Pearl

Perle, plesaunte to prynces paye To clanly clos in golde so clere, Oute of Oryent, I hardyly saye, Ne proved I never her precios pere. line5So rounde, so reken in uche araye, So smal, so smothe her sydes were, Queresoever I jugged gemmes gaye I sette hyr sengeley in synglure. Allas, I leste hyr in on erbere; line10Thurgh gresse to grounde hit fro me yot. I dewyne, fordolked of luf-daungere Of that pryvy perle withouten spot.

Sythen in that spote hit fro me sprange, Ofte haf I wayted, wyschande that wele line15That wont was whyle devoyde my wrange And heven my happe and al my hele. That dos bot thrych my herte thrange, My breste in bale bot bolne and bele. Yet thoght me never so swete a sange line20As stylle stounde let to me stele; Forsothe, ther fleten to me fele To thenke hir color so clad in clot. O moul, thou marres a myry juele, My privy perle wythouten spotte.

line25That spot of spyses mot nedes sprede Ther such ryches to rot is runne: Blomes blayke and blwe and rede Ther schyne ful schyr agayn the sunne. Flor and fryte may not be fede line30Ther hit doun drof in moldes dunne; For uch gresse mot grow of graynes dede, No whete were elles to wones wonne. Of goud uche goude is ay bygonne — So semly a sede moght fayly not line35That spryngande spyces up ne sponne Of that precios perle wythouten spotte.

To that spot that I in speche expoun I entred in that erber grene In Augoste in a hygh seysoun line40Quen corne is corven wyth crokes kene. On huyle ther perle hit trendeled doun Schadowed this wortes ful schyre and schene: Gilofre, gyngure, and gromylyoun, And pyonys powdered ay bytwene. line45Yif hit was semly on to sene A fayr reflayr yet fro hit flot. Ther wonys that worthyly, I wot and wene, My precious perle wythouten spot.

Bifore that spot my honde I spenned line50For care ful colde that to me caght. A deuely dele in my hert denned Thagh resoun sette myselven saght. I playned my perle that ther was penned Wyth fyrce skylles that faste faght. line55Thagh kynde of Kryst me comfort kenned, My wreched wylle in wo ay wraghte. I felle upon that floury flaght — Suche odour to my hernes schot, I slode upon a slepyng-slaghte line60On that precios perle wythouten spot.

Fro spot my spyryt ther sprang in space — My body on balke ther bod in sweven. My goste is gon in Godes grace In aventure ther mervayles meven. line65I ne wyste in this worlde quere that hit wace Bot I knew me keste ther klyfes cleven. Towarde a foreste I bere the face Where ryche rokkes wer to dyscreven. The lyght of hem myght no mon leven, line70The glemande glory that of hem glent, For wern never webbes that wyyes weven Of half so dere adubbemente.

Dubbed wern alle tho downes sydes Wyth crystal klyffes so cler of kynde; line75Holtewodes bryght aboute hem bydes Of bolles as blwe as ble of Ynde. As bornyst sylver the lef on slydes That thike con trylle on uch a tynde; Quen glem of glodes agayns hem glydes line80Wyth schymeryng schene ful schrylle thay schynde. The gravayl that on grounde con grynde Wern precious perles of Oryente. The sunnebemes bot blo and blynde In respecte of that adubbement.

line85The adubbemente of tho downes dere Garten my goste al greffe forgete. So frech flavores of frytes were As fode hit con me fayre refete. Fowles ther flowen in fryth in fere line90Of flaumbande hwes bothe smale and grete; Bot sytole-stryng and gyternere Her reken myrthe moght not retrete, For quen those bryddes her wynges bete Thay songen wyth a swete asent. line95So gracios gle couthe no mon gete As here and se her adubbement.

So al was dubbet on dere asyse That fryth ther fortwne forth me feres. The derthe therof for to devyse line100Nis no wyy worthé that tonge beres. I welke ay forth in wely wyse, No bonk so byg that did me deres: The fyrre in the fryth, the feier con ryse The playn, the plonttes, the spyse, the peres; line105And rawes and randes and rych reveres As fyldor fyn her bukes brent. I wan to a water by schore that scheres — Lorde, dere was hit adubbement.

The dubbemente of tho derworth depe line110Wern bonkes bene of beryl bryght. Swangeande swete the water con swepe Wyth a rownande rourde raykande aryght. In the founce ther stonden stones stepe As glente thurgh glas that glowed and glyght, line115As stremande sternes quen strothe-men slepe Staren in welkyn in wynter nyght. For uche a pobbel in pole ther pyght Was emerad, saffer, other gemme gente — That alle the loghe lemed of lyght line120So dere was hit adubbement.

The dubbement dere of doun and dales, Of wod and water and wlonke playnes, Bylde in me blys, abated my bales, Fordidden my stresse, dystryed my paynes. line125Doun after a strem that dryyly hales I bowed in blys, bredful my braynes. The fyrre I folwed those floty vales The more strenghthe of joye myn herte straynes. As fortune fares theras ho fraynes, line130Whether solace ho sende other elles sore, The wyy to wham her wylle ho waynes Hyttes to have ay more and more.

More of wele was in that wyse Then I cowthe telle thagh I tom hade, line135For urthely herte myght not suffyse To the tenthe dole of tho gladnes glade. Forthy I thoght that Paradyse Was ther over gayn tho bonkes brade. I hoped the water were a devyse line140Bytwene myrthes by meres made. Byyonde the broke, by slente other slade, I hoped that mote merked wore; Bot the water was depe, I dorst not wade, And ever me longed ay more and more.

line145More and more and yet wel mare Me lyste to se the broke byyonde, For if hit was fayr ther I con fare Wel loveloker was the fyrre londe. Abowte me con I stote and stare; line150To fynde a forthe faste con I fonde. Bot wothes mo iwysse ther ware The fyrre I stalked by the stronde, And ever me thoght I shulde not wonde For wo ther weles so wynne wore. line155Thenne nwe note me com on honde That meved my mynde ay more and more.

