St Patrick's Purgatory

Publication Statement:

This file is part of the facsimile-edition of the Auchinleck Manuscript was co-edited by Professor David Burnley and Dr Alison Wiggins. The HTML versions of the resource are freely available at http://www.nls.uk/auchinleck/

Notes:

This manuscript file was originally supplied as patrick.html and the header file was located in heads/patrick_head.html both of which were converted to TEI XML by Dr James Cummings of the Oxford Text Archive. The notes below were taken from the header file and each HTML paragraph placed in a separate note.

Scribe 1

6-line tail-rhyme stanzas, rhyming aabccb. 1186 lines in Easting's edition. Begins imperfect, with about 32 lines lost (Easting xxii).

Unique version. Two copies of a later couplet redaction are found in:
BL Cotton Caligula MS A.ii. S. E. Midland with some Worcestershire-Warwickshire forms. Mid-15th century.
Yale University Library MS 365 (formerly MS Hamilton). Norfolk-Suffolk border. 15th-16th century.

Edition:
R. Easting, St Patrick's Purgatory, EETS OS 298 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991).

Other editions and studies:
W. B. D. D. Turnbull and D. Laing, Owain Miles (Edinburgh: Privately printed, 1837).
E. Kölbing, 'Zwei Mittelenglische Bearbeitungen der Sage von St. Patrik's Purgatorium', Englische Studien, 1 (1877): 98-112.

Manual II, 453; 646. Index *11. Suppl. 303.6.

Source:

The Auchinleck Manuscript (NLS Adv MS 19.2.1) is one of the National Library of Scotland’s greatest treasures. Produced in London in the 1330s, it provides a unique insight into the English language and literature that Chaucer and his generation grew up with and were influenced by. It acquired its name from its first known owner, Lord Auchinleck, who discovered the manuscript in 1740 and donated it to the precursor of the National Library in 1744.

St Patrick's Purgatory


& liued in dedeli sinne. [f.25ra] [Image]
Seyn Patrike hadde rewþe
Of hir misbileue & vntrew[þ]e,
Þat þai weren inne.
Oft he proued sarmoun to make,[5]
Þat þai schuld to God take
& do after his rede.
Þai were fulfild of felonie;
Þai no held it bot ribaudie
Of noþing þat he sede.[10]
& al þai seyd commounliche,
Þat non of hem wold sikerliche
Do bi his techeing,
Bot ȝif he dede þat sum man [ sum: MS reads no.]
Into helle went þan,[15]
To bring hem tiding
Of þe pain & of þe wo
Þe soulen suffri euermo,
Þai þat ben þerinne;
& elles þai seyd þat nolden hye[20]
Of her misdede nouȝt repenti,
No her folies blinne.
When sein Patrike herd þis,
Michel he card forsoþe, ywis,
& sore he gan desmay.[25]
Oft he was in aflicc[i]oun,
In fasting & in orisoun,
Ihesu Crist to pray
Þat he him schuld grace sende,
Hou he miȝt raþest wende[30]
Out of þe fendes bond,
& do hem com to amendement
& leue on God omnipotent,
Þe folk of Yrlond. [ Yrlond: MS reads yrlnod.]
& als he was in holy chirche,[35]
Godes werkes for to wirche,
& made his praier,
& bad for þat ich þing,
Sone he fel on slepeing
Toforn his auter.[40]
In his chapel he slepe wel swete,
Of fele þinges him gan mete
Þat was in heuen-blis.
As he slepe, forsoþe him þouȝt
Þat Ihesu, þat ous dere bouȝt, [f.25rb] [Image] [45]
To him com, ywis,
& ȝaf him a bok þat nas nouȝt lite:
Þer nis no clerk þat swiche can write,
No neuer no schal be.
It spekeþ of al maner godspelle,[50]
Of heuen, & erþe, & of helle,
Of Godes priuete.
More him þouȝt, þat God him ȝaf
In his hond a wel feir staf,
In slepe þer he lay;[55]
& Godes Staf, ich vnderstond,
Men clepeþ þat staf in Yrlond
ȝete to þis ich day.
When God him þis ȝif hadde,
Him þouȝt þat he him ladde[60]
Þennes þe way ful riȝt
Into an gret desert;
Þer was an hole michel apert,
Þat griseliche was of siȝt.
Rounde it was about & blak;[65]
In alle þe warld no was his mack,
So griselich entring.
When þat Patrike yseye þat siȝt,
Swiþe sore he was afliȝt
In his slepeing.[70]
Þo God almiȝten him schewed & seyd,
Who þat hadde don sinful dede
Oȝaines Godes lawe,
& wold him þerof repenti,
& take penaunce hastily,[75]
& his foliis wiþdrawe,
So schuld in þis ich hole
A parti of penaunce þole
For his misdede;
A niȝt & a day be herinne,[80]
& al him schuld [be] forȝiue his sinne,
& þe better spede.
& ȝif he ben of gode creaunce,
Gode & poure wiþouten dotaunce,
& stedfast [of] bileue,[85]
He no schuld nouȝt be þerin ful long,
Þat he ne schal se þe paines strong –
Ac non no schal him greue –
In wiche þe soules ben ydo, [f.25va] [Image]
Þat haue deserued to com þerto,[90]
In þis world, ywis;
& also þan sen he may
Þat ich ioie þat lasteþ ay,
Þat is in paradis.
When Ihesu had yseyd alout,[95]
& yschewed al about
Wiþ wel milde chere,
God, þat bouȝt ous dere in heuen,
Fram him he went wiþ milde steuen,
& Patrike bileft þere.[100]
When Seyn Patrike o slepe he woke,
Gode token he fond & vp hem toke
Of his sweuening:
Bok & staf þer he fond,
& tok hem vp in his hond,[105]
& þonked heuen-king.
