Passus 18

Passus Decimus Octavus, etc. et Tertius de Do-bet.

olleward and weet-shoed Wente I forth after, As a recchelees renk That of no wo roughte, And yede forth lik a lorel Al my lif tyme, Til I weex wery of the world, And wilned eft to slepe, And lened me to a lenten, And longe tyme I slepte; And of Cristes passion and penaunce, The peple that of raughte, Reste me there, and rutte faste Til ramis palmarum. Of gerlis and of gloria laus Gretly me dremed, And how hosanna by organye Olde folk songen.

Oon semblable to the Samaritan, And som deel to Piers the Plowman, Bare-foot on an asse bak Boot-les cam prikye, Withouten spores other spere, Spakliche he lokede, As is the kynde of a knyght That cometh to be dubbed, To geten hym gilte spores, Or galoches y-couped.

Thanne was Feith in a fenestre, And cryde a fili David, As dooth an heraud of armes, Whan aventrous cometh to justes. Old Jewes of Jerusalem For joye thei songen, Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.

Thanne I frayned at Feith, What al that fare by-mente, And who sholde juste in Jerusalem. "Jhesus," he seide, "And fecche that the fend claymeth, Piers fruyt the Plowman."

"Is Piers in this place?" quod I. And he preynte on me: "This Jhesus of his gentries Wol juste in Piers armes, In his helm and in his haubergeon, Humana natura; That Crist be noght bi-knowe here For consummatus Deus. In Piers paltok the Plowman This prikiere shal ryde. For no dynt shal hym dere, As in deitate Patris."

"Who shal juste with Jhesus?" quod I, "Jewes or scrybes?"

"Nay," quod he; "The foule fend, And fals doom and deeth. Deeth seith he shal for-do And a-doun brynge Al that lyveth and loketh In londe and in watre.

"Lif seith that he lieth, And leieth his lif to wedde, That for al that deeth kan do Withinne thre daies To walke and fecche fro the fend Piers fruyt the Plowman, And legge it ther hym liketh, And Lucifer bynde, And for-bete and a-doun brynge Bale deeth for evere." O mors, ero mors tua.

Thanne cam Pilatus with muche peple, Sedens pro tribunali, To se how doghtiliche Deeth sholde do, And deme hir botheres right.

The Jewes and the justice Ayeins Jhesu thei weere, And al the court on hym cryde Crucifige sharpe. Tho putte hym forth a pilour Bifore Pilat, and seide, "This Jhesus of oure Jewes temple Hath japed and despised, To for-doon it on o day, And in thre dayes after Edifie it eft newe; Here he stant that seide it; And yit maken it as muche In alle manere poyntes, Bothe as long and as large, Bi lofte and by grounde."

"Crucifige!" quod a cachepol; "I warrante hym a wicche."

"Tolle! tolle!" quod another, And took of kene thornes, And bigan of kene thorn A garland to make, And sette it sore on his heed, And seide in envye, "Ave, Raby," quod that rybaud, And threw reedes at hym, Nailed hym with thre nailes Naked on the roode, And poison on a poole Thei putte up to hise lippes, And beden hym drynken his deeth yvel, Hise daies were y-done, "And if that thow sotil be, Help now thiselve; If thow be Crist and kynges sone, Com down of the roode; Thanne shul we leve that lif thee loveth, And wol noght lete thee deye."

"Consummatum est," quod Crist, And comsede for to swoune Pitousliche and pale, As a prison that deieth. The lord of lif and of light Tho leide hise eighen togideres. The day for drede withdrough, And derk bicam the sonne; The wal waggede and cleef, And al the world quaved; Dede men for that dene Come out of depe graves, And tolde why that tempeste So longe tyme durede; "For a bitter bataille," The dede body seide, "Lif and deeth in this derknesse Hir oon for-dooth hir oother. Shal no wight wite witterly Who shal have the maistrie Er Sonday aboute sonne risyng;" And sank with that til erthe.

Some seide that he was Goddes sone That so faire deide. Vere filius Dei erat iste. And some seide he was a wicche, "Good is that we assaye Wher he be deed or noght deed, Doun er he be taken."

