From: CBS%UK.AC.EARN-RELAY::EARN.UALTAVM::SREIMER 1-AUG-1990 08:11:31.56 To: archive CC: Subj: Pearl Via: UK.AC.EARN-RELAY; Wed, 1 Aug 90 8:11 GMT Received: from UKACRL by UK.AC.RL.IB (Mailer R2.03B) with BSMTP id 6992; Wed, 01 Aug 90 08:05:28 BST Received: from UALTAVM.BITNET by UKACRL.BITNET (Mailer R2.03B) with BSMTP id 9511; Wed, 01 Aug 90 08:05:24 BS Received: by UALTAVM (Mailer R2.03B) id 9061; Wed, 01 Aug 90 00:59:17 MDT Date: Wed, 01 Aug 90 00:57:48 MDT From: "Stephen R. Reimer" Subject: Pearl To: Lou Burnard Dear Lou, About a year ago I obtained from you a copy of the Archive's "Pearl" file (A-581-A), which you described as in need of proofreading. I have now proofread it, and, if you are interested, I offer here a copy of the corrected text. Cheers, Steve Reimer ---------------------------------- <<
    Pearl
. Ed. E. V. Gordon . Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953.>>

Perle, pleasaunte to prynces paye To clanly clos in golde so clere, Oute of oryent, I hardyly saye, Ne proued I neuer her precios pere. So rounde, so reken in vche araye, So smal, so smoe her syde were, Quere-so-euer I jugged gemme gaye, I sette hyr sengeley in synglere. Allas! I leste hyr in on erbere; ur gresse to grounde hit fro me yot. I dewyne, fordolked of luf-daungere Of at pryuy perle wythouten spot. Syen in at spote hit fro me sprange, Ofte haf I wayted, wyschande at wele, at wont wat whyle deuoyde my wrange And heuen my happe and al my hele. at dot bot rych my hert range, My breste in bale bot bolne and bele; et ot me neuer so swete a sange As stylle stounde let to me stele. For soe er fleten to me fele, To enke hir color so clad in clot. O moul, ou marre a myry iuele, My priuy perle wythouten spotte.

at spot of spyse mot nede sprede, er such ryche to rot is runne; Blome blayke and blwe and rede er schyne ful schyr agayn e sunne. Flor and fryte may not be fede er hit doun drof in molde dunne; For vch gresse mot grow of grayne dede; No whete were elle to wone wonne. Of goud vche goude is ay bygonne; So semly a sede mot fayly not, at spryngande spyce vp ne sponne Of at precios perle wythouten spotte. To at spot at I in speche expoun I entred in at erber grene, In Augoste in a hy seysoun, Quen corne is coruen wyth croke kene. On huyle er perle hit trendeled doun Schadowed is worte ful schyre and schene, Gilofre, gyngure and gromylyoun, And pyonys powdered ay bytwene. if hit wat semly on to sene, A fayr reflayr et fro hit flot. er wonys at woryly, I wot and wene, My precious perle wythouten spot. Bifore at spot my honde I spenned For care ful colde at to me cat; A deuely dele in my hert denned, a resoun sette myseluen sat.

I playned my perle at er wat spenned Wyth fyrce skylle at faste fat; a kynde of Kryst me comfort kenned, My wreched wylle in wo ay wrate. I felle vpon at floury flat, Suche odour to my herne schot; I slode vpon a slepyng-slate On at precios perle wythouten spot. Fro spot my spyryt er sprang in space; My body on balke er bod in sweuen. My goste is gon in Gode grace In auenture er meruayle meuen. I ne wyste in is worlde quere at hit wace, Bot I knew me keste er klyfe cleuen; Towarde a foreste I bere e face, Where rych rokke wer to dyscreuen. e lyt of hem myt no mon leuen, e glemande glory at of hem glent; For wern neuer webbe at wye weuen Of half so dere adubbemente. Dubbed wern alle o downe syde Wyth crystal klyffe so cler of kynde. Holtewode bryt aboute hem byde Of bolle as blwe as ble of Ynde; As bornyst syluer e lef on slyde, at ike con trylle on vch a tynde.

Quen glem of glode agayn hem glyde, Wyth schymeryng schene ful schrylle ay schynde. e grauayl at on grounde con grynde Wern precious perle of oryente: e sunnebeme bot blo and blynde In respecte of at adubbement. The adubbemente of o downe dere Garten my goste al greffe forete. So frech flauore of fryte were, As fode hit con me fayre refete. Fowle er flowen in fryth in fere, Of flaumbande hwe, boe smale and grete; Bot sytole-stryng and gyternere Her reken myre mot not retrete; For quen ose brydde her wynge bete, ay songen wyth a swete asent. So gracios gle coue no mon gete As here and se her adubbement. So al wat dubbet on dere asyse at fryth er fortwne forth me fere. at dere erof for to deuyse Nis no wy wor at tonge bere. I welke ay forth in wely wyse; No bonk so byg at did me dere. e fyrre in e fryth, e feier con ryse e playn, e plontte, e spyse, e And rawe and rande and rych reuere, As fyldor fyn her bonkes brent. I wan to a water by schore at schere-- Lorde, dere wat hit adubbement!