He kneld & held vp his hond,
& þonked Ihesu Cristes sond
Þat he him hadde ysent,
Wharþurth he miȝt vnderstond[110]
To turn þat folk of Yrlond
To com to amendement.
In þat stede wiþouten lett
A fair abbay he lete sett
Wiþouten ani dueling,[115]
In þe name of Godes glorie,
Seyn Patrike & our leuedy,
Forto rede & sing.
Seyn Patrike maked þe abbay:
Þat wite wele men of þe cuntray,[120]
Þat non is þat yliche.
Regles is þat abbay name,
Þer is solas, gle & game
Wiþ pouer & eke wiþ riche.
White chanounes he sett þerate[125]
To serue God, arliche & late,
& holy men to be.
Þat ich boke & þat staf,
Þat God Seyn Patrike ȝaf,
ȝete þer man may se.[130]
In þe est ende of þe abbay
Þer is þat hole, forsoþe to say,
Þat griseliche is of siȝt, [f.25vb] [Image]
Wiþ gode ston wal al abouten,
Wiþ locke & keye þe gate to louken,[135]
Patrike lete it diȝte.
Þat ich stede, siker ȝe be,
Is ycleped þe riȝt entre
Of Patrikes Purgatorie:
For in þat time þat þis bifelle,[140]
Mani a man went into helle,
As it seyt in þe storie,
& suffred pein for her trespas,
& com oȝain þurth Godes gras,
& seyd alle & some,[145]
Þat þai hadde sen sikerliche
Þe paines of helle apertliche,
When þai were out ycome.
& also þai seyd wiþ heye,
Apertliche þe ioies þai seiȝe[150]
Of angels singing
To God almiȝti & to his.
Þat is þe ioie of paradys;
Ihesu ous þider bring.
When alle þe folk of Yrlond[155]
Þe ioies gan vnderstond,
Þat Seyn Patrike hem sede,
To him þai com euerichon,
& were ycristned in fonston,
& leten her misdede.[160]
& þus þai bicom, lasse & more,
Cristen men þurth Godes lore,
Þurth Patrikes preier.
Now herknes to mi talking:
Ichil ȝou tel of oþer þing,[165]
ȝif ȝe it wil yhere.
Bi Steuenes day, þe king ful riȝt,
Þat Jnglond stabled & diȝt
Wel wiselich in his time,
In Norþhumberland was a kniȝt,[170]
A douhti man & swiþe wiȝt,
As it seyt in þis rime. [ As: MS reads at.]
Oweyn he hiȝt, wiþouten les,
In cuntre þer he born wes,
As ȝe may yhere.[175]
Wel michel he couþe of batayle,
& swiþe sinful he was saunfayle [f.26ra] [Image]
Oȝain his creatour.
On a day he him biþouȝt
Of þe sinne he hadde ywrouȝt,[180]
& sore him gan adrede,
& þouȝt he wold þurth Godes grace
Ben yschriue of his trispas,
& leten his misdede.
& when he hadde þus gode creaunce,[185]
He com, as it bifel a chaunce,
To þe bischop of Yrlond,
Þer he lay in þat abbay,
Þer was þat hole, forsoþe to say,
Penaunce to take an hond.[190]
To þe bischop he biknewe his sinne,
& prayd him, for Godes winne,
Þat he him schuld schriue,
& legge on him penaunce sore:
He wold sinne, he seyd, no more,[195]
Neuer eft in his liue.
Þe bischop þerof was ful bliþe,
& for his sinne blamed him swiþe,
Þat he him hadde ytold,
& seyd he most penaunce take,[200]
ȝif he wald his sinne forsake,
Hard & manifold.
Þan answerd þe kniȝt Owayn,
‘Don ichil’ he seyd ‘ful feyn,
What God me wil sende.[205]
Þei þou me wost comandy
Into Patrikes Purgatori,
Þider ichil wende.’
Þe bischop seyd ‘Nay, Owain, frende.
Þat ich way schaltow nouȝt wende;’[210]
& told him of þe pine,
& bede him lete be þat mischaunce,
& ‘Take’ he seyd ‘sum oþer penaunce,
To amende þe of sinnes þine.’
For nouȝt þe bischop couþe say,[215]
Þe kniȝt nold nouȝt leten his way,
His soule to amende.
Þan ladde he him into holy chirche,
Godes werkes for to wirche,
& þe riȝt lawe him kende.[220]
Fiften days in aflicc[i]oun, [f.26rb] [Image]
In fasting & in orisoun
He was, wiþouten lesing.
Þan þe priour wiþ processioun,
Wiþ croice & wiþ gonfanoun,[225]
To þe hole he gan him bring.
Þe priour seyd ‘Kniȝt Oweyn,
Her is þi gate to go ful gain,
Wende riȝt euen forþ;
& when þou a while ygon hast,[230]
Liȝt of day þou al forlast,
Ac hold þe euen norþ.
Þus þou schalt vnder erþe gon;
Þan þou schalt finde sone anon
A wel gret feld, apliȝt,[235]
& þerin an halle of ston –
Swiche in world no wot y non –
Sumdele þer is of liȝt.
Namore liȝtnesse nis þer yfounde
Þan þe sonne goþ to grounde[240]
In winter sikerly.
Into þe halle þou schalt go,
& duelle þer tille þer com mo
Þat schul þe solaci.
Þritten men þer schul come,[245]
Godes seriaunce alle & some,
As it seyt in þe stori;
& hye þe schul conseily
Hou þou schalt þe conteyni
Þe way þurth purgatori.’[250]
Þan þe priour & his couent
Bitauȝt him God, & forþ hy went;
Þe gate þai schet anon.
Þe kniȝt his way haþ sone ynome,
Þat into þe feld he was ycome[255]
Þer was þe halle of ston.
Þe halle was ful selly diȝt,
Swiche can make no erþeliche wiȝt;
Þe pilers stode wide.
Þe kniȝt wonderd þat he fond[260]
Swiche an halle in þat lond,
& open in ich side.
