Part 28 (1/2)

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 wolves wild, That work on thee this woe?

For shame, who may thee s.h.i.+eld, 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!