The dubbemente of o derworth depe Wern bonke bene of beryl bryt. Swangeande swete e water con swepe, Wyth a rownande rourde raykande aryt. In e founce er stonden stone stepe, As glente ur glas at glowed and glyt, As stremande sterne, quen stroe-men slepe, Staren in welkyn in wynter nyt; For vche a pobbel in pole er pyt Wat emerad, saffer, oer gemme gente, at alle e loe lemed of lyt, So dere wat hit adubbement. The dubbement dere of doun and dale, Of wod and water and wlonk playne, Bylde in me blys, abated my bale, Fordidden my stresse, dystryed my payne. Doun after a strem at dryly hale I bowed in blys, bredful my brayne; e fyrre I foled ose floty vale, e more strenghe of ioye myn herte strayne. As fortune fares er as ho frayne, Wheer solace ho sende oer elle sore, e wy to wham her wylle ho wayne Hytte to haue ay more and more. More of wele wat in at wyse en I cowe telle a I tom hade, For vrely herte myt not suffyse To e tene dole of o gladne glade;

Fory I ot at Paradyse Wat er ouer gayn o bonke brade. I hoped e water were a deuyse Bytwene myre by mere made; Byonde e broke, by slente oer slade, I hoped at mote merked wore. Bot e water wat depe, I dorst not wade, And euer me longed ay more and more. More and more, and et wel mare, Me lyste to se e broke byonde; For if hit wat fayr er I con fare, Wel loueloker wat e fyrre londe. Abowte me con I stote and stare; To fynde a fore faste con I fonde. Bot woe mo iwysse er ware, e fyrre I stalked by e stronde. And euer me ot I schulde not wonde For wo er wele so wynne wore. enne nwe note me com on honde at meued my mynde ay more and more. More meruayle con my dom adaunt: I se byonde at myry mere A crystal clyffe ful relusaunt; Mony ryal ray con fro hit rere. At e fote erof er sete a faunt, A mayden of menske, ful debonere; Blysnande whyt wat hyr bleaunt. I knew hyr wel, I hade sen hyr ere.

As glysnande golde at man con schere, So schon at schene an-vnder shore. On lenghe I loked to hyr ere; e lenger, I knew hyr more and more. The more I frayste hyr fayre face, Her fygure fyn quen I had fonte, Suche gladande glory con to me glace As lyttel byfore erto wat wonte. To calle hyr lyste con me enchace, Bot baysment gef myn hert a brunt. I se hyr in so strange a place, Such a burre myt make myn herte blunt. enne vere ho vp her fayre frount, Hyr vysayge whyt as playn yuore: at stonge myn hert ful stray atount, And euer e lenger, e more and more. More en me lyste my drede aros. I stod ful stylle and dorste not calle; Wyth yen open and mouth ful clos I stod as hende as hawk in halle. I hoped at gostly wat at porpose; I dred onende quat schulde byfalle, Lest ho me eschaped at I er chos, Er I at steuen hir mot stalle. at gracios gay wythouten galle, So smoe, so smal, so seme slyt, Ryse vp in hir araye ryalle, A precios pyece in perle pyt.

Perle pyte of ryal prys ere mot mon by grace haf sene, Quen at frech as flor-de-lys Doun e bonke con boe bydene. Al blysnande whyt wat hir beau biys, Vpon at syde, and bounden bene Wyth e myryeste margarys, at my deuyse, at euer I se et with myn ene; Wyth lappe large, I wot and I wene, Dubbed with double perle and dyte; Her cortel of self sute schene, Wyth precios perle al vmbepyte. A pyt coroune et wer at gyrle Of mariorys and non oer ston. Hie pynakled of cler quyt perle, Wyth flurted flowre perfet vpon. To hed hade ho non oer werle; Her here leke, al hyr vmbegon, Her semblaunt sade for doc oer erle, Her ble more blat en whalle bon. As schorne golde schyr her fax enne schon, On schyldere at leghe vnlapped lyte. Her depe colour et wonted non Of precios perle in porfyl pyte. Pyt wat poyned and vche a hemme At honde, at syde, at ouerture, Wyth whyte perle and non oer gemme, And bornyste quyte wat hyr uesture.

Bot a wonder perle wythouten wemme Inmydde hyr breste wat sette so sure; A manne dom mot dryly demme, Er mynde mot malte in hit mesure. I hope no tong mot endure No sauerly saghe say of at syt, So wat hit clene and cler and pure, at precios perle er hit wat pyt. Pyt in perle, at precios pyece On wyer half water com doun e schore. No gladder gome heen into Grece en I, quen ho on brymme wore. Ho wat me nerre en aunte or nece; My joy fory wat much e more. Ho profered me speche, at special spece, Enclynande lowe in wommon lore, Cate of her coroun of grete tresore And haylsed me wyth a lote lyte. Wel wat me at euer I wat bore To sware at swete in perle pyte! 'O perle', quod I, 'in perle pyt, Art ou my perle at I haf playned, Regretted by myn one on nyte? Much longeyng haf I for e layned, Syen into gresse ou me aglyte. Pensyf, payred, I am forpayned, And ou in a lyf of lykyng lyte, In Paradys erde, of stryf vnstrayned.

What wyrde hat hyder my iuel vayned, And don me in ys del and gret daunger? Fro we in twynne wern towen and twayned, I haf ben a joyle juelere.' That juel enne in gemme gente Vered vp her vyse wyth yen graye, Set on hyr coroun of perle orient, And soberly after enne con ho say: 'Sir, e haf your tale mysetente, To say your perle is al awaye, at is in cofer so comly clente As in is gardyn gracios gaye, Hereinne to lenge for euer and play, er mys nee mornyng com neuer nere. Her were a forser for e, in faye, If ou were a gentyl jueler. 'Bot, jueler gente, if ou schal lose y ioy for a gemme at e wat lef, Me ynk e put in a mad porpose, And busye e aboute a raysoun bref; For at ou leste wat bot a rose at flowred and fayled as kynde hyt gef. Now ur kynde of e kyste at hyt con close To a perle of prys hit is put in pref. And ou hat called y wyrde a ef, at ot of not hat mad e cler; ou blame e bote of y meschef, ou art no kynde jueler.' A juel to me en wat ys geste, And iuele wern hyr gentyl sawe.