& when he hadde long stond þerout,
& deuised al about,
In he went þare. [f.26va] [Image] [265]
Þritten men þer come,
Wise men þai war of dome,
& white abite þai bere,
& al her crounes wer newe schorn;
Þer most maister ȝede biforn[270]
& salud þe kniȝt.
Adoun he sat, so seyt þe boke,
& kniȝt Owain to him he toke,
& told him resoun riȝt.
‘Ichil þe conseyl, leue broþer,[275]
As ichaue don mani anoþer
Þat han ywent þis way,
Þat þou ben of gode creaunce,
Certeyn & poure wiþouten dotaunce
To God þi trewe fay;[280]
For þou schalt se, when we ben ago,
A þousend fendes & wele mo,
To bring þe into pine.
Ac loke wele, bise þe so,
& þou ani þing bi hem do,[285]
Þi soule þou schalt tine.
Haue God in þine hert,
& þenk opon his woundes smert,
Þat he suffred þe fore.
& bot þou do [as] y þe telle,[290]
Bodi & soule þou gos to helle,
& euermore forlore.
Nempne Godes heiȝe name,
& þai may do þe no schame,
For nouȝt þat may bifalle.’[295]
& when þai hadde conseyld þe kniȝt,
No lenge bileue he no miȝt,
Bot went out of þe halle;
He & alle his fellawered
Bitauȝt him God & forþ þai ȝede[300]
Wiþ ful mild chere.
Owein bileft þer in drede,
To God he gan to clepi & grede,
& maked his preier.
& sone þerafter sikerly[305]
He gan to here a reweful cri;
He was aferd ful sore.
Þei alle þe warld falle schold,
Fram þe firmament to þe mold, [f.26vb] [Image]
No miȝt haue ben no more.[310]
& when of þe cri was passed þe drede,
Þer com in a grete ferrede
Of fendes fifti score
About þe kniȝt into þe halle;
Loþly þinges þai weren alle,[315]
Bihinde & eke bifore.
& þe kniȝt þai ȝeden abouten,
& grenned on him her foule touten,
& drof him to heþeing,
& seyd he was comen wiþ flesche & fel[320]
To fechen him þe ioie of helle
Wiþouten ani ending.
Þe most maister-fende of alle
Adoun on knes he gan to falle
& seyd ‘Welcome, Owein.[325]
Þou art ycomen to suffri pine
To amende þe of sinnes tine,
Ac alle gett þe no gain,
For þou schalt haue pine anouȝ,
Hard, strong, & ful touȝ,[330]
For þi dedli sinne.
No haddestow neuer more meschaunce
Þan þou schal haue in our daunce,
When we schul play biginne.
Ac no for þan’ þe fendes sede,[335]
‘ȝif þou wilt do bi our rede,
For þou art ous leue & dere,
We schul þe bring wiþ fine amour
Þer þou com in fram þe priour,
Wiþ our felawes yfere.[340]
& elles we schul þe teche here,
Þat þou has serued ous mani ȝer
In pride & lecherie;
For we þe haue so long yknawe,
To þe we schul our hokes þrawe,[345]
Alle our compeynie.’
He seyd he nold wiþouten feyle,
‘Ac y forsake ȝour conseyle;
Mi penaunce ichil take.’
& when þe fendes yherd þis,[350]
Amidward þe halle, ywis,
A grete fer þai gun make.
Fet & hond þai bounde him hard, [f.27ra] [Image]
& casten him amidward.
He cleped to our driȝt;[355]
Anon þe fer oway was weued,
Cole no spark þer nas bileued
Þurth grace of God almiȝt.
& when þe kniȝt yseiȝe þis,
Michel þe balder he was, ywis,[360]
& wele gan vnderstond,
& þouȝt wele in his memorie,
It was þe fendes trecherie,
His hert for to fond.
Þe fendes went out of þe halle,[365]
Þe kniȝt þai ladde wiþ hem alle
Intil an vncouþe lond.
Þer no was no maner wele,
Bot hunger, þrust & chele;
No tre no seiȝe he stond.[370]
Bot a cold winde þat blewe þere,
Þat vnneþe ani man miȝt yhere,
& perced þurth his side.
Þe fendes han þe kniȝt ynome
So long þat þai ben ycome[375]
Into a valay wide.
Þo wende þe kniȝt he hadde yfounde
Þe deppest pit in helle-grounde.
When he com neiȝe þe stede
He loked vp sone anon;[380]
Strong it was forþer to gon,
He herd schriche & grede.
He seiȝe þer ligge ful a feld
Of men & wimen þat wern aqueld,
Naked wiþ mani a wounde.[385]
Toward þe erþe þai lay deueling,
‘Allas! allas!’ was her brocking,
Wiþ iren bendes ybounde;
& gun to scriche & to wayly,
& crid ‘allas! merci, merci![390]
Merci, God almiȝt!’
Merci nas þer non, forsoþe,
Bot sorwe of hert & grinding of toþe:
Þat was a griseli siȝt.
Þat ich sorwe & þat reuþe[395]
Is for þe foule sinne of slewþe,
As it seyt in þe stori. [f.27rb] [Image]
Who þat is slowe in Godes seruise
Of þat pain hem may agrise,
To legge in purgatori.[400]
Þis was þe first pain, apliȝt,
Þat þai dede Owain þe kniȝt:
Þai greued him swiþe sore.
Alle þat pain he haþ ouerschaken;
Vntil anoþer þai han him taken,[405]
Þer he seiȝe sorwe more
Of men & wimen þat þer lay,
Þat crid ‘allas & waileway!’
For her wicked lore.
Þilche soules lay vpward,[410]
As þe oþer hadde ly do[u]nward
Þat ytold of bifore.
& were þurth fet, & hond, & heued,
Wiþ iren nailes gloweand red,
To þe erþe ynayled þat tide.[415]
Owain seiȝe sitt on hem þere
Loþli dragouns alle o fer;
In herd is nouȝt to hide.
