The Works of William Herebert, OFM


Poems
Poem 1: Hostis Herodes impie; Fol. 205r
HErodes, þou wykked fo, wharof ys þy dredinge?
And why art þou so sore agast of Cristes tocominge?
Ne reueth hé nouth erthlich gód þat maketh ous heuene kynges.
Þe kynges wenden here way and foleweden þe sterre,
And sothfast lyȝth wyth sterre lyth souhten vrom so verre,
And sheuden wel þat he ys God in gold and stor and mirre.
Crist, ycleped "heuene lomb," so cóm to seynt Ion,
And of hym was ywasȝe þat sunne nadde nón,
To halewen oure vollouth water, þat sunne hauet uordon.
A newe myhte he cudde þer he was at a feste:
He made vulle wyth shyr water six cannes by þe léste;
Bote þe water turnde into wyn þorou Crystes oune heste.
Poem 2: Vexilla regis prodeunt; Fol. 205r-v
Þe kynges baneres beth forth ylad;
Þe rode tokne ys nou tosprad
Whar he, þat wrouth hauet al monkunne,
Anhonged was uor oure sunne.
Þer he was wounded and vurst yswonge,
Wyth sharpe spere to herte ystonge;
To wassȝen ous of sunne clene,
Water and blod þer ronne at ene.
Yvoluuld ys Dauidþes sawe,
Þat soth was prophete of þe olde lawe,
Þat sayde: "Men, ȝe mowen yse
Hou Godes trone ys rode tre."
[folio 205v]
HA trœ, þat art so vayr ykud,
And wyth kynges pourpre yshrud,
Of wourþy stok ykore þou were,
Þat so holy limes opbere;
Blessed be þou, þat hauest ybore
Þe wordles raunsoun, þat was uorlore:
Þou art ymaked Crystes weye;
Þorou þe he tok of helle preye.
Ha croyz, myn hope, onliche my trust,
Þe nouþe ich gréte wyth al my lust.
Þe mylde sped in rithfolnesse,
To sunfole men shéu mylsfolnesse.
Poem 3: Gloria, Laus, et Honor; Fol. 205v
Wele, heriȝyng, and worshype boe to Crist, þat dœ´re ous bouhte,
To wham gradden "Osanna!" chyldren clene of þoute.
Þou art kyng of Israel and of Davidþes kunne,
Blessed kyng, þat comest tyl ous wyþoute wem of sunne.
Wele, heriȝyng, [etc.]
Al þat ys in heuene þé heryȝeth under on,
And al þyn ouwe hondewerk, and euch dedlych mon.
Wœle, heriȝying, [etc.]
Þe volk of Gýwes, wyth bówes, comen aȝeynest þe,
And wœ wyht bœdes and wyth song mœketh ous to þe.
Wœle, heriȝying, [etc.]
Hœ kepten þe wyth worsȝyping aȝeynst þou shuldest deyȝe,
And wœ syngeth to þy worshipe in trone þat sittest heyȝe.
Wœle, heriȝying, [etc.]
Hoere wyl and here mœkynge þou nóme þo to þonk;
Quéme þe, þœnne, mylsful kyng, oure ofringe of þys song.
Wele, heri[ȝ]ing, and worshipe bœ, etc.
Poem 4: Popule meus, quid feci tibi?; Fol. 206r
Þorou wyldernesse ich ladde þe,
And uourty ȝer bihedde þe,
And aungeles bred ich ȝaf to þe,
And into reste ich brouhte þe.
My volk what habbe y do þe? etc.
Ich þe vedde and shrudde þe,
And þou wyth eysyl drinkst to me?
And wyth spere styngest me?
My volk what etc.
Ich delede þe see uor þe,
And dreynte Pharaon uor þe,
A[n]d þou to princes sullest me?
My volk what habbe y do þe? etc.
Poem 5: Libera me, Domine; Fol. 206v
Louerd, shyld me vrom helle deth at þylke gryslich stounde,
When heuene and œrþe shulle quake and al þat ys on grounde,
When þou shalt demen al wyth fur þat ys on œrþe yuounde.
Ich am ouergard agast and quake al in my speche
Aȝa þe day of rykenyng and þylke gryslych wreche:
When heuene and œrþe shulle quake and al þat ys on grounde.
Þat day ys day of wreþthe, of wo and soroufolnesse;
Þat day shal bœ þe grete day, and vol of bytternesse:
When þou shalt demen al wyth fur þat ys on œrþe yuounde.