Two theves also Tholed deeth that tyme, Upon a croos besides Crist, So was the comune lawe. A cachepol cam forth And craked bothe hire legges, And the armes after Of either of tho theves. Ac was no body so boold Goddes body to touche; For he was knyght and kynges sone, Kynde for-yaf that tyme, That noon harlot were so hardy To leyen hond upon hym.

Ac ther cam forth a knyght, With a kene spere y-grounde, Highte Longeus, as the lettre telleth, And longe hadde lore his sighte. Bifore Pilat and oother peple In the place he hoved; Maugree his manye teeth, He was maad that tyme To take the spere in his hond, And justen with Jhesus. For alle thei were unhardy, That hoved on horse or stode, To touchen hym or to tasten hym, Or taken doun of roode. But this blynde bacheler Baar hym thorugh the herte; The blood sprong doun by the spere, And unspered the knyghtes eighen.

Thanne fil the knyght upon knees, And cryde hym mercy; "Ayein my wille it was, Lord, To wownde yow so soore." He sighed and seide, "Soore it me a-thynketh, For the dede that I have doon I do me in youre grace. Have on me ruthe! rightful Jhesu!" And right with that he wepte.

Thanne gan Feith felly The false Jewes despise, Callede hem caytyves Acorsed for evere; "For this foule vileynye Vengeaunce to yow falle! To do the blynde bete hym y-bounde, It was a boyes counseille. Cursede caytif! Knyghthood was it nevere To mys-do a deed body By daye or by nyghte. The gree yit hath he geten, For al his grete wounde.

"For youre champion chivaler, Chief knyght of yow alle, Yilt hym recreaunt rennyng Right at Jhesus wille. For be this derknesse y-do, His deeth worth avenged; And ye, lurdaynes, han y-lost, For lif shal have the maistrye; And youre fraunchise, that fre was, Fallen is in thraldom, And ye, cherles, and youre children Cheve shulle nevere To have lordshipe in londe, Ne no lond tilye, But al barayne be, And usurie usen, Which is lif that oure Lord In alle lawes acurseth. Now youre goode dayes arn doon, As Daniel prophecied, Whan Crist cam, of hir kyngdom The crowne sholde cesse." Cum veniat sanctus sanctorum, cessabit unctio vestra.

What for feere of this ferly, And of the false Jewes, I drow me in that derknesse To descendit ad inferna; And there I saugh soothly Secundum Scripturas Out of the west coste A wenche, as me thoughte, Cam walkynge in the wey, To helle-ward she loked. Mercy highte that mayde, A meke thyng withalle, A ful benigne burde, And buxom of speche.

Hir suster, as it semed, Cam soothly walkynge. Evene out of the est, And west-ward she lokede, A ful comely creature, Truthe she highte, For the vertue that hire folwede A-fered was she nevere.

Whan thise maydenes mette, Mercy and Truthe, Either asked oother Of this grete wonder, Of the dyn and of the derknesse, And how the day rowed, And which a light and a leme Lay bifore helle. "Ich have ferly of this fare, In feith!" seide Truthe, "And am wendynge to wite What this wonder meneth."

"Have no merveille," quod Mercy, "Murth it bitokneth. A maiden that highte Marie, And moder withouten felyng Of any kynnes creature, Conceyved thorugh speche And grace of the Holy Goost, Weex greet with childe, Withouten wem Into this world she broghte hym; And that my tale be trewe, I take God to witnesse.

"Sith this barn was y-bore Ben .xxx.ti wynter passed, Which deide and deeth tholed This day aboute myd-day, And that is cause of this clips That closeth now the sonne, In menynge that man shal Fro merknesse be drawe, The while this light and this leme Shal Lucifer a-blende. For patriarkes and prophetes Han preched herof ofte: That man shal man save Thorugh a maydenes helpe; And that was tynt thorugh tree, Tree shal it wynne; And that deeth a-down broughte, Deeth shal releve."