On sum sete todes blake,
Euetes, neddren & þe snake,[420]
Þat frete hem bac & side.
Þis is be pain of glotoni:
For Godes loue, be war þerbi.
It rinneþ al to wide.
ȝete him þouȝt a pain strong[425]
Of a cold winde blewe hem among,
Þat com out of þe sky;
So bitter & so cold it blewe,
Þat alle þe soules it ouerþrewe
Þat lay in purgatori.[430]
Þe fendes lopen on hem þare,
& wiþ her hokes hem al totere,
& loude þai gun to crie.
Who þat is licchoure in þis liif,
Be it man oþer be it wiif,[435]
Þat schal ben his bayli.
Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt,
‘Þou hast ben strong lichoure, apliȝt,
& strong glotoun also:
Into þis pain þou schalt be diȝt,[440]
Bot þou take þe way ful riȝt [f.27va] [Image]
Oȝain þer þou com fro.’
Owain seyd ‘Nay, Satan.
ȝete forþermar ichil gan,
Þurth grace of God almiȝt.’[445]
Þe fendes wald him haue hent:
Þe cleped to God omnipotent,
& þai lorn al her miȝt.
Þai ladde him forþer into a stede
Þer men neuer gode no dede,[450]
Bot schame & vilanie.
Herkneþ now & ben in pes.
In þe ferþ feld it wes,
Al ful of turmentrie.
Sum bi þe fet wer honging,[455]
Wiþ iren hokes al brening,
& sum bi þe swere,
& sum bi wombe & sum bi rigge,
Al oþerwise þan y can sigge,
In diuers manere.[460]
& sum in forneise were ydon,
Wiþ molten ledde & quic brunston
Boiland aboue þe fer,
& sum bi þe tong hing,
‘Allas!’ was euer her brocking,[465]
& no noþer preiere.
& sum on grediris layen þere,
Al glowand oȝains þe fer,
Þat Owain wele yknewe,
Þat whilom were of his queyntaunce,[470]
Þat suffred þer her penaunce:
Þo chaunged al his hewe.
A wilde fer hem þurthout went,
Alle þat it oftok it brent,
Ten þousend soules & mo:[475]
Þo þat henge bi fet & swere,
Þat were þeues & þeues fere,
& wrouȝt man wel wo.
& þo þat henge bi þe tong,
Þat ‘allas’ euer song,[480]
& so loude crid,
Þat wer bacbiters in her liue.
Be war þerbi, man & wiue,
Þat lef beþ forto chide.
Alle þe stedes þe kniȝt com bi [f.27vb] [Image] [485]
Were þe paines of purgatori
For her werkes wrong.
Whoso is lef on þe halidom swere,
Or ani fals witnes bere,
Þer ben her peynes strong.[490]
Owain anon him biwent
& seiȝe where a whele trent,
Þat griseliche were of siȝt;
Michel it was, about it wond,
& brend riȝt as it were a brond;[495]
Wiþ hokes it was ydiȝt.
An hundred þousand soules & mo
Opon þe whele were honging þo;
Þe fendes þertil ourn.
Þe stori seyt of Owain þe kniȝt,[500]
Þat no soule knowe he no miȝt,
So fast þai gun it tourn.
Out of þe erþe com a liȝting
Of a blo fer al brening,
Þat stank foule wiþalle,[505]
& about þe whele it went,
& þe soules it forbrent
To poudre swiþe smal.
Þat whele þat renneþ in þis wise,
Is for þe sinne of couaitise,[510]
Þat regnes now oueral.
Þe coueytous man haþ neuer anouȝ
Of gold, of siluer, no of plouȝ,
Til deþ him do doun falle.
Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt,[515]
‘Þou hast ben couaitise, apliȝt,
To win lond & lede;
Opon þis whele þou schal be diȝt, [ þou: MS reads he.]
Bot ȝif þou take þe way ful riȝt
Intil þin owhen þede.’[520]
Þer conseyl he haþ forsaken.
Þe fendes han þe kniȝt forþ taken,
& bounde him swiþe hard
Opon þe whele þat arn about,
& so loþly gan to rout,[525]
& cast him amidward.
Þo þe hokes him torent,
& þe wild fer him tobrent,
On Ihesu Crist he þouȝt. [f.28ra] [Image]
Fram þat whele an angel him bare,[530]
& al þe fendes þat were þare
No miȝt him do riȝt nouȝt.
Þai ladde him forþer wiþ gret pain,
Til þai com to a mounteyn
Þat was as rede as blod,[535]
& men & wimen þeron stode.
Him þouȝt it nas for non gode,
For þai cride as þai were wode.
Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt þan,
‘Þou hast wonder of þilche man[540]
Þat make so dreri mode:
For þai deserued Godes wreche,
Þem schal sone com a beuereche,
Þat schal nouȝt þenche hem gode.’
No hadde he no raþer þat word yseyd,[545]
As it is in þe stori leyd,
Þer com a windes blast,
Þat fende & soule & kniȝt vp went
Almest into þe firmament,
& seþþen adon him cast[550]
Into a stinkand riuer,
Þat vnder þe mounteyn ran o fer,
As quarel of alblast.
& cold it was as ani ise:
Þe pain may no man deuise,[555]
Þat him was wrouȝt in hast.
Seyn Owain in þe water was dreynt,
& wex þerin so mad & feynt,
Þat neiȝe he was forlore;
Sone so he on God miȝt þenchen ouȝt,[560]
Out of þe water he was ybrouȝt,
& to þe lond ybore.
Þat ich pain, ich vnderstond,
Is for boþe niþe & ond,
Þat was so wick liif;[565]
Ond was þe windes blast
Þat into þe stinking water him cast:
Ich man be war þerbi.
Forþ þai ladde him swiþe wiþalle,
Til þai com to an halle;[570]
He no seiȝe neuer er non swiche.
