"And in like wise as they had done before,
The gentlewomen of our company
Put hir billes, and for to tell you more,
One of hem wote (C'est sans dire) verely,
And her matere hole to specifie,
Within her bill she put it in writing,
And what it said, ye shall have knowing.

"It said God wote, and that full pitously,
Like as she was disposed in her herte,
No misfortune that she tooke grevously,
All one to her was the joy and smert,
Sometime no thanke for all her good desert,
Other comfort she wanted none comming,
And so vsed, it greeued her nothing.
"Desiring her, and lowly beseeching
That she would for seke a better way,
As she that had been her daies living
Stedfast and trewe, and will be alway.
Of her felaw somewhat I shall you say,
Whose bill was red next forth withall,
And what it meant rehearsen you I shall.
"En dieu est, she wrote in her devise,
And thus she said withouten faile,
Her trouth might be take in no wise,

Like as she thought, wherefore she had mervaile,
For trouth somtime was wont to take availe
In every matter but all that is ago,
The more pity that it is suffred so.

"Much more there was, wherof she shuld complain,
But she thoght it too great encombraunce,
So much to write, and therfore in certain,
In God and her she put all her affiaunce,
As in her word is made a remembraunce,
Beseeching her, that she would in this cace
Shew unto her the favour of her grace.

"The third she wrote, rehersing her grevaunce,'
Ye, wote ye what, a pitous thing to here,
For as me thoght she felt great displesaunce,
One might right wel perceive it by her chere,
And no wonder, it sate her passing nere,
Yet loth she was to put it in writing,
But need woll have course in every thing.

"Soyes ensure, this was her word certaine,
And thus she wrote in a little space,
There she loved, her labour was in vaine,
For he was set all in another place,
Full humbly desiring in that cace
Some good comfort her sorrow to appease,
That she might live more at hertes ease.

"The fourth surely me thought she liked wele,
As in her port, and in her behaving,
And Bien moneste, as ferre as I coud fele,
That was her word till her well belonging,
Wherefore to her she prayed above all thing,
Full hertely to say you in substaunce,
That she would send her good continuaunce,"

"Ye have rehearsed me these billes all,
But now let see somwhat of your entent,"
"It may so hap, paraventure ye shall,
Now I pray you while I am here present,
Ye shall have knowledge parde what I ment,
But this I say in trouth, and make no fable,
The case it selfe is inly lamentable.

"And well I wote ye woll think the same,
Like as I say, whan ye have heard my bill,"
"Now good tel on, I here you by saint lame,"
"Abide a while, it is not yet my will,
Yet must ye wete by reason and by skill,
Sith ye have knowledg of that was don before,
And thus it is said without words more,
"Nothing so lefe as death to come to me,
For finall end of my sorrowes and paine,
What should I more desire as seeme ye,
And ye knew all aforne it for certaine,
I wote ye would, and for to tell you plaine
Without her help, that hath all thing in cure,
I cannat thinke that it may long endure.

"As for my trouth, it hath be proued wele,
To say the sooth, I can say no more,
Of full long time, and suffered euerydele
In patience, and keepe it all in store
Of her goodnesse, beseeching her therefore,
That I might haue my thanke in such wise,
As my desert serueth of justise.

"Whan these billes were rad euerychone,
The ladies tooke a good aduisement,
And hem to answere by one and one,
She thought it was too much, in her enteni,
Wherefore she yaue hem commaundement,
In her presence to come both one and all,
To yeue hem her answere in generall.
"What did she than, suppose ye verely
She spake her self, and said in this manere:
We haue well seene your billes by and by,
And some of hem pitous for to here,
We woll therefore ye know all this in fere,
Within short time, our court of parliment
Here shall be hold in our pallais present.

"And in all this, wherein you find you greued,
There shall ye find an open remedy,
In such wise as ye shall be releeued
Of all that ye rehearse here throughly:
As for the date ye shall know verely,
That ye may haue a space in your comming,
For Diligence shall it tell you by writing.'

"We thanked her in our most humble wise,
Our felawship ech one by one assent
Submitting vs lowly till her seruise,
For as we thought, we had our trauail spent
In such wise as we held vs content,
Than each of vs tooke other by the sleue,
And forthwithall, as we should take our leue.

"All suddainly the water sprang anone
In my visage, and therewithall I woke.
'Where am I now,' thought I, all this is gone,'
All mased, and vp I gan to loke,

With that anon I went and made this boke,
Thus simply rehearsing the substance,
Because it shuld not be out of remembrance."