Þylke reste, þat euer last, Louerd, þou hœm sende,
And lyht of hœuene blysse hœm shyne wythouten ende:
Crist shyld me vrom deth endeles, etc.
Poem 6: Þou wommon boute uére; Fol. 206v-207r
Þou wommon boute uére
Þyn oune uader bére.
Gret wonder þys was:
Þat on wommon was móder
To uader and hyre broþer,
So neuer oþer nas.
Þou my suster and moder,
And þy sone my broþer;
Who shulde þœnne dréde?
Who hauet þe kyng to broder
And ek þe quéne to moder
Wel auhte uor to spéde.
Dame, suster and moder,
Say þy sone, my broþer,
Þat ys domes mon,
Þat uor þe þat hym bere
To me bœ debonere;
My robe he haueth opon.
Sœthþe he my robe tok,
Also ich finde in bok,
He ys to me ybounde.
And helpe he wole ich wot,
Vor loue þe chartre wrot,
Þe enke orn of hys wounde.
Ich take to wytnessinge
Þe spere and þe crounynge,
Þe nayles and þe rode,
Þat he þat ys so cunde
Þys euer haueth in munde,
Þat bouhte ous wyth hys blode.
When þou ȝeue hym my wede,
Dame, help at þe nœde.
Ich wot þou myth uol wel,
Þat uor no wreched gult
Ich bœ to helle ypult;
To þe ich make apél.
Nou, Dame, ich þe byseche,
At þylke day of wreche
Bœ by þy sones tróne,
When sunne shal bœn souht
In werk, in word, in þouht,
And spek vor me, þou one.
Poem 7: Ave maris stella; Fol. 207r-v
Hayl, Leuedy, se-stœrre bryht,
Godes moder, edy wyht,
Mayden euer vurst and late,
Of heueneriche sely ȝáte.
Þylk "Aue" þat þou vonge in spel
Of þe aungeles mouhþ kald Gabriel;
In gryht ous sette and shyld vrom shome,
Þat turnst abakward Eues nome.
Gulty monnes bond vnbynd,
Bryng lyht tyl hœm þat bœth blynd.
Put vrom ous oure sunne
And ern ous alle wynne.
Shou þat þou art moder one,
And he vor þe take oure bone,
Þat vor ous þy chyld by com,
And of þe oure kunde nom.
Mayde one, þou were myd chylde,
Among alle so mylde;
Of sinne ous quite on haste,
And make ous meoke and chaste.
Poem 8: Veni Creator Spiritus; Fol. 207v
Þou, þat art cleped uorspekere and ȝyft vrom God ysend,
Welle of lyf, vur, charite, and gostlych oynement,
Þou ȝyfst þe seuene ȝyftes, þou vinger of Godes honde,
Þou makest tonge of vlesȝe speke leodene of uche londe.
Poem 9: Alma redemptoris Mater; Fol. 207v
Holy moder, þat bere Cryst, buggere of monkunde,
Þou art ȝat of heuene blisse þat prest wey ȝyfst and bunde.
Þou sterre of se, rer op þe uolk þat rysing haueht in munde.
In þe þou bere þyn holy uader,
Þat mayden were after and raþer,
Wharof so wondreth kunde.
Of Gabrieles mouþe þou uonge þylke "Aue";
Lesne ous of sunne nouþe, so wœ bisecheth þe. AmeN.
Poem 10: Conditor alme siderum; Fol. 208r
Holy wrouhte of sterres brryht,
Of ryht byleue ay-lastyng lyht,
Crist, þat bouhtest mon wyth fyht,
Her þe bone of mœke wyht.
Þou hédest ruþe of wordl vorlore þorou déth of sunfol rote;
Þou sauuedest monkun þeruore; to gulty ȝéue bote.
Toward þe wordles ende
Þy wylle was t'alende
In on maydenes bour.
Ase spouse of chaumbre alóne,
Out of þat clene wóne
Þou come t'oure honour.
To whás stronge myhte
Knœn of alle wyhtes
Béndeth hœm ymóne,
Of heuene and ek of eorþe,
And knoulecheth hym wóurþe
Vor bouwen to hym one.
Poem 11: Christe redemptor omnium; Fol. 208r-v
Cryst, buggere of alle ycoren, þe Uadres olpy Sone,
Ón touoren ey gynnyng boren ouer alle speche and wone.
Þou lyht, þou Uadres bryhtnesse, þou trust and hope of alle,
Lust what þy volk þorou-out þe wordl to þe byddeth and kallet.
Þys day berth wytnésse, þat nœ´weth úche ȝér,
Þat ón alyhtest vrom þe Uader; of sunne make ous sker.