Out of þe halle com an hete,
Þat þe kniȝt bigan to swete, [f.28rb] [Image]
He seiȝe so foule a smiche.
Þo stint he forþer for to gon.[575]
Þe fendes it aperceiued anon,
& were þerof ful fawe.
‘Turn oȝain’ þai gun to crie,
‘Or þou schalt wel sone dye,
Bot þou þe wiþdrawe.’[580]
& when he com to þe halle dore,
He no hadde neuer sen bifore
Haluendel þe care.
Þe halle was ful of turmentri:
Þo þat were in þat bayly[585]
Of blis þai were ful bare,
For al was þe halle grounde
Ful of pittes þat were rounde,
& were ful yfilt
To þe brerdes, gret & smal,[590]
Of bras & coper & oþer metal,
& quic bronston ymelt.
& men & wimen þeron stode,
& schrist & crid as þai wer wode,
For her dedeli sinne.[595]
Sum to þe nauel wode,
& sum to þe brestes ȝode,
& sum to þe chin.
Ich man after his misgilt
In þat pein was ypilt,[600]
To haue þat strong hete;
& sum bere bagges about her swere
Of pens gloweand al of fer,
& swiche mete þer þai ete.
Þat were gauelers in her liif.[605]
Be war þerbi, boþe man & wiif,
Swiche sinne þat ȝe lete.
& mani soules þer ȝede vpriȝtes,
Wiþ fals misours & fals wiȝtes,
Þat fendes opon sete.[610]
Þe fendes to þe kniȝt sede,
‘Þou most baþi in þis lede
Ar þan þou hennes go;
For þine okering & for þi sinne
A parti þou most be wasche herinne,[615]
O cours or to.’
Owain drad þat turment, [f.28va] [Image]
& cleped to God omnipotent,
& his moder Marie.
Yborn he was out of þe halle,[620]
Fram þe paines & þe fendes alle,
Þo he so loude gan crie.
Anon þe kniȝt was war þer,
Whare sprang out a flaumme o fer,
Þat was stark & store.[625]
Out þe erþe þe fer aros,
Þo þe kniȝt wel sore agros;
As cole & piche it fore.
Of seuen maner colours þe fer out went,
Þe soules þerin it forbrent;[630]
Sum was ȝalu & grene,
Sum was blac, & sum was blo.
Þo þat were þerin, hem was ful wo,
& sum as nadder on to sene.
Þe fende haþ þe kniȝt ynome,[635]
& to þe pit þai weren ycome,
& seyd þus in her spelle,
‘Now, Owain, þou miȝt solas make,
For þou schalt wiþ our felawes schake
Into þe pit of helle.[640]
Þis ben our foules in our caghe,
& þis is our courtelage
& our castel tour;
Þo þat ben herin ybrouȝt,
Sir kniȝt, hou trowestow ouȝt,[645]
Þat hem is ani þing sour?
Now turn oȝain or to late,
Ar we þe put in at helle-gate;
Out no schaltow neuer winne,
For no noise no for no crie,[650]
No for no clepeing to Marie,
No for no maner ginne.’
Her conseil þe kniȝt forsoke.
Þe fendes him nom, so seiþ þe boke,
& bounde him swiþe fast;[655]
Into þat ich wicke prisoun,
Stinckand & derk fer adoun
Amidward þai him cast.
Euer þe neþer þat þai him cast
Þe hatter þe fer on him last.[660]
Þo him gan sore smert, [f.28vb] [Image]
He cleped to God omnipotent,
To help him out of þat turment,
Wiþ gode wille & stedefast hert.
Out of þe pit he was yborn,[665]
& elles he hadde ben forlorn
To his ending-day.
Þat is þe pine þat ich of rede,
Is for þe foule sinne of prede,
Þat schal lasten ay.[670]
Biside þe pit he seiȝe & herd
Hou God almiȝten him had ywerd;
His cloþes wer al torent.
Forþer couþe he no way,
Þer him þouȝt a diuers cuntray;[675]
His bodi was al forbrent.
Þo chaunged Owain rode & hewe;
Fendes he seiȝe, ac non he no knewe,
In þat diuers lond;
Sum sexti eiȝen bere,[680]
Þat loþeliche & griseliche we[re],
& sum hadde sexti hond.
Þai seyd ‘Þou schalt nouȝt ben alon,
Þou schalt hauen ous to mon,
To teche þe newe lawes,[685]
As þou hast ylernd ere,
In þe stede þer þou were
Amonges our felawes.’
Þe fendes han þe kniȝt ynome,
To a stinkand water þai ben ycome;[690]
He no seiȝe neuer er non swiche.
It stank fouler þan ani hounde,
& mani mile it was to þe grounde,
& was as swart as piche.
& Owain seiȝe þerouer ligge[695]
A swiþe strong naru brigge.
Þe fendes seyd þo,
‘Lo, sir kniȝt, sestow þis?
Þis is þe brigge of paradis,
Here ouer þou most go;[700]
& we þe schul wiþ stones þrowe,
& þe winde þe schal ouer blowe,
& wirche þe ful wo.
Þou no schalt, for al þis midnerd,
Bot ȝif þou falle amidwerd [f.29ra] [Image] [705]
To our fe[la]wes mo.
& when þou art adoun yfalle,
Þan schal com our felawes alle,
& wiþ her hokes þe hede.
We schul þe teche a newe play –[710]
Þou hast serued ous mani a day –
& into helle þe lede.’
Owain biheld þe brigge smert,
Þe water þervnder, blac & swert,
& sore him gan to drede,[715]
For of o þing he tok ȝeme:
Neuer mot in sonnebeme
Þicker þan þe fendes ȝede.
Þe brigge was as heiȝe as a tour,
& as scharpe as a rasour,[720]
& naru it was also;
& þe water þat þer ran vnder
Brend o liȝting & of þonder,
Þat þouȝt him michel wo.