"Now verely your dream is passing good,
And worthy to be had in remembraunce,
For though I stand here as long as I stood,
It should to me be none encombraunce,
I tooke therein so inly great pleasaunce.
But tell me now what ye the book do call,
For I must wete:"-" with right good will ye shall.

"As for this booke, to say you very right, Of the name to tell you in certainte, L'Assemble de Dames, thus it hight, How thinke ye,"-" that name is good parde," "Now go farewell, for they call after me My felawes all, and I must after sone, Rede well my dreme, for now my tale is done."

THE

LAMENTATION OF MARY MAGDALEN.

This treatise is taken out of S. Origen, wherein Mary Magdalen lamenteth the cruel death of her Saviour Christ.

PLONGED in the wawe of mortal distresse,
Alas for wo, to whom shall I complain,
Or who shall deuoid this great heuinesse,
Fro me woful Mary, woful Magdalen,
My lord is gon, alas who wrought this tein
This sodain chance perseth my herte so depe,
That nothing can I do, but waile and wepe.

My lord is gone that here in graue was laied,
After his great passion and death cruell,
Who hath him thus again betraied?
Or what man here about can me tell
Where he is become, the prince of Israel,
Iesus of Nazareth, my ghostly succour,
My parfite love and hope of all honour.

What creature hath him hence caried?
Or how might this so sodainly befall?
I would I had here with him taried,
And so should I haue had my purpose all,
I bought ointments full precious and royal,
Wherewith I hoped his corps to anointed,
But he thus gone my mind is dispointed.

While I therefore aduertise and behold,
This pitous chaunce here in my presence,
Full little maruaile though my herte be cold,
Considering lo, my lordes absence
Alas that I so full of negligence
Sould be found, because I come so late,
All men may say I am infortunate.

Cause of my sorow you may vnderstand
(Quia tulerunt dominum meum)
An other is, that I ne may fonde,
I wote nere, ubi posuerunt eum,

Thus I must bewayle, dolorem meum,

With hertie weping, I can no better deserue Till death approch my herte for to kerue.

My herte opprest with sodaine auenture,
By feruent anguish is be wrapped so,
That long this lyfe I may not endure,
Soch is my paine, soch is my mortall wo,
Neuerthelesse to what party shall I go,
In hope to find myne owne turtill true,
My liues ioy, my souerain Lorde lesu.

Sith all my ioy that I call his presence,
Is thus remoued, now I am full of mone,
Alas the while I made no prouidence,
For this mishap, wherefore I sigh and grone,
Succour to find to what place might I gon,
Fain I would to some man my herte breake,
I not to whom I may complaine or speake.
Alone here I stand, full sory and full sad,
Which hoped to have seen my lord and king,
Small cause haue I to be merie or glad,
Remembryng his bitterfull departing,
In this world is no creature liuing
That was to me so good and gracious,
His loue also than gold more precious.

Full sore I sigh, without comfort again,
There is no cure to my saluacion,
His brenning loue my herte so doth constrain,
Alas here is a wofull permutacion,
Whereof I find no joy nor consolacion,
Therefore my payne all onely to confesse,
With death I feare woll end my heauinesse.

This wo and anguish is intollerable,
If I bide here life can I not sustaine,
If I go hence my paines be vncurable,
Where him to find, I know no place certain,
And thus I not of these things twaine,
Which I may take and which I may refuse,
My herte is wounded hereon to think or muse.

A while I shall stand in this mournyng,
In hope if any vision would appere,
That of my loue might tell some good tidyng,
Which into joy might chaunge my wepyng chere,

I trust in his grace and his mercy dere,

But at the least though I therewith me kill,
I shall not spare to waile and wepe my fill.

And if that I die in soch auenture,

I can no more but welcome as my chaunce,
My bones shall rest here in this sepulture,
My lyfe, my death, is at his ordinaunce,
It shall be told in euerlastyng remembraunce,
Thus to departe is to me no shame,
And also thereof I am nothyng to blame.

Hope against me hath her course ytake,
There is no more, but thus shall I die,
I see right well my Lorde hath me forsake,
But in my conceipt, cause know I none why,
Though he be farre hence and nothyng nye,
Yet my wofull herte after hym doth seeke,
And causeth teares to ren doun my cheeke.

Thinkyng alas I haue lost his presence,
Which in this world was all my sustenance,
I cry and call with herty diligence,
But there is no wight giueth attendance,
Me to certifie of myne enquirance,
Wherefore I will to all this world bewray
How that my lord is slaine and borne away.

Though I mourne it is no great wonder,
Sithe he is all my joy in speciall,
And now I thinke we be so farre asonder,
That him to see I feare neuer I shall,
It helpeth no more after him to call,
Ne after him to enquire in any coste,
Alas how is he thus gone and loste ?