'Iwyse', quod I, 'my blysfol beste, My grete dystresse ou al todrawe. To be excused I make requeste; I trawed my perle don out of dawe. Now haf I fonde hyt, I schal ma feste, And wony wyth hyt in schyr wod-schawe, And loue my Lorde and al his lawe at hat me brot ys blys ner. Now were I at yow byonde ise wawe, I were a ioyful jueler.' 'Jueler', sayde at gemme clene, 'Wy borde e men? So madde e be! re worde hat ou spoken at ene: Vnavysed, for soe, wern alle re. ou ne woste in worlde quat on dot mene; y worde byfore y wytte con fle. ou says ou trawe me in is dene, Bycawse ou may wyth yen me se; Anoer ou says, in ys countr yself schal won wyth me ryt here; e rydde, to passe ys water fre-- at may no ioyfol jueler. 'I halde at iueler lyttel to prayse at leue wel at he se wyth ye, And much to blame and vncortayse at leue oure Lorde wolde make a lye,

at lelly hyte your lyf to rayse, a fortune dyd your flesch to dye. e setten hys worde ful westernays at leue noynk bot e hit sye. And at is a poynt o sorquydrye, at vche god mon may euel byseme, To leue no tale be true to trye Bot at hys one skyl may dem. 'Deme now yself if ou con dayly As man to God worde schulde heue. ou sayt ou schal won in is bayly; Me ynk e burde fyrst aske leue, And et of graunt ou myte fayle. ou wylne ouer ys water to weue; Er moste ou ceuer to oer counsayle: y corse in clot mot calder keue. For hit wat forgarte at Paradys greue; Oure orefader hit con mysseeme. ur drwry deth bo vch man dreue, Er ouer ys dam hym Drytyn deme.' 'Deme ou me', quod I, 'my swete, To dol agayn, enne I dowyne. Now haf I fonte at I forlete, Schal I efte forgo hit er euer I fyne? Why schal I hit boe mysse and mete? My precios perle dot me gret pyne. What serue tresor, bot gare men grete When he hit schal efte wyth tene tyne?

Now rech I neuer for to declyne, Ne how fer of folde at man me fleme. When I am partle of perle myne, Bot durande doel what may men deme?' 'Thow deme not bot doel-dystresse', enne sayde at wyt. 'Why dot ou s For dyne of doel of lure lesse Ofte mony mon forgos e mo. e ote better yseluen blesse, And loue ay God, in wele and wo, For anger gayne e not a cresse. Who nede schal ole, be not so ro. For o ou daunce as any do, Braundysch and bray y brae breme, When ou no fyrre may, to ne fro, ou moste abyde at he schal deme. 'Deme Drytyn, euer hym adyte, Of e way a fote ne wyl he wrye. y mende mounte not a myte, a ou for sore be neuer blye. Stynt of y strot and fyne to flyte, And sech hys blye ful swefte and swye. y prayer may hys pyt byte, at mercy schal hyr crafte kye. Hys comforte may y langour lye And y lure of lytly fleme; For, marre oer madde, morne and mye, Al lys in hym to dyt and deme.'

Thenne demed I to at damyselle: 'Ne wore no wrathe vnto my Lorde, If rapely I raue, spornande in spelle. My herte wat al wyth mysse remorde, As wallande water got out of welle. I do me ay in hys myserecorde. Rebuke me neuer wyth worde felle, a I forloyne, my dere endorde, Bot kye me kyndely your coumforde, Pytosly enkande vpon ysse: Of care and me e made acorde, at er wat grounde of alle my blysse. 'My blysse, my bale, e han ben boe, Bot much e bygger et wat my mon; Fro ou wat wroken fro vch a woe, I wyste neuer quere my perle wat gon. Now I hit se, now lee my loe. And, quen we departed, we wern at on; God forbede we be now wroe, We meten so selden by stok oer ston. a cortaysly e carp con, I am bot mol and manere mysse. Bot Crystes mersy and Mary and Jon, ise arn e grounde of alle my blisse. 'In blysse I se e blyely blent, And I a man al mornyf mate; e take eron ful lyttel tente, a I hente ofte harme hate.

Bot now I am here in your presente, I wolde bysech, wythouten debate, e wolde me say in sobre asente What lyf e lede erly and late. For I am ful fayn at your astate Is woren to worschyp and wele, iwysse; Of alle my joy e hye gate, Hit is in grounde of alle my blysse.' 'Now blysse, burne, mot e bytyde', en sayde at lufsoum of lyth and lere, 'And welcum here to walk and byde, For now e speche is to me dere. Maysterful mod and hye pryde, I hete e, arn heterly hated here. My Lorde ne loue not for to chyde, For meke arn alle at wone hym nere; And when in hys place ou schal apere, Be dep deuote in hol mekenesse. My Lorde e Lamb loue ay such chere, at is e grounde of alle my blysse. 'A blysful lyf ou says I lede; ou wolde knaw erof e stage. ow wost wel when y perle con schede I wat ful ong and tender of age; Bot my Lorde e Lombe ur hys godhede, He toke myself to hys maryage, Corounde me quene in blysse to brede In lenghe of daye at euer schal wage; And sesed in alle hys herytage Hys lef is. I am holy hysse: Hys prese, hys prys, and hys parage Is rote and grounde of alle my blysse.'