More mervayle con my dom adaunt; I sey byyonde that myry mere A crystal clyffe ful relusaunt; line160Mony ryal ray con fro hit rere. At the fote therof ther sete a faunt, A mayden of menske ful debonere. Blysnande whyt was hyr bleaunt. I knew hyr wel, I hade sen hyr ere. line165As glysnande golde that man con schere, So schon that schene anunder schore. On lenghe I loked to hyr there — The lenger, I knew hyr more and more.

The more I frayste hyr fayre face, line170Her fygure fyn quen I had fonte, Suche gladande glory con to me glace As lyttel byfore therto was wonte. To calle hyr lyste con me enchace Bot baysment gef myn hert a brunt. line175I sey hyr in so strange a place, Such a burre myght make myn herte blunt. Thenne veres ho up her fayre frount, Hyr vysayge whyt as playn yvore, That stonge myn hert ful stray astount — line180And ever the lenger the more and more.

More then me lyste my drede aros; I stod ful stylle and dorste not calle. Wyth yyen open and mouth ful clos I stod as hende as hawk in halle. line185I hoped that gostly was that porpose; I dred onende quat schulde byfalle Lest ho me eschaped that I ther chos, Er I at steven hir moght stalle. That gracios gay wythouten galle, line190So smothe, so smal, so seme slyght, Ryses up in hir araye ryalle, A precios pyece in perles pyght.

Perles pyghte of ryal prys Ther moght mon by grace haf sene line195Quen that frech as flor-de-lys Doun the bonke con bowe bydene. Al blysnande whyt was hir beau biys, Upon at sydes and bounden bene Wyth the myryeste margarys, at my devyse, line200That ever I sey yet with myn yyen; Wyth lappes large, I wot and wene, Dubbed with double perle and dyghte, Her cortel of self sute schene Wyth precios perles al umbepyghte.

line205A pyght coroune yet wer that gyrle Of marjorys and non other ston, Highe pynakled of cler quyt perle Wyth flurted flowres perfet upon. To hed hade ho non other werle, line210Her here-leke al hyr umbegon. Her semblaunt sade for doc other erle, Her ble more blaght then whalles bon; As schorne golde schyr her fax thenne schon On schylderes that leghe unlapped lyghte. line215Her depe colour yet wonted non Of precios perle in porfyl pyghte.

Pyght was poyned and uche a hemme At honde, at sydes, at overture, Wyth whyte perle and non other gemme, line220And bornyste quyte was hyr vesture. Bot a wonder perle wythouten wemme Inmyddes hyr breste was sette so sure, A mannes dom moght druyyly demme Er mynde moght malte in hit mesure. line225I hope no tonge moght endure, No saverly saghe say of that syght, So was hit clene and cler and pure, That precios perle ther hit was pyght.

Pyght in perle, that precios pyse line230On wyther half water com doun the schore. No gladder gome hethen into Grece Then I quen ho on brymme wore. Ho was me nerre then aunte or nece; My joy forthy was much the more. line235Ho profered me speche, that special spyce, Enclynande lowe in wommon lore, Caghte of her coroun of grete tresore And haylsed me wyth a lote lyghte. Wel was me that ever I was bore line240To sware that swete in perles pyghte.

“O perle,” quoth I, “in perles pyght, Art thou my perle that I haf playned, Regretted by myn one on nyghte? Much longeyng haf I for thee layned line245Sythen into gresse thou me aglyghte. Pensyf, payred, I am forpayned, And thou in a lyf of lykyng lyghte In Paradys erde, of stryf unstrayned. What wyrde has hyder my juel vayned line250And don me in thys del and gret daunger? Fro we in twynne wern towen and twayned I haf ben a joyles jueler.”

That juel thenne, in gemmes gente, Vered up her vyse wyth yyen graye, line255Set on hyr coroun of perle orient And soberly after thenne con ho say, “Sir, ye haf your tale mysetente To say your perle is al awaye That is in cofer so comly clente line260As in this gardyn gracios gaye, Hereinne to lenge forever and play Ther mys nee mornyng com never nere. Her were a forser for thee, in faye, If thou were a gentyl jueler.

line265“Bot, jueler gente, if thou schal lose Thy joy for a gemme that thee was lef, Me thynk thee put in a mad porpose And busyes thee about a raysoun bref. For that thou lestes was bot a rose line270That flowred and fayled as kynde hyt gef; Now thurgh kynde of the kyste that hyt con close To a perle of prys hit is put in pref. And thou has called thy wyrde a thef That oght of noght has mad thee cler. line275Thou blames the bote of thy meschef. Thou art no kynde jueler.”

A juel to me then was thys geste And jueles wern hyr gentyl sawes. “Iwyse,” quoth I, “my blysfol beste, line280My grete dystresse thou al todrawes. To be excused I make requeste; I trawed my perle don out of dawes. Now haf I fonde hyt, I schal ma feste And wony wyth hyt in schyr wod-schawes line285And love my Lorde and al His lawes That has me broght thys blysse ner. Now were I at yow byyonde thise wawes, I were a joyfol jueler.”

“Jueler,” sayde that gemme clene, line290“Wy borde ye men? so madde ye be! Thre wordes has thou spoken at ene; Unavysed, for sothe, wern alle thre. Thou ne woste in worlde quat on dos mene — Thy worde byfore thy wytte con fle. line295Thou says thou trawes me in this dene Bycawse thou may wyth yyen me se. Another — thou says in this countré Thyself schal won wyth me ryght here. The thrydde — to passe thys water fre. line300That may no joyfol jueler.

“I halde that jueler lyttel to prayse That loves wel that he ses wyth yye, And much to blame and uncortoyse That leves oure Lorde wolde make a lyye line305That lelly hyghte your lyf to rayse Thagh fortune dyd your flesch to dyye. Ye setten Hys wordes ful westernays That loves nothynk bot ye hit syye; And that is a poynt o sorquydryye line310That uche god mon may evel byseme — To leve no tale be true to tryye Bot that hys one skyl may dem.