"That thow tellest," quod Truthe, "Is but a tale of Waltrot. For Adam and Eve, And Abraham, with othere, Patriarkes and prophetes, That in peyne liggen, Leve thow nevere that yon light Hem a-lofte brynge, Ne have hem out of helle. Hold thi tonge, Mercy! It is but a trufle that thow tellest; I, Truthe, woot the sothe. For he that is ones in helle, Out cometh he nevere. Job the prophete patriark Repreveth thi sawes." Quia in inferno nulla est redemptio.

Thanne Mercy ful myldely Mouthed thise wordes, "Thorugh experience," quod she, "I hope thei shul be saved. For venym for-dooth venym; And that preve I by reson. For of alle venymes Foulest is the scorpion, May no medicyne helpe The place ther he styngeth, Til he be deed, and do therto, The yvel he destruyeth, The firste venymousté Thorugh venym of hymselve.

"So shal this deeth for-do, I dar my lif legge, Al that deeth for-dide first Thorugh the develes entisyng; And right as thorugh gile Man was bi-giled, So shal grace that bi-gan Make a good sleighte." Ars ut artem falleret.

"Now suffre we," seide Truthe; "I se, as me thynketh, Out of the nyppe of the north Noght ful her hennes Rightwisnesse come rennynge. Reste we the while; For he woot moore than we, He was er we bothe."

"That is sooth," seide Mercy; "And I se here by sowthe Where Pees cometh pleyinge, In pacience y-clothed. Love hath coveited hire longe, Leve I noon oother, But he sente hire som lettre, What this light by-meneth That over-hoveth helle thus, She us shal telle."

When Pees in pacience y-clothed Approched ner hem tweyne, Rightwisnesse hire reverenced, By hir riche clothyng, And preide Pees to telle hire To what place she wolde, And in hire gaye garnementz Whom she grete thoughte.

"My wil is to wende," quod she, "And welcome hem alle That many day myghte I noght se For merknesse of synne, Adam and Eve, And othere mo in helle; Moyses and many mo Mercy shul have, And I shal daunce therto, Do thow so, suster, For Jhesus justede wel, Joy bigynneth dawe. Ad vesperum demorabitur fletus, et ad matutinum lætitia.

"Love, that is my lemman, Swiche lettres me sente, That Mercy, my suster, and I Mankynde sholde save, And that God hath for-gyven And graunted me pees and mercy, To be mannes meynpernour For evere moore after. Lo here the patente!" quod Pees, "In pace in idipsum. And that this dede shal dure, Dormiam et requiescam."

"What! ravestow?" quod Rightwisnesse, "Or thow art right dronke? Levestow that yond light Unlouke myghte helle, And save mannes soule? Suster, wene it nevere. For God the bigynnere Gaf the doom hymselve, That Adam and Eve, And alle that hem suwede, Sholden deye down righte, And dwelle in pyne after, If that thei touchede a tree, And the fruyt eten.

"Adam afterward Ayeins his defence Freet of that fruyt, And forsook, as it weere, The love of oure Lord And his loore bothe, And folwede that the fend taughte, And his felawes wille, Ayeins reson and rightwisnesse, Recorde thus with truthe, That hir peyne be perpetuel, And no preiere hem helpe. For-thi lat hem chewe as thei chosen, And chide we noght, sustres; For it is bote-lees bale, The byte that thei eten."

"And I shal preve," quod Pees, "Hir peyne moot have ende, And from wo into wele Mowe wenden at the laste. For hadde thei wist of no wo, Wele hadde the noght knowen. For no wight woot what wele is, That nevere wo suffrede; Ne what is hoot hunger, That hadde nevere defaute.

"If no nyght ne weere, No man, as I leeve, Sholde nevere wite witterly What day is to meene. Sholde nevere right riche man, That lyveth in reste and ese, Wite what wo is, Ne were the deeth of kynde.

"So God, that bigan al Of his goode wille, Bicam man of a mayde Mankynde to save; And suffrede to be sold, To se the sorwe of deying, The which unknytteth alle care, And comsynge is of reste. For til modicum mete with us, I may it wel avowe, Woot no wight, as I wene, What y-nogh is to mene.