'Blysful', quod I, 'may ys be trwe? Dysplese not if I speke errour. Art ou e quene of heuene blwe, at al ys worlde schal do honour? We leuen on Marye at grace of grewe, at ber a barne of vyrgyn flour; e croune fro hyr quo mot remwe Bot ho hir passed in sum fauour? Now, for synglerty o hyr dousour, We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby, at freles flee of hyr fasor, Lyk to e Quen of cortaysye.' 'Cortayse Quen', enne sayde at gaye, Knelande to grounde, folde vp hyr face, 'Makele Moder and myryest May, Blessed bygynner of vch a grace!' enne ros ho vp and con restay, And speke me towarde in at space: 'Sir, fele here porchase and fonge pray, Bot supplantore none wythinne ys place. at emperise al heuen hat, And vre and helle, in her bayly; Of erytage et non wyl ho chace, For ho is Quen of cortaysye. 'The court of e kyndom of God alyue Hat a property in hytself beyng: Alle at may erinne aryue Of alle e reme is quen oer kyng,

And neuer oer et schal depryue, Bot vchon fayn of oere hafyng, And wolde her coroune wern wore o fyue, If possyble were her mendyng. Bot my Lady of quom Jesu con spryng, Ho halde e empyre ouer vus ful hye; And at dysplese non of oure gyng, For ho is Quene of cortaysye. 'Of courtaysye, as sayt Saynt Poule, Al arn we membre of Jesu Kryst: As heued and arme and legg and naule Temen to hys body ful trwe and tryste, Ryt so is vch a Krysten sawle A longande lym to e Mayster of myste. enne loke what hate oer any gawle Is tached oer tyed y lymme bytwyste. y heued hat nauer greme ne gryste, On arme oer fynger a ou ber bye. So fare we alle wyth luf and lyste To kyng and quene by cortaysye.' 'Cortays', quod I, 'I leue, And charyt grete, be yow among, Bot my speche at yow ne greue, . . . . . . . yself in heuen ouer hy ou heue, To make e quen at wat so onge. What more honour mote he acheue at hade endured in worlde stronge,

And lyued in penaunce hys lyue longe Wyth bodyly bale hym blysse to byye? What more worschyp mot he fonge en corounde be kyng by cortays? 'That cortays is to fre of dede, yf hyt be soth at ou cone saye. ou lyfed not two er in oure ede; ou cowe neuer God nauer plese ne pray, Ne neuer nawer Pater ne Crede; And quen mad on e fyrst day! I may not traw, so God me spede, at God wolde wrye so wrange away. Of countes, damysel, par ma fay, Wer fayr in heuen to halde asstate, Oer elle a lady of lasse aray; Bot a quene! Hit is to dere a date.' 'er is no date of hys godnesse', en sayde to me at wory wyte, 'For al is trawe at he con dresse, And he may do noynk bot ryt. As Mathew mele in your messe In sothfol gospel of God almyt, In sample he can ful grayely gesse, And lykne hit to heuen lyte. "My regne", he sayt, "is lyk on hyt To a lorde at hade a uyne, I wate. Of tyme of ere e terme wat tyt, To labor vyne wat dere e date.

'"at date of ere wel knawe ys hyne. e lorde ful erly vp he ros To hyre werkmen to hys vyne, And fynde er summe to hys porpos. Into acorde ay con declyne For a pen on a day, and forth ay got, Wryen and worchen and don gret pyne, Keruen and caggen and man hit clos. Aboute vnder e lorde to marked tot, And ydel men stande he fynde erate. 'Why stande e ydel?' he sayde to os. 'Ne knawe e of is day no date?' '"'Er date of daye hider arn we wonne', So wat al samen her answar sot. 'We haf standen her syn ros e sunne, And no mon bydde vus do ryt not.' 'Gos into my vyne, dot at e conne', So sayde e lorde, and made hit tot. 'What resonabele hyre be nat be runne I yow pay in dede and ote.' ay wente into e vyne and wrote, And al day e lorde us ede his gate, And nw men to hys vyne he brote Welne wyl day wat passed date. '"At e date of day of euensonge, On oure byfore e sonne go doun, He se er ydel men ful stronge And sade to hem wyth sobre soun,

'Wy stonde e ydel ise daye longe?' ay sayden her hyre wat nawhere boun. 'Got to my vyne, emen onge, And wyrke and dot at at e moun.' Sone e worlde bycom wel broun; e sunne wat doun and hit wex late. To take her hyre he mad sumoun; e day wat al apassed date. '"The date of e daye e lorde con knaw, Called to e reue: 'Lede, pay e meyny. Gyf hem e hyre at I hem owe, And fyrre, at non me may repren, Set hem alle vpon a rawe And gyf vchon inlyche a peny. Bygyn at e laste at stande lowe, Tyl to e fyrst at ou atteny.' And enne e fyrst bygonne to pleny And sayden at ay hade trauayled sore: 'ese bot on oure hem con streny; Vus ynk vus oe to take more. '"'More haf we serued, vus ynk so, at suffred han e daye hete, enn yse at wrot not houre two, And ou dot hem vus to counterfete.' enne sayde e lorde to on of o: 'Frende, no waning I wyl e ete; Take at is yn owne, and go. And I hyred e for a peny agrete,

Quy bygynne ou now to rete? Wat not a pen y couenaunt ore? Fyrre en couenaunde is not to plete. Wy schalte ou enne ask more? '"'More, weer louyly is me my gyfte, To do wyth myn quat-so me lyke? Oer elle yn ye to lyer is lyfte For I am goude and non byswyke?' us schal I", quod Kryste, "hit skyfte: e laste schal be e fyrst at stryke, And e fyrst e laste, be he neuer so swyft; For mony ben called, a fewe be myke." us pore men her part ay pyke, a ay com late and lyttel wore; And a her sweng wyth lyttel atslyke, e merci of God is much e more. 'More haf I of joye and blysse hereinne, Of ladyschyp gret and lyue blom, en alle e wye in e worlde mye way of ryt to aske dome. Wheer welnygh now I con bygynne-- In euentyde into e vyne I come-- Fyrst of my hyre my Lorde con mynne: I wat payed anon of al and sum. et oer er werne at toke more tom, at swange and swat for long ore, at et of hyre noynk ay nom, Paraunter not schal to-ere more.'