“Deme now thyself if thou con dayly As man to God wordes schulde heve. line315Thou says thou schal won in this bayly. Me thynk thee burde fyrst aske leve — And yet of graunt thou myghtes fayle. Thou wylnes over thys water to weve; Er moste thou cever to other counsayle. line320Thy corse in clot mot calder keve, For hit was forgarte at Paradys greve; Oure yorefader hit con mysseyeme. Thurgh drwry deth bos uch man dreve Er over thys dam hym Dryghtyn deme.”

line325“Demes thou me,” quoth I, “my swete, To dol agayn, thenne I dowyne. Now haf I fonte that I forlete, Schal I efte forgo hit er ever I fyne? Why schal I hit bothe mysse and mete? line330My precios perle dos me gret pyne. What serves tresor bot gares men grete When he hit schal efte wyth tenes tyne? Now rech I never for to declyne Ne how fer of folde that man me fleme; line335When I am partles of perle myne, Bot durande doel what may men deme?”

“Thow demes noght bot doel dystresse,” Thenne sayde that wyght, “why dos thou so? For dyne of doel of lures lesse line340Ofte mony mon forgos the mo. Thee oghte better thyselven blesse And love ay God in wele and wo, For anger gaynes thee not a cresse. Who nedes schal thole be not so thro; line345For thogh thou daunce as any do, Braundysch and bray thy brathes breme, When thou no fyrre may to ne fro Thou moste abyde that He schal deme.

“Deme Dryghtyn, ever Hym adyte, line350Of the way a fote ne wyl He wrythe. Thy mendes mountes not a myte, Thagh thou for sorwe be never blythe. Stynst of thy strot and fyne to flyte And sech Hys blythe ful swefte and swythe; line355Thy prayer may Hys pyté byte That mercy schal hyr craftes kythe. Hys comforte may thy langour lythe And thy lures of lyghtly fleme. For marre other madde, morne and mythe, line360Al lys in Hym to dyght and deme.”

Thenne demed I to that damyselle, “Ne worthe no wraththe unto my Lorde If rapely I rave, spornande in spelle. My herte was al wyth mysse remorde line365As wallande water gos out of welle. I do me ay in Hys myserecorde; Rebuke me never wyth wordes felle Thagh I forloyne, my dere endorde, Bot kythes me kyndely your coumforde, line370Pytosly thenkande upon thysse: Of care and me ye made acorde, That er was grounde of alle my blysse.

“My blysse, my bale, ye han ben bothe; Bot much the bygger yet was my mon line375Fro thou was wroken fro uch a wothe. I wyste never quere my perle was gon; Now I hit se, now lethes my lothe; And quen we departed we wern at on. God forbede we be now wrothe — line380We meten so selden by stok other ston! Thagh cortaysly ye carpe con I am bot mol and maneres mysse. Bot Crystes mersy and Mary and Jon, Thise arn the grounde of alle my blysse.

line385“In blysse I se thee blythely blent, And I a man al mornyf mate; Ye take theron ful lyttel tente Thagh I hente ofte harmes hate. Bot now I am here in your presente line390I wolde bysech, wythouten debate, Ye wolde me say, in sobre asente, What lyf ye lede erly and late. For I am ful fayn that your astate Is worthen to worschyp and wele, iwysse; line395Of alle my joy the hyghe gate, Hit is in grounde of alle my blysse.”

“Now blysse, burne, mot thee bytyde,” Then sayde that lufsoum of lyth and lere, “And welcum here to walk and byde, line400For now thy speche is to me dere. Maysterful mod and hyghe pryde I hete thee arn heterly hated here. My Lorde ne loves not for to chyde For meke arn alle that wones Hym nere, line405And when in Hys place thou schal apere Be dep devote in hol mekenesse. My Lorde the Lamb loves ay such chere; That is the grounde of alle my blysse.

“A blysful lyf thou says I lede; line410Thou woldes knaw therof the stage. Thow wost wel when thy perle con schede I was ful yong and tender of age, Bot my Lorde the Lombe, thurgh Hys Godhede He toke myself to Hys maryage, line415Corounde me quene in blysse to brede In lenghe of dayes that ever schal wage. And sesed in alle Hys herytage Hys lef is. I am holy Hysse — Hys pyese, Hys prys; and Hys parage line420Is rote and grounde of alle my blysse.”

“Blysful,” quoth I, “may thys be trwe? Dyspleses not if I speke errour. Art thou the quene of hevenes blwe That al thys worlde schal do honour? line425We leven on Marye that grace of grewe, That ber a barne of vyrgyn flour. The croune fro hyr, quo moght remwe Bot ho hir passed in sum favour? Now for synglerty o hyr dousour line430We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby That freles flewe of hyr fasor Lyk to the quen of cortaysye.”

“Cortayse quen,” thenne sayde that gaye, Knelande to grounde, folde up hyr face, line435“Makeles moder and myryest may, Blessed bygyner of uch a grace.” Thenne ros ho up and con restay And speke me towarde in that space, “Sir, fele here porchases and fonges pray line440Bot supplantores none wythinne thys place. That emperise al hevens has And urthe and helle in her bayly, Of erytage yet non wyl ho chace For ho is quen of cortaysye.

line445“The court of the kyndom of God alyve Has a property in hytself beyng; Alle that may therinne aryve Of alle the reme is quen other kyng; And never other yet schal depryve, line450Bot uchon fayn of otheres hafyng And wolde her corounes wern worthe tho fyve If possyble were her mendyng. Bot my lady of quom Jesu con spryng Ho haldes the empyre over uus ful hyghe, line455And that dyspleses non of oure gyng For ho is quene of cortaysye.

