XXXIII. THE DESCENT INTO HELL.
Anima Christi. Now alle mankende, in herte be glad,
Withe alle merthis that may be had,
ffor mannys sowle that was be-stad
In the logge of helle.
Now xal I ryse to lyve agayn,
From peyn to pleys of paradyse pleyn;
Therfore, man, in hert be fayn.
In merthe now xalt thou dwelle!
I am the sowle of Cryst Jhesu,
The whiche is kynge of alle vertu;
My body is ded, the Jewys it slew,
That hangyth ȝitt on the rode!
Rent and torn, al blody red,
ffor mannys sake my body is deed,
ffor mannys helpe my body is bred,
And sowle drynke my bodyes blode.
Thow my body be now sclayn,
The thrydde day, this is certayn,
I xal reyse my body agayn,
To lyve as I ȝow say!
Now wole I go streyth to helle,
And feche ffrom the fendys felle,
Alle my frendys that therin dwelle,
The sowle goth to helle gatys and seyth, “Attollite portas, principes, vestras, et elevamini, portæ eternales, et introibit Rex Gloriæ.”
Ondothe ȝoure ȝatys of sorwatorie!
On mannys sowle I have memorie,
Here comyth now the kynge of glorye,
These gates for to breke!
ȝe develys that am here withinne,
Helle gatys ȝe xal unpynne,
I xal delyvere mannys kynne, —
ffrom wo I wole hem wreke!
Belyalle. Alas! alas! out and harrow!
Onto thi byddynge must we bow,
That thou art God now do we know,
Of the had we grett dowte.
Aȝens the may no thynge stonde,
Alle thynge obeyth to thyn honde,
Bothe hevyn and helle, watyr and londe, —
Alle thynge must to the lowte.
Anima Cristi. Aȝens me it were but wast
To holdyn or to stondyn fast;
Helle logge may not last
Aȝens the kynge of glorye.
Thi derke dore down I throwe,
My fayr ffrendys now wele I knowe,
I xal hem brynge reknyd be rowe
Out of here purcatorye!