Then more I meled and sayde apert: 'Me ynk y tale vnresounable. Godde ryt is redy and euermore rert, Oer Holy Wryt is bot a fable. In Sauter is sayd a verce ouerte at speke a poynt determynable: "ou quyte vchon as hys desserte, ou hye kyng ay pretermynable." Now he at stod e long day stable, And ou to payment com hym byfore, enne e lasse in werke to take more able, And euer e lenger e lasse, e more.' 'Of more and lasse in Gode ryche', at gentyl sayde, 'lys no joparde, For er is vch mon payed inlyche, Wheer lyttel oer much be hys rewarde; For e gentyl Cheuentayn is no chyche, Queer-so-euer he dele nesch oer harde: He laue hys gyfte as water of dyche, Oer gote of golf at neuer charde. Hys fraunchyse is large at euer dard To Hym at mat in synne rescoghe; No blysse bet fro hem reparde, For e grace of God is gret inoghe. 'Bot now ou mote, me for to mate, at I my peny haf wrang tan here; ou say at I at com to late Am not wory so gret fere.

Where wyste ou euer any bourne abate, Euer so holy in hys prayere, at he ne forfeted by sumkyn gate e mede sumtyme of heuene clere? And ay e ofter, e alder ay were, ay laften ryt and wroten woghe. Mercy and grace moste hem en stere, For e grace of God is gret innoe. 'Bot innoghe of grace hat innocent. As sone as ay arn borne, by lyne In e water of babtem ay dyssente: en arne ay borot into e vyne. Anon e day, wyth derk endente, e niyt of deth dot to enclyne: at wrot neuer wrang er enne ay wente, e gentyle Lorde enne paye hys hyne. ay dyden hys heste, ay wern ereine; Why schulde he not her labour alow, ys, and pay hem at e fyrst fyne? For e grace of God is gret innoghe. 'Inoe is knawen at mankyn grete Fyrste wat wrot to blysse parfyt; Oure forme fader hit con forfete ur an apple at he vpon con byte. Al wer we dampned for at mete To dye in doel out of delyt And syen wende to helle hete, erinne to won wythoute respyt. Bot eron com a bote astyt. Ryche blod ran on rode so roghe,

And wynne water en at at plyt: e grace of God wex gret innoghe. 'Innoghe er wax out of at welle, Blod and water of brode wounde. e blod vus bot fro bale of helle And delyuered vus of e deth secounde; e water is baptem, e soe to telle, at foled e glayue so grymly grounde, at wasche away e gylte felle at Adam wyth inne deth vus drounde. Now is er not in e worlde rounde Bytwene vus and blysse bot at he wythdro, And at is restored in sely stounde; And e grace of God is gret innogh. 'Grace innogh e mon may haue at synne enne new, if hym repente, Bot wyth sor and syt he mot hit craue, And byde e payne erto is bent. Bot resoun of ryt at con not raue Saue euermore e innossent; Hit is a dom at neuer God gaue, at euer e gyltle schulde be schente. e gyltyf may contryssyoun hente And be ur mercy to grace ryt; Bot he to gyle at neuer glente And inoscente is saf and ryte.

'Ryt us I knaw wel in is cas Two men to saue is god by skylle: e rytwys man schal se hys face, e harmle hael schal com hym tylle. e Sauter hyt sat us in a pace: "Lorde, quo schal klymbe y hy hylle, Oer rest wythinne y holy place?" Hymself to onsware he is not dylle: "Hondelynge harme at dyt not ille, at is of hert boe clene and lyt, er schal hys step stable stylle": e innosent is ay saf by ryt. 'The rytwys man also sertayn Aproche he schal at proper pyle, at take not her lyf in vayne, Ne glauere her niebor wyth no gyle. Of ys rytwys sa Salamon playn How Koyntise onoure con aquyle; By waye ful stret ho con hym strayn, And scheued hym e rengne of God awhyle, As quo says, "Lo, on louely yle! ou may hit wynne if ou be wyte." Bot, hardyly, wythoute peryle, e innosent is ay saue by ryte. 'Anende rytwys men et sayt a gome, Dauid in Sauter, if euer e sy hit: "Lorde, y seruaunt dra neuer to dome, For non lyuyande to e is justyfyet."

Fory to corte quen ou schal com er alle oure cause schal be tryed, Alegge e ryt, ou may be innome, By ys ilke spech I haue asspyed; Bot he on rode at blody dyed, Delfully ur honde ryt, Gyue e to passe, when ou arte tryed, By innocens and not by ryte. 'Rytwysly quo con rede, He loke on bok and be awayed How Jesus hym welke in areede, And burne her barne vnto hym brayde. For happe and hele at fro hym ede To touch her chylder ay fayr hym prayed. His dessypele wyth blame let be hem bede And wyth her resoune ful fele restayed. Jesus enne hem swetely sayde: "Do way, let chylder vnto me tyt. To suche is heuenryche arayed": e innocent is ay saf by ryt. 'Iesus con calle to hym hys mylde, And sayde hys ryche no wy myt wynne Bot he com yder ryt as a chylde, Oer elle neuermore com erinne. Harmle, trwe, and vndefylde, Wythouten mote oer mascle of sulpande synne,