“Of courtaysye, as says Saynt Poule, Al arn we membres of Jesu Kryst. As heved and arme and legg and navle line460Temen to Hys body ful trwe and tryste, Ryght so is uch a Krysten sawle A longande lym to the mayster of myste. Thenne loke what hate other any gawle Is tached other tyyed thy lymmes bytwyste; line465Thy heved has nauther greme ne gryste On arme other fynger, thagh thou ber byghe. So fare we alle wyth luf and lyste To kyng and quene, by cortaysye.”

“Cortaysé,” quoth I, “I leve, line470And charyté grete be yow among. Bot my speche that yow ne greve, . . . . . Thyself in heven over hygh thou heve To make thee quen that was so yonge. line475What more honour moghte he acheve That hade endured in worlde stronge And lyved in penaunce hys lyves longe Wyth bodyly bale hym blysse to byye? What more worschyp moght he fonge line480Then corounde be kyng by cortaysé?

“That cortaysé is to fre of dede Yf hyt be soth that thou cones saye. Thou lyfed not two yer in oure thede; Thou cowthes never God nauther plese ne pray line485Ne never nawther Pater ne Crede — And quen mad on the fyrste day! I may not traw, so God me spede, That God wolde wrythe so wrange away. Of countes, damysel, par ma fay, line490Wer fayr in heven to halde asstate Other elles a lady of lasse aray — Bot a quene! Hit is to dere a date.”

“Ther is no date of Hys godnesse,” Then sayde to me that worthy wyghte, line495“For al is trawthe that He con dresse And He may do nothynk bot ryght. As Mathew meles in your Messe, In sothfol gospel of God almyght, In sample He can ful graythely gesse line500And lyknes hit to heven lyghte. ‘My regne,’ He says, ‘is lyk on hyght To a lorde that hade a vyne, I wate. Of tyme of yere the terme was tyght To labor vyne was dere the date.’

line505“That date of yere wel knawe thys hyne; The lorde ful erly up he ros To hyre werkmen to hys vyne And fyndes ther summe to hys porpos. Into acorde thay con declyne line510For a pené on a day, and forth thay gos, Wrythen and worchen and don gret pyne, Kerven and caggen and man hit clos. Aboute under the lorde to marked tos And ydel men stande he fyndes therate. line515‘Why stande ye ydel?’ he sayde to thos, ‘Ne knawe ye of this day no date?’

“‘Er date of daye hider arn we wonne,’ So was al samen her answar soght. ‘We haf standen her syn ros the sunne line520And no mon byddes uus do ryght noght.’ ‘Gos into my vyne, dos that ye conne,’ So sayde the lorde and made hit toght. ‘What resonabele hyre be naght be runne, I yow pay in dede and thoghte.’ line525Thay wente into the vyne and wroghte And al day the lorde thus yede his gate And nw men to hys vyne he broghte Welnegh wyl day was passed date.

“At the date of day of evensonge, line530On oure byfore the sonne go doun, He sey ther ydel men ful stronge And sade to hem, wyth sobre soun, ‘Wy stonde ye ydel thise dayes longe?’ Thay sayden her hyre was nawhere boun. line535‘Gos to my vyne, yemen yonge, And wyrkes and dos that at ye moun.’ Sone the worlde bycom wel broun, The sunne was doun and hit wex late. To take her hyre he mad sumoun; line540The day was al apassed date.

“The date of the daye the lorde con knaw; Called to the reve, ‘Lede, pay the meyny! Gyf hem the hyre that I hem owe And fyrre, that non me may reprené, line545Set hem alle upon a rawe And gyf uchon inlyche a peny. Bygyn at the laste that standes lowe Tyl to the fyrste that thou atteny.’ And thenne the fyrst bygonne to pleny line550And sayden that they hade travayled sore. ‘These bot on oure hem con streny! Uus thynk uus oghe to take more.

“‘More haf we served, uus thynk so, That suffred han the dayes hete line555Thenn thyse that wroght not houres two — And thou dos hem uus to counterfete.’ Thenne sayde the lorde to on of tho, ‘Frende, no waning I wyl thee gete. Take that is thyn owne and go line560And I hyred thee for a peny agrete. Quy bygynnes thou now to threte? Was not a pené thy covenaunt thore? Fyrre then covenaunde is noght to plete. Wy schalte thou thenne aske more?

line565“‘More, wether louyly is me my gyfte To do wyth myn quatso me lykes? Other elles thyn yye to lyther is lyfte For I am goude and non byswykes.’ ‘Thus schal I,’ quoth Kryste, ‘hyt skyfte: line570The laste schal be the fyrst that strykes And the fyrst the laste, be he never so swyft. For mony ben called thagh fewe be mykes.’ Thus pore men her part ay pykes Thagh thay com late and lyttel wore; line575And thagh her sweng wyth lyttel atslykes, The merci of God is much the more.

“More haf I of joye and blysse hereinne, Of ladyschyp gret and lyves blom, Then alle the wyyes in the worlde myght wynne line580By the way of ryght to aske dome. Whether welnygh now I con bygynne, In eventyde into the vyne I come. Fyrst of my hyre my Lorde con mynne; I was payed anon of al and sum. line585Yet other ther werne that toke more tom, That swange and swat for longe yore, That yet of hyre nothynk thay nom — Paraunter noght schal to-yere more.”

Then more I meled and sayde apert, line590“Me thynk thy tale unresounable. Goddes ryght is redy and evermore rert Other Holy Wryt is bot a fable. In Sauter is sayd a verce overte That spekes a poynt determynable: line595‘Thou quytes uchon as hys desserte, Thou hyghe kyng ay pertermynable.’ Now he that stod the long day stable And thou to payment com hym byfore — Thenne the lasse in werke to take more able, line600And ever the lenger the lasse, the more.”

“Of more and lasse in Godes ryche,” That gentyl sayde, “lys no joparde, For ther is uch mon payed inlyche Whether lyttel other much be hys rewarde. line605For the gentyl Cheventayn is no chyche; Quether-so-ever He dele, nesch other harde, He laves Hys gyftes as water of dyche Other gotes of golf that never charde. Hys fraunchyse is large; that ever dard line610To Hym that mas in synne rescoghe, No blysse bes fro hem reparde, For the grace of God is gret inoghe.

