John. Alas, for dule, my lady dear!
All for changèd is thy cheer,
To see this prince without a peer,
Thus lappéd all in woe;
He was thy food, thy fairest foine,[331]
Thy love, thy like,[332] thy lovesome son,
That high on tree thus hangs alone
With body black and blo,[333] alas!
To me and many mo,[334]
A good master he was.
But, lady, since it is his will
The prophecy to fulfil,
That mankind in sin not spill,[335]
For them to thole[336] the pain;
And with his death ransom to make,
As prophets before of him spake.
I counsel thee, thy grief to slake,
Thy weeping may not gain
In sorrow;
Our boot[337] he buys full bayne,[338]
Us all from bale to borrow.
Mary. Alas, thine eyes as crystal clear,
That shone as sun in sight,
That lovely were in lyere[339]
Lost they have their light,
And wax all fa'ed[340] in fear,
All dim then are they dight;
In pain thou hast no peer,
That is withouten pight.[341]
Sweet son, say me thy thought;
What wonders hast thou wrought
To be in pain thus brought
Thy blessed blood to blend?
Ah, son, think on my woe,
Why will thou from me go?
On earth is no man mo[342]
That may my mirth amend.
John. Comely lady, good and couth,[343]
Fain would I comfort thee;
Me mynnys[344] my master with mouth
Told unto his menyee.[345]
That he should suffer many a pain,
And die upon a tree,
And to the life rise up again,
Upon the third day should it be
Full right;
For thee, my lady sweet,
Stint awhile to greet,[346]
Our bale then will be beat,[347]
As he before has bight.[348]
Mary. My sorrow it is so sad,
No solace may me save:
Mourning makes me mad,
No hope of help I have.
I am redeless[349] and afraid
For fear that I should rave,
Nought may make me glad,
Till I be in my grave.
To death my dear is driven,
His robe is all to-riven,[350]
That by me was him given
And shapen with my sides.
These Jews and he have striven
That all the bale he bides.
Alas! my lamb so mild,
Why wilt thou from me go
Among these wolvés wild,
That work on thee this woe?
For shame, who may thee shield,
For friends now hast thou foe.
Alas, my comely child,
Why will thou from me go?
Maidens, make your moan,
And weep, ye wives, every one
With me, most sad, in wone[351]
The child that born was best:
My heart is stiff as stone
That for no bale will brest.[352]
John. Ah, lady, well wot I,
Thy heart is full of care,
When thou thus openly
Seest thy child thus fare;
Love drives him rathly.
Himself he will not spare,
Us all from bale to buy,
Of bliss that are full bare
For sin;
My dear lady, therefore of mourning look thou blyn.[353]
Mary. "Alas!" may ever be my song,
While I may live in leyd,[354]
Methinks now that I live too long,
To see my bairn thus bleed.
Jews work with him all wrong,
Wherefore do they this deed?
Lo, so high have they him hung,
They let[355] for no dread;
Why so?
His foeman he is among.
No friend he has, but foe,
My frely food[356] from me must go
What shall become of me?
Thou art warpyd[357] all in woe,
And spread here on a tree
Full hie;[358]
I mourn, and so may mo[359]
That see this pain on thee.
John. Dear lady, well for me
If that I might comfort thee,
For the sorrow that I see
Shears my heart in sunder;
When that I see my master hang
With bitter pains and strong;
Was never wight with[360] wrong
Wrought so mickle wonder.
Mary. Alas, death, thou dwellest too long,
Why art thou hid from me?
Who bid thee to my child to gang?[361]
All black thou mak'st his ble;[362]
Now witterly,[363] thou workest wrong
The more I will wyte[364] thee.
But if thou wilt my heart now sting
That I may with him dee,[365]
And bide.
Sore sighing is my song. For pierced is his side!
Ah, death, what hast thou done?
With thee will I fare soon,
Since I had children none but one,
Best under sun or moon.
Friends I had full foyn[366]
That gars me greet[367] and groan
Full sore.
Good Lord, grant me my boon,
And let me live no more!
Gabriel! that art so good
Sometime thou did me greet,
And then I understood
Thy words that were so sweet.
But now they vex my mood,
For grace thou canst me hete,[368]
To bear all of my blood
A child our bale should beat[369]
With right.
Now hangs he here on rood,
Where is that thou me hight.[370]
All that thou of bliss
Hight me in that stede[371]
From mirth is far amiss.
And yet I trow thy rede[372]
Counsel me now of this,
My life how shall I lead
When from me gone is
He that was my head
On high?
My death, now, come it is:
My dear son, have mercy!
Jesus. My mother mild, change thou thy cheer,
Cease from thy sorrow and sighing sere,
It syttes[373] unto my heart full sore;
The sorrow is sharp, I suffer here;
But the dole thou drees,[374] my mother dear,
Me martyrs mickle more.
Thus wills my father I fare
To loose mankind from bands
His son will he not spare,
To loose that bond was e'er
Full fast in fiends' hands.
The first cause, mother, of my coming
Was for mankind miscarrying,
To save them sore I sought;
Therefore, mother make no mourning
Since mankind, through my dying,
May thus to bliss be brought.
Woman, weep thou right nought,
Take there, John, unto thy child,
Mankind must needs be bought;
And thou cast, cousin, in thy thought.[375]
John, lo, there, thy mother mild!
Blue and bloody thus am I beat,
Swongen with swepys[376] and all a-sweat,
Mankind, for thy misdeed.
For my love's sake when wouldst thou let,[377]
And thy heart sadly set,
Since I thus for thee have bled?
Such life for sooth, I lead,
That nothing may I more.
This I suffer for thy need,
To mark thee, man, thy meed!
Now thirst I wonder sore.