XXXVI. THE THREE MARIES.
Hic venient ad sepulcrum Maria Magdalene, Maria Jacobi, et Maria Solomæ; et dicit Maria Magdalene,
Swete systeryn, I ȝow beseche,
Heryght now my specyal speche;
Go we with salvys ffor to leche
Cryst that tholyd wounde.
He hath us wonnyn owt of wreche;
The ryght wey God wyl us teche
ffor to seke my lorde, my leche,
His blood hath me unbownde.
vij. devyls in me were pyght:
My love, my lord, my God Almyght,
Awey he weryd tho ffyndys wight
With his wyse wurde.
He droff fro me the fendes lees,
In myn swete sowle his chawmere I ches,
In me belevyth the lorde of pes,
I go to his burryenge boorde.
Maria Jacobi. My systeres sone I woot he was,
He lyth in here as sunne in glas,
The chylde was born by oxe and asse
Up in a bestys stalle.
Thow his body be gravyd undyr gras,
The grete godhede is nevyr the lasse,
The Lord xal rysyn and gon his pas,
And comfortyn his ffrendys alle.
Maria Salomæ. My name is Mary Salome,
His modyr and I systeres we be,
Annys dowteres we be alle thre,—
Jhesu, we be thin awntys.
The naylis gun his lemys feyn,
And the spere gan punche and peyn,
Ontho woundys we wold have eyn,
That grace now God graunt us.
Maria Magdalene. Now go we stylle,
With good wylle,
Ther he is leyd.
He deyd on crowche,
We wolde hym towche,
As we han seyd.
Tunc respicit Maria Magdalene in sepulcro, dicens,
Where is my Lord that was here,
That for me bledde bowndyn in brere?
His body was beryed rygh by this mere,
That ffor me gan deye.
The Jewys, ffekylle and ffals ffownde,
Where have thei do the body with wounde?
He lythe not upon this grownde,
The body is don aweye.
Maria Jacobi. To my Lorde, my love, my ffrende,
ffayn wolde I salve a spende,
And I myght aught amende
His woundys depe and wyde.
To my lorde I owe lowlyté,
Bothe homage and fewté
I wolde with my dewté
A softyd hand and syde.
Maria Salome. To myghtfful God omnypotent,
I bere a boyst of oynement;
I wold han softyd his sore dent,
His sydys al abowte.
Lombe of Love withowt lothe,
I ffynde the not, myn hert is wroth,
In the sepulcre ther lyth a cloth,
And jentyl Jhesu is owte.
Angelus. Wendyth fforthe, ȝe women thre,
Into the strete of Galylé;
ȝour Savyour ther xul ȝe se
Walkynge in the waye.
ȝour ffleschely lorde now hath lyff,
That deyd on tre with strook and stryff;
Wende fforthe, thou wepynge wyff,
And seke hym, I the saye.
Now, gothe fforthe ffast alle thre
To his dyscyplys ffayr and fre,
And to Petyr the trewthe telle ȝe,—
Therof have ȝe no dreed.
Spare ȝe not the soth to say,
He that was deed and closyd in clay,
He is resyn this same day,
And levyth with woundys reed.
Maria Magdalen. A, myrthe and joye in herte we have!
ffor now is resyn out of his grave,
He levyth now oure lyf to save,
That dede lay in the clay.
Maria Jacoby. In hert I was ryght sore dysmayd,
The aungel to us whan that he sayd
That Cryst is resyn; I was affrayd
The aungel whan I say.
Maria Salome. Now lete us alle thre fulfylle
The angelys wurde and Goddys wylle,
Lett us sey, with voys wul shrylle,
Cryst that Jewys dede sle,
Oure Lord that naylyd was on the rode,
And betyn out was his bodyes blode,
He is aresyn, thoughe they ben wode;
A, Lorde! ȝitt wele thou be!
Maria Magdalene dicit Petro et cæteris apostolis,
Bretheryn alle, in herte be glad,
Bothe blythe and joyful in herte ful fayn,
ffor ryght good tydandys have we had
That oure Lord is resyn agayn!
An aungel bade us ryght thus sertayn,
To the, Petyr, that we xulde telle,
How Cryst is resyn, the whiche was slayn,
A lovynge man evyr more to dwelle.
Maria Jacobi. To lyve is resyn ageyn that Lorde,
The qwyche Judas to Jewys solde;
Of this I bere ryght trewe recorde,
By wurdys that the aungel tolde.
Now myrthe and joye to man on molde!
Every man now myrthe may have!
He that was closyd in cley ful colde
This day is resyn owt of his grave!
Petrus. Sey me, systeryn, with wurdys blythe,
May I troste to that ȝe say?
Is Cryst resyn ageyn to lyve,
That was ded and colde in clay?
Maria Salome. ȝa, trostythe us truly, it is no nay;
He is aresyn, it is no les;
And so an aungel us tolde this day,
With opyn voys and speche expres.
Johannes. ȝa, these be tydynges of ryght gret blys,
That oure mayster resyn xulde be;
I wyl go renne in hast i-wys,
And loke my Lord yf I may se.
Petrus. ffor joye also I renne with the,
My brother John, as I the say;
In hast anon evyn forthe go we,—
To his grave we renne oure way.
Hic currunt Johannes et Petrus simul ad sepulcrum; et Johannes prius venit ad monumentum, sed non intrat.
Johannes. The same shete here I se
That Crystys body was in wounde;
But he is gon, where so ever he be,
He lyth not here upon this grownde.
Petrus intrat monumentum, et dicit Petrus,
In this cornere the shete is fownde,
And here we fynde the sudary
In the whiche his hed was wounde,
Whan he was take from Calvary.
Hic intrat Johannes monumentum, dicens,
The same sudary and the same shete,
Here with my syth I se bothe tweyn;
Now may I wele knowe and wete,
That he is rysyn to lyve ageyn.
Onto oure bretheryn lete us go seyn
The trewthe ryght hevyn as it is;
Oure mayster lyvythe, the wheche was slayn,
Allemyghty Lorde and kynge of blys.
Petrus. No lengere here wylle we dwelle,
To oure bretheryn the wey we take;
The trewthe to them whan that we telle,
Grett joye in hert than wul thei make.
Hic Petrus loquitur omnibus apostolis simul collectis.
Bethe mery, bretheryn, for Crystys sake,—
That man that is oure mayster so good,
ffrom deth to lyve he is awake,
That sore was rent upon the rood.
Johannes. As women seyd so have we fownde,
Remevyd awey we saw the ston;
He lyth no lengere undyr the grownde,
Out of his grave oure mayster is gon.
Omnes congregatus Thomas.
We have grett woundyr everychon
Of these wurdys that ȝe do speke;
A ston ful hevy lay hym upon,
ffrom undyr that ston how xuld he breke?
Petrus. The trewthe to tellyn it passyth oure witt,
Wethyr he be resyn thorwe his owyn myght,
Or ellys stolyn out of his pitt
Be sum man prevely be nyght.
That he is gon we saw with syght,
ffor in his grave he is nowth;
We cannot tellyn in what plyght,
Out of his grave that he is browth.