“Bot now thou motes, me for to mate That I my peny haf wrang tan here; line615Thou says that I that com to late Am not worthy so gret fere. Where wystes thou ever any bourne abate, Ever so holy in hys prayere, That he ne forfeted by sumkyn gate line620The mede sumtyme of hevenes clere? And ay the ofter, the alder thay were; Thay laften ryght and wroghten woghe. Mercy and grace moste hem then stere, For the grace of God is gret innoghe.

line625“Bot innoghe of grace has innocent. As sone as thay arn borne by lyne In the water of babtem thay dyssente. Then arne thay boroght into the vyne. Anon the day, with derk endente, line630The niyght of deth dos to enclyne That wroght never wrang er thenne thay wente. The gentyle Lorde thenne payes hys hyne; Thay dyden hys heste, thay wern thereine. Why schulde he not her labour alow — line635Yys, and pay hym at the fyrste fyne? For the grace of God is gret innoghe.

“Inoghe is knawen that mankyn grete Fyrste was wroght to blysse parfyt; Oure forme fader hit con forfete line640Thurgh an apple that he upon con byte. Al wer we dampned for that mete, To dyye in doel out of delyt And sythen wende to helle hete Therinne to won withoute respyt. line645Bot theron com a bote astyt; Ryche blod ran on Rode so roghe And wynne water then at that plyt. The grace of God wex gret innoghe.

“Innoghe ther wax out of that welle, line650Blod and water of brode wounde; The blod uus boght fro bale of helle, And delyvered uus of deth secounde. The water is baptem, the sothe to telle, That folwed the glayve so grymly grounde, line655That wasches away the gyltes felle That Adam wyth inne deth uus drounde. Now is ther noght in the worlde rounde Bytwene uus and blysse bot that he wythdrow, And that is restored in sely stounde, line660And the grace of God is gret innogh.

“Grace innogh the mon may have That synnes thenne new, yif hym repente; Bot wyth sorw and syt he mot hit crave And byde the payne therto is bent. line665Bot resoun, of ryght that con not rave, Saves evermore the innossent. Hit is a dom that never God gave That ever the gyltles schulde be schente. The gyltyf may contryssyoun hente line670And be thurgh mercy to grace thryght, Bot he to gyle that never glente As inoscente is saf and ryghte.

“Ryght thus I knaw wel in this cas Two men to save is God, by skylle; line675The ryghtwys man schal se Hys face, The harmles hathel schal com Hym tylle. The Sauter hyt sas thus in a pace, ‘Lorde, quo schal klymbe Thy hyghe hylle Other rest wythinne Thy holy place?’ line680Hymself to onsware He is not dylle: ‘Hondelynges harme that dyt not ille, That is of hert bothe clene and lyght — Ther schal hys stepe stable stylle.’ The innosent is ay saf by ryght.

line685“The ryghtwys man also sertayn Aproche he schal that proper pyle That takes not her lyf in vayne Ne glaueres her nieghbor wyth no gyle. Of thys ryghtwys, sas Salamon playn, line690How kyntly oure Koyntyse hym con aquyle. By wayes ful streght he con hym strayn And scheued hym the rengne of God awhyle, As quo says, ‘Lo, yon lovely yle! Thou may hit wynne if thou be wyghte.’ line695Bot hardyly, wythoute peryle, The innosent is ay save by ryghte.

“Anende ryghtwys men, yet says a gome, David in Sauter if ever ye sey hit, ‘Lorde, Thy servaunt draw never to dome, line700For non lyvyande to Thee is justyfyet.’ Forthy to corte, quen thou schal com Ther alle oure causes schal be tryed, Alegge the ryght — thou may be innome By thys ilke spech I have asspyed. line705Bot He on Rode that blody dyed, Delfully thurgh hondes thryght, Gyve thee to passe, when thou arte tryed, By innocens, and not by ryghte.

“Ryghtwysly quo con rede, line710He loke on bok and be awayed How Jesus Hym welke in arethede, And burnes her barnes unto Hym brayde For happe and hele that fro Hym yede. To touch her chylder thay fayr Hym prayed. line715His dessypeles wyth blame, ‘Let be!’ hym bede, And wyth her resounes ful fele restayed. Jesus thenne hem swetely sayde, ‘Do way, let chylder unto me tyght; To suche is hevenryche arayed.’ line720The innocent is ay saf by ryght.

“Jesu con calle to Hym Hys mylde And sayde Hys ryche no wyy myght wynne Bot he com thyder ryght as a chylde Other elles nevermore com therinne. line725Harmles, trwe, and undefylde, Wythouten mote other mascle of sulpande synne — Quen such ther cnoken on the bylde, Tyt schal hem men the gate unpynne. Ther is the blys that con not blynne line730That the jueler soghte thurgh perré pres And solde alle hys goud, bothe wolen and lynne, To bye hym a perle was mascelles.

“This makelles perle, that boght is dere, The joueler gef fore alle hys god, line735Is lyke the reme of hevenesse clere — So sayde the Fader of folde and flode — For hit is wemles, clene, and clere, And endeles rounde and blythe of mode, And commune to alle that ryghtwys were. line740Lo, even inmyddes my breste hit stode! My Lorde, the Lombe that schede Hys blode, He pyght hit there in token of pes. I rede thee forsake the worlde wode And porchace thy perle maskelles.”

line745“O maskeles perle, in perles pure, That beres,” quoth I, “the perle of prys, Quo formed thee thy fayre fygure? That wroght thy wede, He was ful wys. Thy beauté com never of nature; line750Pymalyon paynted never thy vys, Ne Arystotel nawther by hys lettrure Of carpe the kynde these propertes. Thy colour passes the flour-de-lys; Thyn angel-havyng so clene cortes — line755Breve me, bryght, quat kyn ostriys Beres the perle so maskelles?”