Quen such er cnoken on e bylde, Tyt schal hem men e ate vnpynne. er is e blys at con not blynne at e jueler sote ur perre wolen and lynne, To bye hym a perle wat mascelle. 'This makelle perle, at bot is dere, e joueler gef fore alle hys god, Is lyke e reme of heuenesse clere: So sayde e Fader of folde and flode; For hit is wemle, clene, and clere, And endele rounde, and blye of mode, And commune to alle at rytwys were. Lo, euen inmydde my breste hit stode. My Lorde e Lombe, at schede hys blode, He pyt hit ere in token of pes. I rede e forsake e worlde wode And porchace y perle maskelles.' 'O maskele perle in perle pure, at bere', quod I, 'e perle of prys, Quo formed e y fayre fygure? at wrot y wede, he wat ful wys. y beaut com neuer of nature; Pymalyon paynted neuer y vys, Ne Arystotel nawer by hys lettrure Of carped e kynde ese propert. y colour passe e flour-de-lys; yn angel-hauyng so clene corte. Breue me, bryt, quat kyn offys Bere e perle so maskelle?'

'My makele Lambe at al may bete', Quod scho, 'my dere destyn, Me ches to hys make, ala vnmete Sumtyme semed at assembl. When I wente fro yor worlde wete, He calde me to hys bonert: "Cum hyder to me, my lemman swete, For mote ne spot is non in e." He gef me myt and als bewt; In hys blod he wesch my wede on dese, And coronde clene in vergynt, And pyt me in perle maskelle.' 'Why, maskelle byrd at bryt con flambe, at reiat hat so ryche and ryf, Quat kyn yng may be at Lambe at e wolde wedde vnto hys vyf? Ouer alle oer so hy ou clambe To lede wyth hym so ladyly lyf. So mony a comly on-vunder cambe For Kryst han lyued in much stryf; And ou con alle o dere out dryf And fro at maryag al oer depres, Al only yself so stout and styf, A makele may and maskelle.' 'Maskelles', quod at myry quene, 'Vnblemyst I am, wythouten blot, And at may I wyth mensk menteene; Bot "makele quene" enne sade I not.

e Lambes vyue in blysse we bene, A hondred and forty fowre owsande flot, As in e Apocalyppe hit is sene; Sant John hem sy al in a knot. On e hyl of Syon, at semly clot, e apostel hem segh in gostly drem Arayed to e weddyng in at hyl-coppe, e nwe cyt o Jerusalem. 'Of Jerusalem I in speche spelle. If ou wyl knaw what kyn he be, My Lombe, my Lorde, my dere juelle, My ioy, my blys, my lemman fre, e profete Ysaye of hym con melle Pitously of hys debonert: "at gloryous gyltle at mon con quelle Wythouten any sake of felonye, As a schep to e slat er lad wat he; And, as lombe at clypper in hande nem, So closed he hys mouth fro vch query, Quen Jue hym iugged in Jerusalem." 'In Jerusalem wat my lemman slayn And rent on rode wyth boye bolde. Al oure bale to bere ful bayn, He toke on hymself oure care colde. Wyth boffete wat hys face flayn at wat so fayr on to byholde.

For synne he set hymself in vayn, at neuer hade non hymself to wolde. For vus he lette hym flye and folde And brede vpon a bostwys bem; As meke as lomp at no playnt tolde For vus he swalt in Jerusalem. 'In Jerusalem, Jordan, and Galalye, er as baptysed e goude Saynt Jon, His worde acorded to Ysaye. When Jesus con to hym warde gon. He sayde of hym ys professye: "Lo, Gode Lombe as trwe as ston, at dot away e synne drye at alle ys worlde hat wrot vpon. Hymself ne wrot neuer et non; Wheer on hymself he con al clem. Hys generacyoun quo recen con, at dyed for vus in Jerusalem?" 'In Ierusalem us my lemman swete Twye for lombe wat taken are, By trw recorde of ayer prophete, For mode so meke and al hys fare. e ryde tyme is erto ful mete, In Apokalype wryten ful are; Inmyde e trone, ere saynte sete, e apostel Iohn hym sa as bare, Lesande e boke with leue sware ere seuen syngnette wern sette in seme; And at at syt vche douth con dare In helle, in ere, and Jerusalem.

'Thys Jerusalem Lombe hade neuer pechche Of oer huee bot quyt jolyf at mot ne masklle mot on streche, For wolle quyte so ronk and ryf. Fory vche saule at hade neuer teche Is to at Lombe a worthyly wyf; And a vch day a store he feche, Among vus comme nouer strot ne stryf; Bot vchon enl we wolde were fyf-- e mo e myryer, so God me blesse. In compayny gret our luf con ryf In honour more and neuer e lesse. 'Lasse of blysse may non vus bryng at beren ys perle vpon oure bereste, For ay of mote coue neuer mynge Of spotle perle at beren e creste. Ala oure corses in clotte clynge, And e remen for raue wythouten reste, We uroutly hauen cnawyng; Of on dethe ful oure hope is drest. e Lombe vus glade, oure care is kest; He myre vus alle at vch a mes. Vchone blysse is breme and beste, And neuer one honour et neuer e les. 'Lest les ou leue my tale farande, In Appocalyppece is wryten in wro:

"I seghe", says John, "e Loumbe hym stande On e mount of Syon ful ryuen and ro, And wyth hym maydenne and hundree owsande, And fowre and forty owsande mo. On alle her forhede wryten I fande e Lombe nome, hys Fadere also. A hue from heuen I herde oo, Lyk flode fele laden runnen on resse, And as under rowe in torre blo, at lote, I leue, wat neuer e les. '"Naueles, a hit schowted scharpe, And ledden loude ala hit were, A note ful nwe I herde hem warpe, To lysten at wat ful lufly dere. As harpore harpen in her harpe, at nwe songe ay songen ful cler, In sounande note a gentyl carpe; Ful fayre e mode ay fonge in fere. Ryt byfore Gode chayere And e fowre beste at hym obes And e aldermen so sadde of chere, Her songe ay songen neuer e les. '"Nowelese non wat neuer so quoynt, For alle e crafte at euer ay knewe, at of at songe myt synge a poynt, Bot at meyny e Lombe at swe; For ay arn bot fro e vre aloynte As newe fryt to God ful due, And to e gentyl Lombe hit arn anioynt, As lyk to hymself of lote and hwe;