Þer nis no clerk may write wiþ ynke,[725]
No no man no may biþinke,
No no maister deuine,
Þat is ymade, forsoþe ywis,
Vnder þe brigge of paradis,
Haluendel þe pine.[730]
So þe dominical ous telle,
Þer is þe pure entre of helle –
Sein Poule berþ witnesse.
Whoso falleþ of þe brigge adoun,
Of him nis no redempcioun,[735]
Noiþer more no lesse.
Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt þo,
‘Ouer þis brigge miȝt þou nouȝt go,
For noneskines nede.
Fle periil, sorwe & wo,[740]
& to þat stede, þer þou com fro,
Wel fair we schul þe lede.’
Owain anon him gan biþenche
Fram hou mani of þe fendes wrenche
God him saued hadde.[745]
He sett his fot opon þe brigge,
No feld he no scharp egge,
No noþing him no drad.
When þe fendes yseiȝe þo, [f.29rb] [Image]
Þat he was more þan half ygo,[750]
Loude þai gun to crie,
‘Allas, allas, þat he was born.
Þis ich kniȝt we haue forlorn
Out of our baylie.’
When he was of þe brigge ywent,[755]
He þonked God omnipotent,
& his moder Marie,
Þat him hadde swiche grace ysent,
He was deliuerd fro her turment,
Intil a better baylie.[760]
A cloþ of gold him was ybrouȝt,
In what maner he nist nouȝt,
Þo God him hadde ysent.
Þat cloþ he dede on him þere,
& alle woundes hole were,[765]
Þat er þen was forbrent.
He þonked God in trinite,
& loked forþer & gan yse
As it were a ston wal.
He biheld about fer & neiȝe,[770]
Non ende þeron he no seiȝe,
O red gold it schon al.
Forþermore he gan yse
A gate – non fairer miȝt be
In þis world ywrouȝt.[775]
Tre no stel nas þeron non,
Bot rede gold & precious ston,
& al God made of nouȝt.
Jaspers, topes & cristal,
Margarites & coral,[780]
& riche safer-stones,
Ribes & salidoines,
Onicles & causteloines,
& diamaunce for þe nones.
In tabernacles þai wer ywrouȝt,[785]
Richer miȝt it be nouȝt,
Wiþ pilers gent & smal,
Arches ybent wiþ charbukelston,
Knottes of rede gold þeropon,
& pinacles of cristal.[790]
Bi as miche as our Saueour
Is queinter þan goldsmitþe oþer paintour,
Þat woneþ in ani lond, [f.29va] [Image]
So fare þe gates of paradis
Er richer ywrouȝt, forsoþe ywis,[795]
As ȝe may vnderstond.
Þe gates bi hem selue vndede:
Swiche a smal com out of þat stede,
As it al baume were;
& of þat ich swetenisse[800]
Þe kniȝt tok so gret strengþe, ywis,
As ȝe may forþeward here,
Þat him þouȝt he miȝt wel,
More bi a þousand del,
Suffri pain & wo,[805]
& turn oȝain siker, apliȝt,
& ogain alle fendes fiȝt,
Þer he er com fro.
Þe kniȝt ȝode þe gate ner,
& seiȝe þer com wiþ milde chere[810]
Wel mani [in] processioun,
Wiþ tapers & chaundelers of gold,
Non fairer no miȝt ben on mold,
& croices & gomfainoun.
Popes wiþ gret dignite,[815]
& cardinals gret plente,
Kinges & quenes þer were,
Kniȝtes, abbotes & priours,
Monkes, chanouns & frere prechours,
& bischopes þat croices bere;[820]
Frere menours & iacobins,
Frere carmes & frere austines,
& nonnes white & blake.
Al maner religioun
Þer ȝede in þat processioun,[825]
Þat order had ytake.
Þe order of wedlake com also,
Men & wimen mani & mo,
& þonked Godes grace,
Þat haþ þe kniȝt swiche grace ysent,[830]
Þe was deliuerd from þe fendes turment,
Quic man into þat plas.
& when þai hadde made þis melody,
Tvay com out of her compeynie,
Palmes of gold þai bere;[835]
To þe kniȝt þai ben ycome, [f.29vb] [Image]
Bitvix hem tvay þai han him nome,
& erchebischopes it were.
Vp & doun þai ladde þe kniȝt,
& schewed him ioies of more miȝt,[840]
& miche melodye.
Mirie were her carols þere;
Non foles among hem nere,
Bot ioie & menstracie.
Þai ȝede on carol al bi line,[845]
Her ioie may no man deuine,
Of God þai speke & song;
& angels ȝeden hem to gy,
Wiþ harpe & fiþel & sautry,
& belles miri rong.[850]
No may þer no man caroly inne,
Bot þat he be clene of sinne,
& leten alle foly.
Now God, for þine wo[u]ndes alle,
Graunt ous caroly in þat halle,[855]
& his moder Marie.
Þis ich ioie, as ȝe may se,
Is for loue & charite
Oȝain God & mankinne.
Who þat lat erþely loue be,[860]
& loueþ God in Trinite,
He may caroly þerinne.
Oþer ioies he seiȝe anouȝ:
Heiȝe tres wiþ mani a bouȝ,
Þeron sat foules of heuen,[865]
& breke her notes wiþ miri gle,
Burdoun & mene gret plente,
& hautain wiþ heiȝe steuen.
Him þouȝt wele wiþ þat foules song
He miȝt wele liue þeramong[870]
Til þe worldes ende.
Þer he seiȝe þat tre of liif
Wharþurth þat Adam & his wiif
To helle gun wende.
Fair were her erbers wiþ floures,[875]
Rose & lili, diuers colours,
Primrol & paruink,
Mint, feþerfoy & eglentere,
Colombin & mo þer were [f.30ra] [Image]
Þan ani man mai biþenke.[880]
It beþ erbes of oþer maner
Þan ani in erþe [groweþ here],
Þo þat is lest of priis.