“My makeles Lambe that al may bete,” Quoth scho, “my dere destyné, Me ches to Hys make, althagh unmete line760Sumtyme semed that assemblé. When I wente fro yor worlde wete, He calde me to Hys bonerté: ‘Cum hyder to me, my lemman swete For mote ne spot is non in thee.’ line765He gef me myght and als bewté; In Hys blod He wesch my wede on dese And coronde clene in vergynté, And pyght me in perles maskelles.”

“Why, maskelles bryd, that bryght con flambe, line770That reiates has so ryche and ryf, Quat kyn thyng may be that Lambe That thee wolde wedde unto Hys vyf? Over alle other so hygh thou clambe To lede wyth Hym so ladyly lyf. line775So mony a comly anunnder cambe For Kryst han lyved in much stryf, And thou con alle tho dere out dryf And from that maryag al other depres — Al only thyself so stout and styf, line780A makeles may and maskelles.”

“Maskelles,” quoth that myry quene, “Unblemyst I am, wythouten blot, And that may I wyth mensk menteene, Bot ‘makeles quene’ — thenne sade I not. line785The Lambes uyves in blysse we bene, A hondred and forty thowsande flot As in the Apocalyppes hit is sene. Sant John hem syy al in a knot On the hyl of Syon, that semly clot; line790The apostel hem segh in gostly drem, Arayed to the weddyng in that hyl-coppe, The nwe cyté o Jerusalem.

“Of Jerusalem I in speche spelle; If thou wyl knaw what kyn He be, line795My Lombe, my Lorde, my dere juelle, My joy, my blys, my lemman fre, The profete Ysaye of Hym con melle Pitously of Hys debonerté: ‘That gloryous gyltles that mon con quelle line800Wythouten any sake of felonye, As a schep to the slaght ther lad was He, And as lombe that clypper in lande nem, So closed He hys mouth fro uch query’ — Quen Jues Hym jugged in Jerusalem.

line805“In Jerusalem was my lemman slayn And rent on Rode wyth boyes bolde. Al oure bales to bere ful bayn, He toke on Hymself oure cares colde; Wyth boffetes was Hys face flayn line810That was so fayr on to byholde. For synne He set Hymself in vayn That never hade non Hymself to wolde. For uus He lette Hym flyye and folde And brede upon a bostwys bem; line815As meke as lomp that no playnt tolde For uus He swalt in Jerusalem.

“Jerusalem, Jordan, and Galalye, Ther as baptysed the goude Saynt Jon, His wordes acorded to Ysaye. line820When Jesu con to hym warde gon, He sayde of Hym thys professye: ‘Lo, Godes Lombe, as trwe as ston, That dos away the synnes dryye That alle thys worlde has wroght upon.’ line825Hymself ne wroghte never yet non Whether on Hymself He con al clem. Hys generacyoun quo recen con That dyyed for uus in Jerusalem?

“In Jerusalem thus my lemman swete line830Twyes for lombe was taken there, By trw recorde of ayther prophete, For mode so meke and al Hys fare. The thryde tyme is therto ful mete, In Apokalypes wryten ful yare. line835In mydes the trone there sayntes sete, The apostel John Hym saw as bare, Lesande the boke with leves sware There seven syngnettes wern sette in seme; And at that syght uche douth con dare line840In helle, in erthe, in Jerusalem.

“Thys Jerusalem Lombe hade never pechche Of other huee bot quyt jolyf That mot ne masklle moght on streche, For wolle quyte so ronk and ryf. line845Forthy uche saule that hade never teche Is to that Lombe a worthyly wyf, And thagh uch day a store He feche Among uus commes nouther strot ne stryf, Bot uchon enlé we wolde were fyf. line850The mo the myryer, so God me blesse! In compayny gret our luf con thryf, In honour more and never the lesse.

“Lasse of blysse may non uus bryng That beren thys perle upon oure bereste, line855For thay of mote couthe never mynge Of spotles perles tha beren the creste. Althagh oure corses in clottes clynge And ye remen for rauthe wythouten reste, We thurghoutly haven cnawyng; line860Of on dethe ful oure hope is drest. The Lombe uus glades, oure care is kest; He myrthes uus alle at uch a mes. Uchones blysse is breme and beste — And never ones honour yet never the les.

line865“Lest les thou leve my tale farande, In Appocalyppece is wryten in wro: ‘I seghe,’ says John, ‘the Loumbe Hym stande On the Mount of Syon ful thryven and thro, And wyth Hym maydennes an hundrethe thowsande line870And fowre and forty thowsande mo. On alle her forhedes wryten I fande The Lombes nome, Hys Faderes also. A hue fro heven I herde thoo, Lyk flodes fele laden runnen on resse, line875And as thunder throwes in torres blo That lote, y leve, was never the les.

“‘Nautheles thagh hit schowted sharpe And ledden loude althagh hit were, A note ful nwe I herde hem warpe; line880To lysten that was ful lufly dere. As harpores harpen in her harpe, That nwe songe thay songen ful cler In sounande notes, a gentyl carpe. Ful fayre the modes thay fonge in fere line885Ryght byfore Godes chayere, And the fowre bestes that Hym obes, And the aldermen so sadde of chere — Her songe thay songen never the les.

“‘Nowthelese, non was never so quoynt line890For alle the craftes that ever thay knewe, That of that songe myght synge a poynt Bot that meyny the Lombe that swe. For thay arn boght, fro the urthe aloynte, As newe fryt to God ful due, line895And to the gentyl Lombe hit arn anjoynt As lyk to Hymself of lote and hwe. For never lesyng ne tale untrwe Ne towched her tonge for no dysstresse. That moteles meyny may never remwe line900Fro that maskeles mayster never the les.’”

“Never the les let be my thonc,” Quoth I, “my perle, thagh I appose. I schulde not tempte thy wyt so wlonc To Krystes chambre that art ichose. line905I am bot mokke and mul among, And thou so ryche a reken rose And bydes here by thys blysful bonc Ther lyves lyste may never lose. Now, hynde, that sympelnesse cones enclose, line910I wolde thee aske a thynge expresse, And thagh I be bustwys as a blose, Let my bone vayle never the lese.