The lewes I thinke full of misery,
Set in malice, by their busie cure,
With force and might with gileful trechery,
Hath entermined my Lordes sepulture,
And borne away that precious figure,
Leauing of it nothing, if they haue done so,
Marred I am, alas what shall I do.
With their vengeaunce insaciable,
Now haue they him entreated so,
That to reporte it is to lamentable,
They beate his body from toppe to the toe,
Neuer man was borne that felt soch woe,
They wounded him alas with all greuance,
The blood doun reiled in most habundance.

The bloody rowes stremed doune ouer all,
They him assayled so maliciously
With their scourges and strokes bestiall,
They spared not but smote incessantly,
To satisfie their malice they were full busie,
They spit in his face they smote here and there,
He groned full sore, and sweate many a tere.

They crouned him with thorns sharp and kene,
The veines rent, the blood ran doun apace,
With blood ouercome with both his iyen,
And bolue with strokes was his blessed face,
They him entreated as men without grace,
They kneeled to him, and made many a scorne,
Like hell-hounds they haue him all to torne.

Upon a mighty crosse in length and brede,
These turmentors shewed their cursednesse,
They nailed him without pitie or drede,
His precious blood brast out in largenesse,
They strained him along as men mercilesse,
The very jointes all, to mine apparence,
Riued asonder for their great violence.

All this I beholding with mine iyen twain,
Stode there beside with rufull attendaunce,
And euer me thought he being in that pain,
Loked on me with deadly countenaunce,
As he had said in his speciall remembraunce,
"Farwel Magdalen depart must I needs hens,
My herte is Tanquam cera liquescens.'

Which rufull sight whan I gan behold,
Out of my witte I almost destraught,
Tare my heere, my hands wrang and fold,
And of that sight my herte drank soch a draught,
That many a fall swouning there I caught,
I brused my body falling on the ground,
Whereof I fele many a greuous wound.

Than these wretches ful of al frowardnesse,
Gaue him to drinke eisel tempred with gall,
Alas, that poison full of bitternesse,
My loues chere caused than to appall,
And yet thereof might he not drinke at all,
But spake these wordes as him thought best,
"Father of Heauen, Consummatum est."

Than kneeled I doune in paines outrage,
Clipping the crosse within mine armes twain,
His blood distilled doure on my visage,
My clothes eke the droppes did distain,
To haue died for him I would full fain,
But what should it auayle if I did so,
Sith he is, Suspensus in patibulo.

Thus my Lord full dere was all disguised
With blood, pain, and wounds many one,
His veines brast, his joynts all to riued,
Partyng asonder the flesh fro the bone,
But I saw he hing not there alone,
For Cum iniquis deputatus est,

Not like a man, but like a leprous beest.

A blind knight men called Longias,
With a speare aproched vnto my souerain,
Launsing his side full pitously alas,
That his precious herte he claue in twain,
The purple blood eke fro the hertes vain,
Doune railed right fast in most rufull wise,
With christal water brought out of Paradise.

Whan I beheld this wofull passion,

I wote not how by sodain auenture,
My herte was peersed with very compassion,
That in me remayned no life of nature,
Strokes of death I felt without measure,
My deaths wound I caught with wo opprest,
And brought to point as my herte shuld brest,

The wound, herte, and blood of my darling,
Shall neuer slide fro my memoriall,
The bitter paines also of tourmenting,
Within my soule be grauen principall,
The speare alas that was so sharpe withall,
So thrilled my herte as to my felyng,
That body and soule were at departyng.

As soone as I might I releued vp againe,
My breth I coude not very well restore,
Felyng my selfe drowned in so great paine,
Both body and soul me thought were al to tore,
Uiolent falles greeued me right sore,

I wept, I bledde, and with my selfe I fared,
As one that for his life nothing had cared.

I lokyng vp to that rufull roode,
Saw first the visage pale of that figure,
But so pitous a sight spotted with bloode,
Saw neuer, yet no liuyng creature,
So it exceeded the bounds of measure,
That mans mind with all his wits fiue,
Is nothing able that paine for to discriue.

Than gan I there mine armes to vnbrace,
Up liftyng my handes full mourningly,
I sighed and sore sobbed in that place,
Both Heuen and earth might haue herd me cry,
Weping, and said alas incessauntly,
"Ah my sweet herte, my ghostly paramour,
Alas I may nat thy body socour.