"For-thi God of his goodnesse The firste gome Adam Sette hym in solace, And in sovereyn murthe; And siththe he suffred hym synne, Sorwe to feele, To wite what wele was Kyndeliche and knowe it. And after God auntrede hymself, And took Adames kynde, To wite what he hath suffred In thre sondry places, Bothe in hevene and in erthe, And now til helle he thenketh To wite what alle wo is, And what is alle joye.

"So it shal fare by this folk, Hir folie and hir synne Shal lere hem what langour is And lisse withouten ende. Woot no wight what werre is Ther that pees regneth, Ne what is witterly wele Til weylawey! hym teche."

Thanne was ther a wight With two brode eighen, Book highte that beau-peere, A bold man of speche; "By Goddes body!" quod this Book, "I wol bere witnesse That tho this barn was y-bore, Ther blased a sterre That alle the wise of this world In o wit acorden, That swich a barn was y-bore In Bethleem the citee, That mannes soule sholde save, And synne destroye. And alle the elementz," quod the Book, "Herof beren witnesse, That he was God that al wroghte, The wolkne first shewed.

"Tho that weren in hevene Token stella cometa, And tendeden it as a torche To reverencen his burthe; The light folwede the Lord Into the lowe erthe.

"The water witnessed that he was God, For he wente on it. Peter the apostel Parceyved his gate, And as he wente on the water, Wel hym knew, and seide, Jube me venire ad te super aquas.

"And lo! how the sonne gan louke Hire light in hirselve, Whan she seigh hym suffre, That sonne and see made.

"The erthe for hevynesse That he wolde suffre, Quaked as quyk thyng, And al biquasshed the roche.

"Lo! helle myghte nat holde, But opnede tho God tholede, And leet out Symondes sone To seen hym hange on roode. And now shal Lucifer leve it, Though hym looth thynke; For Gigas the geaunt With a gyn hath engyned To breke and to bete a-doun That ben ayeins Jhesus. And I, Book, wole be brent, But Jhesus rise to lyve In alle myghtes of man, And his moder gladie, And conforte al his kyn And out of care brynge, And al the Jewene joye Unjoynen and unlouken, And but thei reversen his roode, And his resurexion, And bileve on a newe lawe, Be lost lif and soule."

"Suffre we," seide Truthe; "I here and see bothe How a spirit speketh to helle, And biddeth unspere the yates." Attolite portas, etc.

A vois loude in that light To Lucifer crieth, "Prynces of this place, Unpynneth and unlouketh! For here cometh with crowne That kyng is of glorie."

Thanne sikede Sathan, And seide to hem alle, "Swich a light ayeins oure leve Lazar out fette; Care and encombraunce Is comen to us alle! If this kyng come in, Mankynde wole he fecche, And lede it ther hym liketh, And lightliche me bynde. Patriarkes and Prophetes Han parled herof longe, That swich a lord and light Sholde lede hem alle hennes."

"Listneth," quod Lucifer, "For I this lord knowe. Bothe this lord and this light, Is longe a-go I knew hym. May no deeth hym dere, Ne no develes queyntise; And where he wole is his wey, Ac ware hym of the perils. If he reveth me my right, He robbeth me by maistrie; For by right and by reson The renkes that ben here Body and soule beth myne, Bothe goode and ille. For hymself seide, That sire is of hevene, If Adam ete the appul, Alle sholde deye And dwelle with us develes; This thretynge he made. And he that soothnesse is, Seide thise wordes. And sithen I seised Sevene hundred wynter, I leeve that lawe nyl noght Lete hym the leeste."

"That is sooth," seide Sathan; "But I me soore drede. For thow gete hem with gile, And his gardyn breke, And in semblaunce of a serpent Sete upon the appul-tree, And eggedest hem to ete, Eve by hirselve; And toldest hire a tale, Of treson were the wordes; And so thow haddest hem out, And hider at the laste. It is noght graithly geten, Ther gile is the roote. For God wol noght be bi-giled," Quod Gobelyn, "ne by-japed; We have no trewe title to hem, For thorugh treson were thei dampned."