“Neverthelese cler I yow bycalle If ye con se hyt be to done. line915As thou art gloryous, wythouten galle, Wythnay thou never my ruful bone. Haf ye no wones in castel walle, Ne maner ther ye may mete and won? Thou telles me of Jerusalem, the ryche ryalle, line920Ther David dere was dyght on trone — Bot by thyse holtes hit con not hone, Bot in Judee hit is, that noble note. As ye ar maskeles under mone, Your wones schulde be wythouten mote.

line925“Thys moteles meyny thou cones of mele, Of thousandes thryght, so gret a route — A gret ceté, for ye arn fele, Yow byhod have wythouten doute. So cumly a pakke of joly juele line930Wer evel don schulde lyy theroute; And by thyse bonkes ther I con gele I se no bygyng nawhere aboute. I trowe alone ye lenge and loute To loke on the glory of thys gracious gote. line935If thou has other bygynges stoute, Now tech me to that myry mote.”

“That mote thou menes in Judy londe,” That specyal spyce then to me spakk. “That is the cyté that the Lombe con fonde line940To soffer inne sor for manes sake. The olde Jerusalem, to understonde, For there the olde gulte was don to slake. Bot the nwe that lyght, of Godes sonde, The apostel in Apocalyppce in theme con take. line945The Lompe ther wythouten spottes blake Has feryed thyder Hys fayre flote, And as Hys flok is wythouten flake, So is Hys mote wythouten moote.

“Of motes two to carpe clene line950And Jerusalem hyght bothe, nawtheles — That nys to yow no more to mene Bot ‘Ceté of God’ other ‘Syght of Pes’ — In that on oure pes was mad at ene. With payne to suffer the Lombe hit chese. line955In that other is noght bot pes to glene That ay schal laste wythouten reles. That is the borgh that we to pres Fro that oure flesch be layd to rote; Ther glory and blysse schal ever encres line960To the meyny that is wythouten mote.”

“Moteles may, so meke and mylde,” Then sayde I to that lufly flor, “Bryng me to that bygly bylde And let me se thy blysful bor.” line965That schene sayde, “That God wyl schylde! Thou may not enter wythinne Hys tor. Bot of the Lombe I have thee aquylde For a syght therof thurgh gret favor. Utwyth to se that clene cloystor line970Thou may, bot inwyth not a fote; To strech in the strete thou has no vygour Bot thou wer clene wythouten mote.

“If I this mote thee schal unhyde, Bow up towarde thys bornes heved, line975And I anendes thee on thys syde Schal sue tyl thou to a hil be veved.” Then wolde I no lenger byde, Bot lurked by launces so lufly leved Tyl, on a hyl, that I asspyed, line980And blusched on the burghe as I forth dreved. Byyonde the brok, fro me warde keved That schyrrer then sunne wyth schaftes schon. In the Apokalypce is the fasoun preved As devyses hit the apostel John.

line985As John the apostel hit syy with syght, I syye that cyty of gret renoun, Jerusalem so nwe and ryally dyght As hit was lyght fro the heven adoun. The borgh was al of brende golde bryght, line990As glemande glas burnist broun — Wyth gentyl gemmes anunder pyght, Wyth bauteles twelve on basyng boun, The foundementes twelve of riche tenoun. Uch tabelment was a serlypes ston, line995As derely devyses this ilke toun In Apocalyppes the apostel John.

As John thise stones in Writ con nemme, I knew the name after his tale: Jasper hyght the fyrste gemme line1000That I on fyrst basse con wale. He glente grene in the lowest hemme; Saffer helde the secounde stale. The calsydoyne thenne wythouten wemme, In the thrydde table con purly pale. line1005The emerade, the furthe, so grene of scale; The sardonyse, the fyfthe ston, The sexte, the rybé, he con hit wale In the Apocalyppce the apostel John.

Yet joyned John the crysolyt line1010The seventhe gemme in fundament; The aghtthe, the beryl cler and quyt, The topasye twynne-hew, the nente endent. The crysopase, the tenthe is tyght, The jacyngh, the enleventhe gent. line1015The twelfthe, the tryeste in uch a plyt, The amatyst, purpre wyth ynde blente. The wal abof the bautels bent Of jasporye as glas that glysnande schon. I knew hit by his devysement line1020In the Apocalyppes, the apostel John.

As John devysed yet saw I thare; Thise twelve degres wern brode and stayre. The cyté stod abof ful sware, As longe, as brode, as hyghe ful fayre; line1025The stretes of golde as glasse al bare — The wal of jasper that glent as glayre — The wones wythinne enurned ware Wyth alle kynnes perre that moght repayre. Thenne helde uch sware of this manayre line1030Twelve forlonge space, er ever hit fon, Of heght, of brede, of lenthe to cayre, For meten hit syy the apostel John.

As John hym wrytes yet more I syye; Uch pane of that place had thre gates, line1035So twelve in poursent I con asspye. The portales pyked of ryche plates And uch gate of a margyrye, A parfyt perle that never fates. Uchon in scrypture a name con plye line1040Of Israel barnes, folewande her dates — That is to say, as her byrth-whates. The aldest ay fyrst theron was done. Such lyght ther lemed in alle the strates, Hem nedde nawther sunne ne mone.

line1045Of sunne ne mone had thay no nede; The selfe God was her lambe-lyght, The Lombe her lantyrne, wythouten drede. Thurgh Hym blysned the borgh al bryght. Thurgh wowe and won my lokyng yede, line1050For sotyle cler noght lette no syght. The hyghe trone ther moght ye hede Wyth alle the apparaylmente umbepyghte, As John the appostel in termes tyghte; The hyghe Godes self hit set upone. line1055A rever of the trone ther ran outryghte Was bryghter then bothe the sunne and mone.