"O blessed lord, how fierse and how cruell
These cursed wights now hath thee slaine,
Keruing alas thy body eueridell,
Wound within wound, full bitter is thy pain,
Now wold that I might to thee attaine,
To nayle my body fast vnto thy tree,
So that of this payne thou might go free.”

I can not report ne make no rehersaile
Of my demening with the circumstaunce,
But well I wote the speare with euery naile
Thirled my soule by inward resemblaunce,
Which neuer shall out of my remembraunce,
During my lyfe it woll cause me to waile
As oft as I remembre that bataile.

Ah ye lewes, worse than dogges rabiate,
What moued you thus cruelly him to aray,
He neuer displeased you nor caused debate,
Your loue and true hertes he coueyted aye,
He preched, he teched, he shewed the right way,
Wherefore ye like tyrants wood and wayward,
Now haue him thus slaine for his reward.

Ye ought to haue remembred one thing special,
His fauour, his grace, and his magnificence,
He was your prince borne and lord ouer all,
How be it ye toke him in small reuerence,
He was full meke in suffring your offence,
Neuertheles ye deuoured him with one assent,
As hungry wolfs doth the lamb innocent.

Where was your pite, O people mercilesse,
Arming your self with falsheed and treason,
On my lord ye haue shewed your woodnesse,
Like no men, but beestes without reason,
Your malice he suffred all for the season,
Your payn woll come thinke it not to slack,
Man without mercy of mercy shall tack.
O ye traitours and maintainers of madnesse,
Unto your folly I ascribe all my paine,
Ye haue me depriued of joy and gladnesse,
So dealing with my lord and soueraine,
Nothing shuld I need thus to complaine,
If ye had liued in peace and tranquillite,
Whom ye haue slaine through your iniquite.
Farewel your noblenesse that somtime did rain,
Farewel your worship, glory, and fame,
Hereafter to liue in hate and disdaine,
Maruaile ye not for your trespace and blame,
Unto shame is tourned all your good name,
Upon you now woll wonder enery nation,
As people of most vile reputation.

These wicked wretches, these hounds of Hell,
As I haue told playne here in this sentence,
Were not content my dere loue thus to quel,
But yet they must embesile his presence,
As I perceyue by couert violence
They haue him conueyed to my displeasure,
For here is lafte but naked sepulture.

Wherefore of trouth and rightful judgment,
That their malice againe may be acquited,
After my verdite and auisement,

Of false murdre they shall be endited,
Of theft also which shall not be respited,
And in all hast they shall be hanged and draw,
I woll my selfe plede this cause in the law.

Alas if I with trewe attendaunce,
Had still abidden with my lordes corse,
And kept it still with trewe perseueraunce,
Than had not befal this wofull deuorse,
But as for my paine welcome and no force,
This shal be my songe where so euer I go,
Departing is ground of all my wo.

I see right well now in my paines smart,
There is no wound of so grenous dolour,
As is the wound of my carefull herte,
Sith I haue lost thus my paramour,
All sweetnesse is tourned into sour,
Mirth to my herte nothing may conuey,
But he that beareth thereof both loke and key.

The ioy excellent of blissed Paradise,
May me alas in no wise comforte,
Song of angel nothing may me suffise,
As in min herte now to make disporte,
Al I refuse but that I might resorte
Unto my loue the well of goodliheed,
For whose longing I trowe I shal be deed.

Of painful labour and tourment corporal,
I make thereof none exception,
Paines of Hell I wol passe ouer all,
My love to find in mine affection,
So great to him is my delectation,
A thousand times martred would I bee,
His blessed body ones if I might see.
About this world so large in all compasse,
I shal not spare to renne my life during,
My feet also shall not rest in one place,
Til of my loue I may heare some tiding,
For whose absence my hands now I wring,
To thinke on him cease shall neuer my mind,
O gentil Iesu where shall I thee find.

{erusalem I wol serch place fro place,
Sion, the vale of Josaphat also,
And if I find him not in all this place,
By mount Oliuet to Bethany wol I go,
These wayes wol I wander and many mo,
Nazareth, Bethleem, Mountana, Iude,
No trauaile shall me paine bim for to see.

His blessed fase, if I might see and finde,
Serch I would euery coste and countrey,
The fardest part of Egipt or hote Inde,
Shulde be to me but a little iourney,
How is he thus gone or taken away,
If I knew the full trouth and certente,.
Yet from this care released might I be.

Into wildernesse I thinke best to go,
Sith I can no more tydings of him here,
There may I my life lede to and fro,
There may I dwel, and to no man apere,
To towne ne village woll I come nere,
Alone in woods, in rockes, and in caues deep,
I may at mine own wil both waile and weep.