Euermore þai grene springeþ,
For winter no somer it no clingeþ,[885]
& swetter þan licorice.
Þer beþ þe welles in þat stede,
Þe water is swetter þan ani mede,
Ac on þer is of priis,
Swiche þat seynt Owain seiȝe þo,[890]
Þat foure stremes vrn fro,
Out of paradis.
Pison men clepeþ þat o strem, [ Pison: MS reads Dison.]
Þat is of swiþe briȝt lem;
Gold is þerin yfounde.[895]
Gihon men clepeþ þat oþer, ywis, [ Gihon: MS reads Fison.]
Þat is of miche more priis
Of stones in þe grounde.
Þe þridde strem is Eufrates,
Forsoþe to telle, wiþouten les,[900]
Þat rinneþ swiþe riȝt.
Þe ferþ strem is Tigris;
In þe world is make nis,
Of stones swiþe briȝt.
Who loueþ to liue in clenesse,[905]
He schal haue þat ich blisse,
& se þat semly siȝt.
& more he þer yseiȝe
Vnder Godes glorie an heiȝe –
Yblisced [be] his miȝt.[910]
Sum soule he seyȝe woni bi selue,
& sum bi ten & bi tvelue,
& euerich com til oþer;
& when þai com togiders, ywis,
Alle þai made miche blis[915]
As soster doþ wiþ þe broþer.
Sum he seiȝe gon in rede scarlet,
& sum in pourper wele ysett,
& sum in sikelatoun;
As þe prest ate masse wereþ,[920]
Tonicles & aubes on hem þai bereþ,
& sum gold bete al doun. [f.30rb] [Image]
Þe kniȝt wele in alle þing
Knewe bi her cloþeing
In what state þat þai weren,[925]
& what dedes þai hadde ydo,
Þo þat were ycloþed so,
While þai were mannes fere.
Ichil ȝou tel a fair semblaunce,
Þat is a gode acordaunce[930]
Bi þe sterres clere:
Sum ster is briȝter on to se
Þan is bisides oþer þre,
& of more pouwere.
In þis maner ydelt it is,[935]
Bi þe ioies of paradis: [ paradis: MS reads parabis.]
Þai no haue nouȝt al yliche;
Þe soule þat haþ ioie lest,
Him þenkeþ he haþ aldermest,
& holt him also riche.[940]
Þe bischopes oȝain to him come,
Bitven hem tvay þai him nome,
& ladde him vp & doun,
& seyd ‘Broþer, God, herd he be.
Fulfild is þi volente;[945]
Now herken our resoun.
Þou hast yse wiþ eiȝen þine
Boþe þe ioies & þe pine –
Yherd be Godes grace.
We wil þe tel bi our comun dome,[950]
What way it was þat þou bicome,
Er þou hennes pas.
Þat lond þat is so ful of sorwe,
Boþe a[n e]uen & amorwe,
Þat þou þus com bi –[955]
Þou suffredes pain & wo,
& oþer soules mani mo –
Men clepeþ it purgatori.
& þis lond þat is so wide,
& so michel & so side,[960]
& is ful of blis,
Þat þou hast now in ybe,
& mani ioies here yse,
Paradis is cleped, ywis.
Þer mai no man comen here [f.30va] [Image] [965]
Til þat he be spourged þere,
& ymade al clene.
Þan comeþ þai hider’ þe bischop sede,
‘Into þe ioie we schul hem lede,
Sumwhile bi tvelue & tene.[970]
& sum ben so hard ybounde,
Þai nite neuer hou long stounde
Þai schul suffri þat hete.
Bot ȝif her frendes do godenisse,
ȝif mete, or do sing messe,[975]
Þat þai han in erþe ylete,
Oþer ani oþer almosdede,
Alle þe better hem may spede
Out of her missays,
& com into þis paradis,[980]
Þer ioie & blis euer is,
& libbe here al in pays.
As hye comeþ out of purgatori,
So passe we vp to Godes glori,
Þat is þe heiȝe riche,[985]
Þat is paradis celestien;
Þerin com bot Cristen men:
No ioie nis þat yliche.
When we comen out of þe fer
Of purgatori, ar we com her,[990]
We no may nouȝt anonriȝt,
Til we han her long ybe,
We may nouȝt Godes face yse,
No in þat stede aliȝt.
Þe child þat was yborn toniȝt,[995]
Er Þe soule be hider ydiȝt,
Þe pain schal ouerfle.
Strong & heui is it þan,
Here to com þe old man,
Þat long in sinne haþ be.’[1000]
Forþ þai went til þai seiȝe
A mounteyn þat was swiþe heiȝe,
Þer was al gamen & gle.
So long þai hadde þe way ynome,
Þat to þe cop þai weren ycome,[1005]
Þe ioies forto se.
Þer was al maner foulen song,
Michel ioie was hem among,
& euermore schal be; [f.30vb] [Image]
Þer is more ioie in a foules mouþe,[1010]
Þan here in harp, fiþel or crouþe,
Bi lond oþer bi se.
Þat lond, þat is so honestly,
Is ycleped paradis terestri,
Þat is in erþe here;[1015]
Þat oþer is paradis, Godes riche:
Þilke ioie haþ non yliche,
& is aboue þe aire.
In þat, þat is in erþe here,
Was Owain, þat y spac of here,[1020]
Swiche þat les Adam;
For, hadde Adam yhold him stille,
& wrouȝt after Godes wille –
As he oȝain him nam –
He no his ofspring neuermo[1025]
Out of þat ioie no schuld haue go;
Bot for he brac it so sone,
Wiþ pike & spade in diche to delue,
To help his wiif & him selue,
God made him miche to done.[1030]
God was wiþ him so wroþ,
Þat he no left him no cloþ,
Bot a lef of a tre,
& al naked ȝede & stode.