For neuer lesyng ne tale vntrwe Ne towched her tonge for no dysstresse. at moteles meyny may neuer remwe Fro at maskele mayster, neuer e les."' 'Neuer e les let be my onc', Quod I, 'My perle, a I appose; I schulde not tempte y wyt so wlonc, To Kryste chambre at art ichose. I am bot mokke and mul among, And ou so ryche a reken rose, And byde here by ys blysful bonc er lyue lyste may neuer lose. Now, hynde, at sympelnesse cone enclose, I wolde e aske a ynge expresse, And a I be bustwys as a blose, Let my bone vayl neuerelese. 'Neuerelese cler I yow bycalle, If e con se hyt be to done; As ou art gloryous wythouten galle, Wythnay ou neuer my ruful bone. Haf e no wone in castel-walle, Ne maner er e may mete and won? ou telle me of Jerusalem e ryche ryalle, er Dauid dere wat dyt on trone, Bot by yse holte hit con not hone, Bot in Judee hit is, at noble note. As e ar maskele vnder mone, Your wone schulde be wythouten mote.

'ys motele meyny ou cone of mele, Of ousande ryt so gret a route, A gret cet, for e arn fele, Yow byhod haue, wythouten doute. So cumly a pakke of joly juele Wer euel don schulde ly eroute, And by yse bonke er I con gele I se no bygyng nawhere aboute. I trowe alone e lenge and loute To loke on e glory of ys gracious gote. If ou hat oer bygynge stoute, Now tech me to at myry mote.' 'That mote ou mene in Judy londe', at specyal spyce en to me spakk, 'at is e cyt at e Lombe con fon To soffer inne sor for mane sake, e olde Jerusalem to vnderstonde; For ere e olde gulte wat don to slake. Bot e nwe, at lyt of Gode sonde, e apostel in Apocalyppce in theme con take. e Lompe er wythouten spotte blake Hat feryed yder hys fayre flote; And as hys flok is wythouten flake, So is hys mote wythouten moote. 'Of motes two to carpe clene, And Jerusalem hyt boe naweles-- at nys to yow no more to mene Bot "cet of God", oer "syt of pes": In at on oure pes wat mad at ene; Wyth payne to suffer e Lombe hit chese;

In at oer is not bot pes to glene at ay schal laste wythouten reles. at is e bor at we to pres Fro at oure flesch be layd to rote, er glory and blysse schal euer encres To e meyny at is wythouten mote.' 'Motele may so meke and mylde', en sayde I to at lufly flor, 'Bryng me to at bygly bylde And let me se y blysful bor.' at schene sayde: 'at God wyl schylde; ou may not enter wythinne hys tor, Bot of e Lombe I haue e aquylde For a syt erof ur gret fauor. Vtwyth to se at clene cloystor ou may, bot inwyth not a fote; To strech in e strete ou hat no vygour, Bot ou wer clene wythouten mote. 'If I is mote e schal vnhyde, Bow vp towarde ys borne heued, And I anende e on is syde Schal sve, tyl ou to a hil be veued.' en wolde I no lenger byde, Bot lurked by launce so lufly leued, Tyl on a hyl at I asspyed And blusched on e burghe, as I forth dreued, Byonde e brok fro me warde keued, at schyrrer en sunne wyth schafte schon.

In e Apokalypce is e fasoun preued, As deuyse hit e apostel Jhon. As John e apostel hit sy wyth syt, I sye at cyty of gret renoun, Jerusalem so nwe and ryally dyt, As hit was lyt fro e heuen adoun. e bor wat al of brende golde bryt As glemande glas burnist broun, Wyth gentyl gemme an-vnder pyt Wyth bantele twelue on basyng boun, e foundemente twelue of riche tenoun; Vch tabelment wat a serlype ston; As derely deuyse is ilk toun In Apocalyppe e apostel John. As John ise stone in writ con nemme, I knew e name after his tale: Jasper hyt e fyrst gemme at I on e fyrst basse con wale: He glente grene in e lowest hemme; Saffer helde e secounde stale; e calsydoyne enne wythouten wemme In e ryd table con purly pale; e emerade e fure so grene of scale; e sardonyse e fyfe ston; e sexte e ryb he con hit wale In e Apocalyppce, e apostel John. et joyned John e crysolyt e seuene gemme in fundament;

e ate e beryl cler and quyt; e topasye twynne-hew e nente endent; e crysopase e tene is tyt; e jacynght e enleuene gent; e twelfe, e gentyleste in vch a plyt, e amatyst purpre wyth ynde blente; e wal abof e bantels bent O jasporye, as glas at glysnande schon; I knew hit by his deuysement In e Apocalyppe, e apostel John. As John deuysed et sa I are: ise twelue degres wern brode and stayre; e cyt stod abof ful sware, As longe as brode as hye ful fayre; e strete of golde as glasse al bare, e wal of jasper at glent as glayre; e wone wythinne enurned ware Wyth alle kynne perr at mot repayre. enne helde vch sware of is manayre Twelue forlonge space, er euer hit fon, Of het, of brede, of lene to cayre, For meten hit sy e apostel John. As John hym wryte et more I sye: Vch pane of at place had re ate; So twelue in poursent I con asspye, e portale pyked of rych plate,