Mine eyen twaine withouten variaunce
Shall neuer cease, I promise faithfully
Where to weepe with great aboundaunce,.
Bitter teares renning incessauntly,
The which teares medled full petously,
With the very blood euer shall renne also,
Expressing in mine herte the greeuous wo.

Worldly fode and sustenaunce I desire none,
Such liuing as I find soch woll I take,
Rootes that growen on the craggy stone,
Shall me suffice with water of the lake,
Than thus may I say for my lords sake,
Fuerunt mihi lachrymæ meæ
In deserto panes, die ac nocte.

My body to clothe it maketh no force,
A mourning mantel shal be sufficient,
The greuous woundes of his pitous corse,
Shal be to me a full royal garnement,
He departed thus I am best content,
His crosse with nailes and scourges withall,
Shal be my thought and paine speciall..

Thus wol I liue as I haue here told,
If I may any long tyme endure,
But I fere death is ouer me so bold,
That of my purpose I can not be sure,
My paynes encrease without measure,
For of long lyfe who can lay any reason,
All thing is mortal and hath but a season.

I sigh full sore and it is ferre yfet,
Mine herte I feele now bledeth inwardly,
The blody teares I may in no wise let,
Sith of my paine I find no remedie,
I thanke God of all if I now die,
His will perfourmed I hold me content,
My soule let him haue that hath it me lent.
For lenger to endure it is intollerable,
My woful herte is inflamed so huge,
That no sorow to myne is comparable,
Sith of my mind I finde no refuge,
Yet I him require as rightful iudge,
To deuoide fro me the inwarde sorow,
Lest I liue not to the next morow.
Within mine herte is impressed full sore,
His royal forme, his shape, his semelines,
His porte, his chere, his goodnes euermore,
His noble persone with all gentilnes,
He is the well of all partfitnes,
The very redemer of all mankind,
Him loue I best with herte, soule, and mind.

In his absence my paynes full bitter be,
Right well I may it fele now inwardly,
No wonder is though they hurte or slee me,
They cause me to crie so rufully,
Mine herte oppressed is so wonderfully,
Onely for him which so is bright of blee,
Alas I trowe I shall him neuer see.

My ioy is translate full farre in exile,
My mirth is chaunged into paynes cold,
My lyfe I thinke endureth but a while,
Anguish and payne is that I behold,
Wherfore my hands thus I wring and fold,
Into his graue I loke, I call, I pray,
Death remaineth, and life is borne away.

Now must I walke and wander here and there,
God wot to what partes I shall me dresse,
With quaking herte, weepyng many a tere,
To seek out my loue and all my sweetnes,
I wolde he wist what mortall heuines
About mine herte reneweth more and more,
Than wold he nat keepe pite long in store.

Without him I may not long endure,
His loue so sore worketh within my brest,
And euer I wepe before this sepulture,
Sighing full sore as mine herte should brest,
During my lyfe I shall obtayne no rest,
But mourne and wepe where that euer I go,
Making complaint of al my mortall wo.

Fast I crie but there is no audience,
My comming hider was him for to please,
My soule opprest is here with his absence,
Alas he list not to set mine herte in ease,
Wherefore to payne my self with al disease,
I shal not spare till he take me to grace,
Or els I shall sterue here in this place.

Ones if I might with him speake,
It were al my ioy, with parfite pleasaunce,
So that I might to him my herte breake,
I shuld anone deuoid al my greuaunce,
For he is the blisse of very recreaunce,
But now alas I can nothing do so,
For in steed of ioy naught haue I but wo.

His noble corse within mine hertes rote,
Deep is graued which shall neuer slake,
Now is he gone to what place I ne wote,
I mourne, I wepe, and al is for his sake,
Sith he is past, here a vowe I make,
With hertely promise, and thereto I me biud,
Neuer to cease till I may him find.

Unto his mother I thinke for to go,
Of her haply some comfort may I take,
But one thing yet me feareth and no mo,
If I any mencion of him make,

Of my wordes she wold trimble, and quake,
And who coud her blame she hauing but one,
The son borne away, the mother wol moue.

Sorowes many hath she suffred trewly,
Sith that she first conceived him and bare,
And seuen things there be most specially,
That drowneth her herte in sorrow and care,
Yet lo, in no wise may they compare,
With this one now, the which if she knew,
She wold her paines euerichone renew.
Great was her sorrow by mennes saying,
Whan in the temple Simeon Justus,
Shewing to her, these words prophesiyng,
Tuam animam pertransibit gladius,
Also whan Herode that tyrant furious,
Her childe pursued in euery place,
For his life went neither mercy ne grace.