"Certes, I drede me," quod the devel, "Lest Truthe wol hem fecche; Thise thritty wynter, as I wene, Hath he gon and preched. I have assailled hym with synne, And som tyme y-asked Wheither he were God or Goddes sone; He yaf me short answere. And thus hath he trolled forth Thise two and thritty wynter. And whan I seigh it was so, Lepynge I wente To warne Pilates wif What done man was Jhesus. For Jewes hateden hym, And han doon hym to dethe. I wolde have lengthed his lif; For I leved if he deide, That his soule wolde suffre No synne in his sighte. For the body, while it on bones yede, Aboute was evere To save men from synne, If hemself wolde. And now I se wher a soule Cometh hiderward seillynge, With glorie and with gret light,— God it is, I woot wel. I rede that we fle," quod he, "Faste alle hennes; For us were bettre noght be, Than biden his sighte. For thi lesynges, Lucifer, Lost is al oure praye.

"First thorugh the we fellen Fro hevene so heighe, For we leved on thi lesynges; Y-lorn we have Adam, And al oure lordshipe, I leve, A-londe and a-watre." Nunc princeps hujus mundi ejicietur foras.

Eft the light bad unlouke; And Lucifer answerede, "What lord artow?" quod Lucifer. Quis est iste? "Rex Gloriæ," The light soone seide, "And lord of myght and of man, And alle manere vertues. Dominus virtutum. Dukes of this dymme place, Anoon undo thise yates, That Crist may come in, The kynges sone of hevene!"

And with that breeth helle brak, With Belialles barres, For any wye or warde, Wide opned the yates.

Patriarkes and prophetes, Populus in tenebris, Songen seint Johanes song, Ecce agnus Dei. Lucifer loke ne myghte, So light hym a-blente.

And tho that oure Lord lovede Into his light he laughte; And seide to Sathan, "Lo! here my soule to amendes For alle synfulle soules, To save tho that ben worthi. Myne thei ben and of me, I may the bet hem cleyme. And though Reson recorde And Right, of myselve, That if he ete the appul Alle sholde deye; I bi-highte hem noght here Helle for evere. For the dede that thei dide, Thi deceite it made; With gile thow hem gete, Ageyn alle reson. For in my paleis Paradis, In persone of an addre, Falsliche thow fettest Thyng that I lovede.

"Thus y-lik a lusard, With a lady visage, Thefliche thow me robbedest; And the olde lawe graunteth That gilours be bigiled, And that is good reson. Dentem pro dente et oculum pro oculo. Ergo soule shal soule quyte, And synne to synne wende, And al that man hath mys-do I, man, wole amende; Membre for membre By the olde lawe was amendes, And lif for lif also, And by that lawe I clayme it, Adam and al his issue At my wille herafter, And that deeth in hem for-dide My deeth shal releve, And bothe quykne and quyte That queynt was thorugh synne. And that grace gile destruye, Good feith it asketh. So leve I noght, Lucifer, Ayein the lawe I fecche hem; But by right and by reson Raunsone here my liges. Non veni solvere legem, sed adimplere.

"Thow fettest myne in my place Ayeins alle reson, Falsliche and felonliche; Good feith me it taughte, To recovere hem thorugh raunson, And by no reson ellis. So that thorugh gile thow gete, Thorugh grace it is y-wonne. Thow Lucifer in liknesse Of a luther addere Getest bi gile Tho that God lovede.

"And I in liknesse of a leode, That lord am of hevene, Graciousliche thi gile have quyt; Go gile ayein gile. And as Adam and alle Thorugh a tree deyden; Adam and alle thorugh a tree Shul turne ayein to lyve; And gile is bi-giled, And in his gile fallen. Et cecidit in foveam quam fecit.

"Now bi-gynneth thi gile Ageyn thee to turne, And my grace to growe Ay gretter and widder; That art doctour of deeth, Drynk that thow madest.

