myn here, myn here!'And Cryst blyssyth it and 'tys hol.
Put þi swerd in þe shede fayr and wel,
For he þat smyth with swerd with swerd xal þe smete.
And þat þu xalt ful sore repent!
þu haddyst bettyr a ben vnborn now;
þi body and sowle þu hast shent.
Lo, Jesus, þu mayst not þe cace refuse:
Bothe treson and eresye in þe is fownde.
Stody now fast on þin excuse
Whylys þat þu gost in cordys bownde.
þu kallyst þe kyng of þis werd rownde;
Now lete me se þi gret powere,
And saue þiself here hool and sownde,
And brynge þe out of þis dawngere.
Bryng forth þis tretoure, spare hym nowth!
Onto Cayphas, þi jewge, we xal þe lede.
In many a place we haue þe sowth,
And to þi werkys take good hede.
Come on, Jesus, and folwe me!
I am ful glad þat I þe haue.
þu xalt ben hangyn upon a tre;
A melyon of gold xal þe not save!
Lete me leyn hand on hym in heye!
Onto his deth I xal hym bryng.
Shewe forth þi wychecrafte and nygramansye;
What helpyth þe now al þi fals werkyng?
3e don vnryth
So vnkendely with cordys to bynd me here,
And þus to falle on me be nyth,
As thow I were a thevys fere.
Many tyme beforn 3ow I dede apere —
Withinne þe temple sen me 3e have —
þe lawys of God to teche and lere
To hem þat wele here sowlys sawe.
And herd me preche bothe lowd and lowe?
But now as woodmen 3e gynne to rave
And do thyng þat 3e notwth knove.
Serys, I charge 3ow, not o word more þis nyth,
But onto Cayphas in hast loke 3e hym lede.
Have hym forth with gret dyspyte,
And to his wordys take 3e non hede.
Here þe Jewys lede Cryst outh of þe place with gret cry and noyse, some drawyng Cryst forward, and some bakward, and so ledyng forth with here weponys alofte and lytys brennyng. And in þe menetyme, Marye Magdalene xal rennyn to oure Lady and telle here of oure Lordys takyng, þus seyng:
O inmaculate modyr, of all women most meke.
O devowtest , in holy medytacyon evyr abydyng.
þe cawse, lady, þat I to 3oure person seke
Is to wetyn yf 3e heryn ony tydyng
þat was 3oure dayly solas, 3oure gostly consolacyon.
I wold 3e xuld telle me, Mawdelyn, and 3e knew;
For to here of hym, it is all myn affeccyon.
I wold fayn telle, lady, and I myth for wepyng.
Forsothe, lady, to þe Jewys he is solde!
With cordys þei haue hym bownde, and haue hym in kepyng.
þei hym bety[n] spetously and haue hym fast in holde.
A! A! A! How myn hert is colde.
A, hert hard as ston, how mayst þu lest
Whan þese sorweful tydyngys are þe told?
So wold to God, hert, þat þu mytyst brest!
Why xuld 3e sofere his trybulacyon and advercyte?
How may thei fynd in here hertys 3ow to pursewe
þat nevyr trespacyd in no maner degré?
For nevyr thyng but þat was good thowth 3e;
Wherefore þan xuld 3e sofer his gret peyn?
I suppoce veryly it is for þe tresspace of me.
And I wyst þat, myn hert xuld cleve on tweyn.
þe swerd of sorwe hath so thyrlyd my meende!
Alas, what may I do? Alas, what may I seyn?
þese prongys, myn herte asondyr þei do rende.
þat þu promysy[d] me whan a modyr þu me made?
þi blyssyd sone I bare betwyx tweyn bestys,
And now þe bryth colour of his face doth fade.
And dede he nevyr a3ens þi precept, but evyr was obedyent;
And to every creature most petyful, most jentyl and benyng, iwys;
And now for all þese kendnessys is most shameful schent.
May man not ellys be savyd be non other kende?
3et, Lord Fadyr, þan þat xal comforte myn wo
Whan man is savyd be my chylde and browth to a good ende.
þat wylt not spare þiself for þe love þu hast to man,
On all mankend now have þu pety —
And also thynk on þi modyr, þat hevy woman.
The Procession of Saints
O thou altitude of al gostly ryches!
O þu incomperhensibele of grete excyllence!
O þu luminarye of pure lyghtnes,
Shete oute þi bemys ontyl þis audyens.
O fily altissimi clepyd by eternalyté,
Hele þis congregacyon with þe salve of þi Passyon.
And we prey þe, Spiritus Paraclyte,
With þe fyre of þi love to slake all detraccyon.
To þe pepyl not lernyd I stonde as a techer,
Of þis processyon to 3eve informacyon;
And to them þat be lernyd as a gostly precher,
That in my rehersayl they may haue delectacyon.
Welcome of þe apostelys þe gloryous qwere:
Fyrst Petyr, 3oure prynce, and eke 3oure presydent;
And Andrewe, 3oure half-brother, togedyr in fere,
That fyrst folwyd Cryst be on assent.
O 3e tweyn luminaryes, Jamys and Jhon,
Contynualy brennyng as bryght as þe sonnbem,
With þe chene of charyté bothe knyt in on,
And offeryd of 3oure modyr to Cryst in Jherusalem.
Welcome, Phelypp, þat conuertyd Samaryan,
And conuertyd þe tresorere of þe Qwene Cavdas
With Jamys þe Lesser, þat apud Jherosolyman
Was mad fyrst patryarke by þe ordenauns of Cephas.
Heyl, Mathew the Apostel and also Evangelyst,
That was clepyd to þe flok of gostly conuersacyon
From thyrknes of concyens þat 3e were in fest,
With Bertylmew, þat fled all carnall temptacyon.
Heyl, Symeon Zelotes, þus be 3oure name,
And Judas, þat bothe wel lovyd oure Lord.
Thereffore 3e haue bothe joye and game
Wher nevyr is sstryff, but good acorde.
Heyl, Poul, grett doctour of þe feyth,
And vessel chosyn be trewe eleccyon.
Heyl, Thomas, of whom þe gospel seyth
In Crystys wounde was 3oure refeccyon.
Heyl, Johan Baptyst, most sovereyn creature
That evyr was born be naturall conseyvyng,
And hyest of prophetys, as wytnessyth Scrypture;
Heyl, [v]oys þat in desert was allwey cryeng.
2024 Mar 19 14:56:36