Loke man, ȝif hye ner wode,[1035]
At swiche a conseil to be.
Þo com an angel wiþ a swerd o fer,
& wiþ a stern loke & chere,
& made hem sore aferd;
In erþe to ben in sorwe & wo,[1040]
Þerwhile þai liued euermo,
He drof hem to midnerd.
& when he dyed to helle he nam,
& al þat euer of him cam,
Til Godes sone was born,[1045]
& suffred pain & passioun,
& brouȝt him out of þat prisoun,
& elles were al forlorn.
Hereof spekeþ Dauid in þe sauter,
Of a þing þat toucheþ here,[1050]
Of God in Trinite,
Opon men, þat ben in gret honour, [Catchword: & honoureþ nouȝt her.]
& honoureþ nouȝt her creatour [f.31ra] [Image]
Of so heiȝe dignite.
Alle þat ben of Adames kinne,[1055]
Þ[at here in erþe haue don sinne],
S .... .... .... ....
O .... .... .... ....
H .... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
..{12 lines lost where minature cut out.}[1]
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
B.... .... .... ....
In þe paine of purgatori;
& bot he haue þe better chaunce,[1070]
At domesday he is in balaunce
Oȝaines God in glorie.
Þe bischopes þe kniȝt hete
To tellen hem, þat he no lete, [ hem: MS reads him.]
Wheþer heuen were white or biis,[1075]
Blewe or rede, ȝalu or grene.
Þe kniȝt seyd ‘wiþouten wene,
Y schal say min aviis.
Me þenkeþ it is a þousandfold
Briȝter þan euer was ani gold,[1080]
Bi siȝt opon to se.’
‘ȝa’ seyd þe bischop to þe kniȝt,
Þat ich stede, þat is so briȝt,
Nis bot þe entre.
& ich day ate gate o siþe[1085]
Ous comeþ a mele to make ous bliþe,
Þat is to our biheue:
A swete smal of al gode,
It is our soule fode.
Abide, þou schalt ous leue.’[1090]
Anon þe kniȝt was war þere,
Whare sprong out a flaumbe o fer,
Fram heuen-gate it fel.
Þe kniȝt þouȝt, al fer & neiȝe,
Þat ouer al paradis it fleiȝe,[1095]
& ȝaf so swete a smal.
Þe holy gost in fourme o fer [f.31rb] [Image]
Opon þe kniȝt liȝt þer,
In þat ich place;
Þurth vertu of þat ich liȝt[1100]
He les þer al his erþelich miȝt,
& þonked Godes grace.
Þus þe bischop to him sede,
‘God fet ous ich day wiþ his brede,
Ac we no haue [i]n oure neiȝe[1105]
So grete likeing of his grace,
No swiche a siȝt opon his face,
As þo þat ben on heiȝe.
Þe soules þat beþ at Godes fest,
Þilche ioie schal euer lest[1110]
Wiþouten ani ende.
Now þou most bi our comoun dome,
Þat ich way þat þou bicome,
Oȝain þou most wende.
Now kepe þe wele fram dedli sinne,[1115]
Þat þou neuer com þerinne,
For nonskines nede.
When þou art ded, þou schalt wende
Into þe ioie þat haþ non ende;
Angels schul þe lede.’[1120]
Þo wepe seynt Owain swiþe sore,
& prayd hem for Godes ore,
Þat he most þer duelle;
Þat he no seiȝe neuermore,
As he hadde do bifore,[1125]
Þe strong paines of helle.
Of þat praier gat he no gain.
Þe nam his leue & went oȝain,
Þei him were swiþe wo.
Fendes he seiȝe ten þousand last,[1130]
Þay flowe fram him as quarel of alblast,
Þat he er com fro.
No nere þan a quarel miȝt fle,
No fende no miȝt him here no se,
For al þis warld to winne;[1135]
& when þat he com to þe halle,
Þe þritten men he fond alle,
Oȝaines him þerinne.
Alle þai held vp her hond,
& þonked Ihesu Cristes sond[1140]
A Þousand times & mo, [f.31va] [Image]
& bad him heiȝe, þat he no wond,
Þat he wer vp in Yrlond,
As swiþe as he miȝt go.
& as ich finde in þis stori,[1145]
Þe priour of þe Purgatori
Com tokening þat niȝt,
Þat Owain hadde ouercomen his sorwe,
& schuld com vpon þe morwe,
Þurth grace of God almiȝt.[1150]
Þan þe priour wiþ processioun,
Wiþ croice & wiþ gomfainoun,
To þe hole he went ful riȝt,
Þer þat kniȝt Owain in wende.
As a briȝt fere þat brende,[1155]
Þai seiȝe a lem of liȝt,
& riȝt amiddes þat ich liȝt
Com vp Owain, Godes kniȝt.
Þo wist þai wele bi þan,
Þat Owain hadde ben in paradis,[1160]
& in purgatori, ywis,
& þat he was holy man.
Þai ladde him into holi chirche,
Godes werkes for to wirche.
His praiers he gan make,[1165]
& at þe ende on þe fiften day,
Þe kniȝt anon, forsoþe to say,
Scrippe & burdoun gan take.
Þat ich holy stede he souȝt,
Þer Ihesus Crist ous dere bouȝt[1170]
Opon þe rode-tre,
& þer he ros fram ded to liue
Þurth vertu of his woundes fiue –
Yblisced mot he be.
& Bedlem þer þat God was born[1175]
Of Mari his moder, as flour of þorn,
& þer he stiȝe to heuen;
& seþþen into Yrlond he come,
& monkes abite vndernome,
& liued here ȝeres seuen.[1180]
& when he deyd he went, ywis,
Into þe heiȝe ioie of paradis,
Þurth help of Godes grace.
Now God, for seynt Owains loue,
Graunt ous heuen-blis aboue [f.31vb] [Image] [1185]
Bifor his swete face. Amen
Explicit