Hym hœuene and œrþe and wylde se and al þat ys þeron,
Wrouhte, of þy comýnge, hereth wyth blisfol ron.
And wœ, nomliche, þat bœth bouht wyth þyn holy blod
Vor þys day singeth a neowe song and makeþ blisfol mod.
Poem 12: Tu rex glorie Christe; Fol. 208v
Þou sist in Godes ryth hond in þy Uaderes blisse;
Þou shalt comen to demen ous, wœ´ léueth al-to wysse.
Þé, þœnne, wœ byddeth help ous, wham þou hauest ywrouth,
Whóm wyþ þy dœrewourþe blod on rode hauest ybouth.
Poem 13: Vous purueez en cete vye; Fol. 208v-209r
Bysœth ȝou in þysylke lyf of lyflode in þat oþer lyf.
Sœthþe mon shal hœnne wende
And néde déȝen at þen ende
And wonyen he not whare,
Gód ys þat he trusse hys pak,
And tymliche pute hys stor in sak,
Þat not when hœnne váre.
Þys lyf nys bote sorewe awáy,
Ounnéþe ys mon gladuol o day
Vor sorewe and tœne and káre;
Mon wyth sorewe is uurst ybore,
And eft wyth sorewe rend and tore,
Ȝyf he ryth þencþ of hys wáre.
Œuch mon þenche uor to spede, etc., sicut prius.
What ys lordshype and heynesse,
What helpth katel and rychesse?
Góld and sœluer awey shal uáre.
Þy gost shal wonye þou ne wost nout where,
Þy body worth wounde in grete oþer here;
Of oþer þyng þou worst al báre.
Œuch mon þenche uor to spede, etc.
Byþench, mon, ȝœrne on œuche wyse
Er þou bœ brouht to þylke asyse,
On what þou shalt truste þáre.
What gód þou hauest, mon, here ydon
Prest þer þou shalt ounderuon
Elles euer þou worst in káre.
Œuch mon þenche nou to spede, etc.
Bœ mon ȝong oþer bœ he old,
Non so strong ne wel ytold
Þat hœnnes ne mot fare.
Deth is hud, mon, in þy gloue,
Wyth derne dunt þat shal he proue
And smyte þou nost wháre.
Œuch mon þenche uor to spede, etc.
Touore þe deth ys betere o dede
Þen after téne, and more of mede
And more quencheth kare.
Bœ monnes wyttes hym byreued,
Hys eȝen blynd, hys eren deued,
Þe cofres bœ´th al bare.
Œuch mon þenche uor to spede, etc.
Bœ þe gost urom body reued,
Þe bernes sone shulle bœ´n sheued,
Ne shal me noþyng spáre.
Bœ þe body wyth grœ´th byweued,
Þe soule sone shal bœ´ leued,
Alas, of froendes báre.
Œuch mon þenche uor t[o] spede, etc.
Poem 14: Iesu nostra redemptio; Fol. 209v
Iesu, oure raunsóun, loue, and lóngynge,
Louerd God almyhti, Whrouhte of alle þinge:
Vlesh þou nóme and mon bicóme in times endinge.
What mil[s]folnesse awalde þé þat oure sunnes bére,
So bitter déth to þolien, urom sunne óus uor t'arére?
Helle clós þóu þorledest and bóuhtest þine of bóndes;
Wyht grét nobléye þou opstéye to þy Uader ryhthonde.
Þylke mylse néde þe t'awélde oure wyckenesse
Wyth þy mercy, and vul ous ay wyth þy nebshaftes blisse.
Poem 15: Eterne rex altissime; Fol. 209v-210r
Kyng hexst of alle kynges, þat hauest non endynge,
Buggere of Cristenemen þat bœth of ryth leuynge,
Þorou þé deth ys uordon and brouth to þ'endinge,
And ȝyuen ys ous þe ouere hond of graces vindinge.
Vor hœ´uene and œ´rþe and helle, and al þat þrinne bœ´n,
To þé shullen bouwen hœm and bénden hœre knœ´n.
Aungles þat in heuene bœ´th quaketh uor wondringe,
Þat abouten dedlich mon sœth so gret chaunginge,
Vor vlesh sunneth and vlesh béteth and vlesh ys God regninge.
Þou, Crist, bœ´ oure blisse and oure gladiing,
Þat wyþoute misse in hœuene hast wonyng,
Þat al þys ylke myddelerd hauest to ȝemyng,
And al þys wordles ioye hast in vorhówyng.