Sunne ne mone schon never so swete As that foysoun flode out of that flet; Swythe hit swange thurgh uch a strete line1060Wythouten fylthe other galle other glet. Kyrk therinne was non yete — Chapel ne temple that ever was set. The Almyghty was her mynster mete, The Lombe the sakerfyse ther to refet. line1065The gates stoken was never yet, Bot ever more upen at uche a lone. Ther entres non to take reset That beres any spot anunder mone.

The mone may therof acroche no myghte; line1070To spotty ho is, of body to grym, And also ther ne is never nyght. What schulde the mone ther compas clym And to even wyth that worthly lyght That schynes upon the brokes brym? line1075The planetes arn in to pouer a plyght And the selfe sunne ful fer to dym. Aboute that water arn tres ful schym That twelve frytes of lyf con bere ful sone; Twelve sythes on yer thay beren ful frym line1080And renowles nwe in uche a mone.

Anundre mone so gret merwayle No fleschly hert ne myght endeure As quen I blusched upon that bayle, So ferly therof was the fasure. line1085I stod as stylle as dased quayle For ferly of that freuch fygure, That felde I nawther reste ne travayle So was I ravyste wyth glymme pure. For I dar say, wyth conciens sure, line1090Hade bodyly burne abiden that bone, Thagh alle clerkes hym hade in cure His lyf wer loste anunder mone.

Ryght as the maynful mone con rys Er thenne the day-glem dryve al doun, line1095So sodanly on a wonder wyse I was war of a prosessyoun. This noble cité of ryche enpryse Was sodanly ful, wythouten sommoun, Of such vergynes in the same gyse line1100That was my blysful anunder croun. And coronde wern alle of the same fasoun, Depaynt in perles and wedes qwyte. In uchones breste was bounden boun The blysfyl perle with gret delyt.

line1105With gret delyt thay glod in fere On golden gates that glent as glasse. Hundreth thowsandes, I wot ther were, And alle in sute her livrés wasse; Tor to knaw the gladdest chere. line1110The Lombe byfore con proudly passe Wyth hornes seven of red golde cler. As praysed perles His wedes wasse. Towarde the throne thay trone a tras. Thagh thay wern fele, no pres in plyt, line1115Bot mylde as maydenes seme at mas So drov thay forth with gret delyt.

Delyt that hys come encroched, To much it were of for to melle. Thise aldermen, quen he aproched, line1120Grovelyng to his fete thay felle. Legyounes of aungeles, togeder voched, Ther kesten ensens of swete smelle. Then glory and gle was nwe abroched; Al songe to love that gay juelle. line1125The steven moght stryke thurgh the urthe to helle That the Vertues of heven of joye endyte. To love the Lombe His meyny in-melle, Iwysse I laght a gret delyt.

Delit the Lombe for to devise line1130With much mervayle in mynde went, Best was He, blythest, and moste to pryse That ever I herde of speche spent. So worthly whyt wern wedes Hys, His lokes symple, Hymself so gent; line1135Bot a wounde ful wyde and weete con wyse Anende Hys hert thurgh hyde torente. Of His quyte syde his blod outsprent. Alas, thoght I, who did that spyt? Ani breste for bale aght haf forbrent line1140Er he therto hade had delyt.

The Lombe delyt, non lyste to wene; Thagh He were hurt and wounde hade, In His sembelaunt was never sene, So wern His glentes gloryous glade. line1145I loked among His meyny schene, How thay wyth lyf wern laste and lade. Then saw I ther my lyttel quene That I wende had standen by me in sclade. Lorde, much of mirthe was that ho made line1150Among her feres that was so quyt! That syght me gart to thenk to wade For luf longyng in gret delyt.

Delyt me drof in yye and ere — My manes mynde to maddyng malte. line1155Quen I sey my frely, I wolde be there Byyonde the water, thagh ho were walte. I thoght that no thyng myght me dere, To fech me bur and take me halte, And to start in the strem schulde non me stere line1160To swymme the remnaunt, thagh I ther swalte. Bot of that munt I was bitalt. When I schulde start in the strem astraye, Out of that caste I was bycalt; Hit was not at my Prynces paye.

line1165Hit payed Hym not that I so flonc Over mervelous meres so mad arayde. Of raas, thagh I were rasch and ronk, Yet rapely therinne I was restayed. For ryght as I sparred unto the bonc, line1170That brathe out of my drem me brayde. Then wakned I in that erber wlonk; My hede upon that hylle was layde Ther as my perle to grounde strayd. I raxled and fel in gret affray, line1175And sykyng to myself I sayd, “Now al be to that Prynces paye.”

Me payed ful ille to be outfleme So sodenly of that fayre regioun — Fro alle tho syghtes so quyke and queme. line1180A longeyng hevy me strok in swone, And rewfully thenne I con toreme, “O perle,” quoth I, “of rych renoun, So was hit me dere that thou con deme In thys veray avysyoun! line1185If hit be veray and soth sermoun That thou so stykes in garlande gay, So wel is me in thys doel-doungoun That thou art to that Prynses paye.”

To that Prynces paye hade I ay bente line1190And yerned no more then was me gyven, And halden me ther in trwe entent As the perle me prayed that was so thryven — As helde, drawen to Goddes present, To mo of His mysterys I hade ben dryven. line1195Bot ay wolde man of happe more hente Then moghten by ryght upon hem clyven. Therfore my joye was sone toriven And I kaste of kythes that lastes aye. Lorde, mad hit arn that agayn Thee stryven line1200Other proferen Thee oght agayn Thy paye.

To pay the Prince other sete saghte, Hit is ful ethe to the god Krystyin. For I haf founden Hym, bothe day and naghte, A God, a Lorde, a frende ful fyin. line1205Over this hyul this lote I laghte For pyty of my perle enclyin; And sythen to God I hit bytaghte In Krystes dere blessyng and myn, That in the forme of bred and wyn line1210The preste uus schewes uch a daye. He gef uus to be His homly hyne And precious perles unto His pay. Amen Amen