"For I that am lord of lif, Love is my drynke; And for that drynke to-day I deide upon erthe. I faught so, me thursteth yit, For mannes soule sake; May no drynke me moiste, Ne my thurst slake, Til the vendage falle In the vale of Josaphat, That I drynke right ripe must, Resurrectio mortuorum; And thanne shal I come as a kyng, Crouned with aungeles, And have out of helle Alle mennes soules.

"Fendes and fyndekynes Bifore me shul stande, And be at my biddyng Wher so evere me liketh; And to be merciable to man Thanne my kynde asketh. For we beth bretheren of blood, But noght in baptisme alle. Ac alle that beth myne hole bretheren In blood and in baptisme. Shul noght be dampned to the deeth That is withouten ende. Tibi soli peccavi, etc.

"It is noght used in erthe, To hangen a feloun Ofter than ones, Though he were a tretour. And if the kyng of that kyngdom Come in that tyme There feloun thole sholde Deeth or oother juwise, Lawe wolde he yeve hym lif, If he loked on hym. And I, that am kyng of kynges, Shal come swich a tyme Ther doom to the deeth Dampneth alle the wikked; And if lawe wole I loke on hem, It lith in my grace Wheither thei deye or deye noght For that thei diden ille; Be it any thyng a-bought The boldnesse of hir synnes, I do mercy thorugh rightwisnesse, And alle my wordes trewe; And though holy writ wole that I be wroke Of hem that diden ille,— Nullum malum impunitum, etc.— Thei shul be clensed clerliche, And wasshen of hir synnes, In my prisone Purgatorie, Til parce it hote, And my mercy shal be shewed To manye of my bretheren. For blood may suffre blood, Bothe hungry and a-cale; Ac blood may noght se blood Blede, but hym rewe. Audivi arcana verba quæ non licet homini loqui.

"Ac my rightwisnesse and right Shul rulen al helle, And mercy al mankynde Bifore me in hevene. For I were an unkynde kyng, But I my kynde helpe, And nameliche at swich a nede. Ther nedes help bihoveth. Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo.

"Thus by lawe," quod oure Lord, "Lede I wole fro hennes Tho that me lovede And leved in my comynge. And for thi lesynge, Lucifer, That thow leighe til Eve, Thow shalt abyen it bittre;"— And bond hym with cheynes. Astroth and al the route Hidden hem in hernes; They dorste noght loke on oure Lord, The boldeste of hem alle, But leten hym lede forth whom hym liked, And lete whom hym liste.

Manye hundred of aungeles Harpeden and songen, Culpat caro, purgat caro, Regnat Deus Dei caro.

Thanne pipede Pees Of Poesie a note, Clarior est solito post maxima nebula Phœbus, Post inimicitias, etc.

"After sharpe shoures," quod Pees, "Moost shene is the sonne; Is no weder warmer Than after watry cloudes; Ne no love levere, Ne lever frendes, Than after werre and wo, Whan Love and Pees ben maistres. Was nevere werre in this world, Ne wikkednesse so kene, That ne Love, and hym liste, To laughynge ne broughte, And pees thorugh pacience Alle perils stoppeth."

"Trewes," quod Truthe; "Thow tellest us sooth, by Jhesus! Clippe we in covenaunt, And ech of us clippe oother." "And leteth no peple," quod Pees, "Perceyve that we chidde. For inpossible is no thyng To hym that is almyghty."

"Thow seist sooth," quod Rightwisnesse; And reverentliche hire kiste. "Pees and pees here! Per sæcula sæculorum." Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi, justitia et pax osculatæ sunt.

Truthe trumpede tho, And song Te Deum laudamus; And thanne lutede, In a loud note, Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum, etc.

Til the day dawed Thise damyseles dauncede, That men rongen to the resurexion. And right with that I wakede, And callede Kytte my wif, And Calote my doghter; And bad hem rise and reverence Goddes resurexion; And crepe to the cros on knees, And kisse it for a juwel, For Goddes blissede body It bar for oure boote; And it a-fereth the fend, For swich is the myghte, May no grisly goost Glide there it walketh.