Þat whén þou shalt uerlich comen ous to déme,
Comen yne cloudebryth wyth blówinde béme,
Vrom þe pyne of helle, Iesu, þou ous ȝéme.
And ȝeld þe lorene crounes, God wœ´ to þé réme.
Poem 16: Quis est iste qui uenit de Edom?; Fol. 210r
Questio angelorum:
What ys he, þys lordling, þat cometh vrom þe vyht,
Wyth blodrede wede so grysliche ydyht,
So vayre ycoyntised, so semlich in syht,
So styflyche ȝóngeþ, so douhti a knyht?
Responsio Christi:
Ich hyt am, Ich hyt am, þat ne speke bote ryht,
Chaunpyoun to hélen monkunde in vyht.
Questio angelorum:
Why, þœnne, ys þy shroud red wyth blod al ymeind,
Ase troddares in wrynge wyth most al byspreynd?
Responsio Christi:
Þe wrynge ich habbe ytrodded, al mysulf on,
And of al monkunde ne was non oþer won.
Ich hœ´m habbe ytrodded in wréþe and in gróme,
And al my wéde ys byspreynd wyth hœre blod ysome,
And al my robe yuúled to hœre gréte shome.
Ich loked al aboute som helpynge mon,
Ich souhte al þe route bote help nas þer non.
Hyt was myn oune strengþe þat þys bóte wrouhte,
Myn owe douhtynesse þat help þer me brouhte.
Ich habbe ytrodded þe volk in wréthe and in grome,
Adreynt al wyth shennesse, ydrawe doun wyth shome.
Poem 17: Crucem sanctam subiit; Fol. 210v
He sthey opon þe rode, þat barst helle clos;
Ygurd he was wyth strengþe, þe þrydde day aros.
Poem 18: Audi benigne conditor; Fol. 210v
Holy secher of monnes þouht, þou wost oure brotelnesse;
To hœ´m þat bœ´th yturnd to þe graunte vorȝyfnesse.
Mœche, vorsoht, wœ habbeht agult; vorȝyf hœm þat knoulecheth.
To worshype of þyn oune nome, to sunvol mon bœ leche.
Graunte ous pyne wyþouteuorth þe body wyth vastinge,
Þat oure gost wyþynneuorth veste vrom sunnynge.
Poem 19: Euangelium: Missus est angelus Gabriel; Fol. 211r-v
Prologus:
And sayth who was messager and of whom ysend,
Into whuch lond, to what wymman, and yn whuch toun alend.
Missus est.
And when þ'aungel was in-wend to speke wyth þe mayde,
Hendeliche he grette hyre on þys wyse and sayde:
When hœ þys herde, a was ystured in þ'aungles spekynge,
And inwardlyche þouthte whuch was þys gretynge.
Þes shal bœ muchel, and nemned 'worth,' 'þe alre hextes Sone,'
And oure Louerd hym shal ȝeue hey stoede uor to wone.
Hys oune uadres see, Dauid, and he shal bœ regnynge
In Iacobes house wythouten ey endynge,
And hys kyneryche shal boen aylastinge."
Þ'aungel hyre onsuerede and sayde to ryhte,"
Þe Holy Gost vrom bouenuorth in þe shal alihte,
And þe shal byshadewen þe alre hextes myhte.
And loo þér Elyzabeth, þy cosyne on þe heelde,
Haueth conceyued ane sone in dawes of hyre eelde,
Vor noþyng impossible nys to God þat al may welde."
Þœnne spak Marye and mœkelyche sayde,
"Loo me hér alredy my Lordes hondmayde.
To me bœ do, vollyche also, ase þou raþer saydest."
Poem 20: Þys nome ys also on honikomb; Fol. 161r
Þys nome ys also on honikomb þat ȝyfþ ous sauour and swetnesse,
And hyt ys a seollich nome þat maketh ous wondren hys héynesse,
And hyt ys on holsom nome þat bryngh ous bóte of wykkenesse,
And hyt ys a nome of lyf þat bryngþ ous ioie and gladsomnesse.
Poem 21: Hic que uita?; Fol. 179v
What lyf ys þer her? Þe lyf her ys deyȝe.
What hope ys þer her? Of lyf, uor deth dreye.
What lawe ys þer her? Euer woep in eyȝe.
What skyl ys þer her? Þat shal prute wreyȝe.
Poem 22: Quomodo se habet homo?; Fol. 204v
Also þe lanterne in þe wynd þat sone is aqueynt,
Ase sparkle in þe se þat sone is adreynt,
Ase vom in þe strem þat sone is tothwith,
Ase smoke in þe lift þat passet oure sith.