And vch ate of a margyrye, A parfyt perle at neuer fate. Vchon in scrypture a name con plye Of Israel barne, folewande her date, at is to say, as her byr-whate: e aldest ay fyrst eron wat done. Such lyt er lemed in alle e strate Hem nedde nawer sunne ne mone. Of sunne ne mone had ay no nede; e self God wat her lombe-lyt, e Lombe her lantyrne, wythouten drede; ur hym blysned e bor al bryt. ur woe and won my lokyng ede, For sotyle cler not lette no lyt. e hye trone er mot e hede Wyth alle e apparaylmente vmbepyte, As John e appostel in terme tyte; e hye Gode self hit set vpone. A reuer of e trone er ran outryte Wat bryter en boe e sunne and mo Sunne ne mone schon neuer so swete As at foysoun flode out of at flet; Swye hit swange ur vch a strete Wythouten fyle oer galle oer glet. Kyrk erinne wat non ete, Chapel ne temple at euer wat set; e Almyty wat her mynster mete, e Lombe e sakerfyse er to refet.

e ate stoken wat neuer et, Bot euermore vpen at vche a lone; er entre non to take reset at bere any spot an-vnder mone. The mone may erof acroche no myte; To spotty ho is, of body to grym, And also er ne is neuer nyt. What schulde e mone er compas clym And to euen wyth at worly lyt at schyne vpon e broke brym? e planete arn in to pouer a plyt, And e self sunne ful fer to dym. Aboute at water arn tres ful schym, at twelue fryte of lyf con bere ful sone; Twelue sye on er ay beren ful frym, And renowle nwe in vche a mone. An-vnder mone so great merwayle No fleschly hert ne myt endeure, As quen I blusched vpon at bayle, So ferly erof wat e fasure. I stod as stylle as dased quayle For ferly of at frelich fygure, at felde I nawer reste ne trauayle, So wat I rauyste wyth glymme pure. For I dar say wyth conciens sure, Hade bodyly burne abiden at bone, a alle clerke hym hade in cure, His lyf were loste an-vnder mone.

Ryt as e maynful mone con rys Er enne e day-glem dryue al doun, So sodanly on a wonder wyse I wat war of a prosessyoun. is noble cit of ryche enpryse Wat sodanly ful wythouten sommoun Of such vergyne in e same gyse at wat my blysful an-vnder croun: And coronde wern alle of e same fasoun, Depaynt in perle and wede qwyte; In vchone breste wat bounden boun e blysful perle wyth gret delyt. Wyth gret delyt ay glod in fere On golden gate at glent as glasse; Hundreth owsande I wot er were, And alle in sute her liur wasse; Tor to knaw e gladdest chere. e Lombe byfore con proudly passe Wyth horne seuen of red golde cler; As praysed perle his wede wasse. Towarde e throne ay trone a tras. a ay wern fele, no pres in plyt, Bot mylde as maydene seme at mas, So dro ay forth wyth gret delyt. Delyt at hys come encroched To much hit were of for to melle ise aldermen, quen he aproched, Grouelyng to his fete ay felle.

Legyounes of aungele togeder uoched er kesten ensens of swete smelle. en glory and gle wat nwe abroched; Al songe to loue at gay juelle. e steuen mot stryke ur e vrat e Vertues of heuen of joye endyte. To loue e Lombe his meyny in melle Iwysse I lat a gret delyt. Delit e Lombe for to deuise Wyth much meruayle in mynde went. Best wat he, blyest, and moste to pryse, at euer I herde of speche spent; So worly whyt wern wede hys, His loke symple, hymself so gent. Bot a wounde ful wyde and weete con wyse Anende hys hert, ur hyde torente. Of his quyte syde his blod outsprent. Alas, ot I, who did at spyt? Ani breste for bale at haf forbrent Er he erto hade had delyt. The Lombe delyt non lyste to wene. a he were hurt and wounde hade, In his sembelaunt wat neuer sene, So wern his glente gloryous glade. I loked among his meyny schene How ay wyth lyf wern laste and lade; en sa I er my lyttel quene at I wende had standen by me in sclade. Lorde, much of mire wat at ho made Among her fere at wat so quyt! at syt me gart to enk to wade For luf-longyng in gret delyt.

Delyt me drof in ye and ere, My mane mynde to maddyng malte; Quen I se my frely, I wolde be ere, Byonde e water a ho were walte. I ot at noyng myt me dere To fech me bur and take me halte, And to start in e strem schulde non me stere, To swymme e remnaunt, a I er swalte. Bot of at munt I wat bitalt; When I schulde start in e strem astraye, Out of at caste I wat bycalt: Hit wat not at my Prynce paye. Hit payed hym not at I so flonc Ouer meruelous mere, so mad arayde. Of raas a I were rasch and ronk, et rapely erinne I wat restrayed. For, ryt as I sparred vnto e bonc, at brathe out of my drem me brayde. en wakned I in at erber wlonk; My hede vpon at hylle wat layde er as my perle to grounde strayd. I raxled, and fel in gret affray, And, sykyng, to myself I sayd, 'Now al be to at Prynces paye'. Me payed ful ille to be outfleme So sodenly of at fayre regioun, Fro alle o syte so quyke and queme. A longeyng heuy me strok in swone,

And rewfully enne I con to reme: 'O perle', quod I, 'of rych renoun, So wat hit me dere at ou con deme In ys veray avysyoun! If hit be ueray and soth sermoun at ou so styke in garlande gay, So wel is me in ys doel-doungoun at ou art to at Prynse paye.' To at Prynce paye hade I ay bente, And erned no more en wat me gyuen, And halden me er in trwe entent, As e perle me prayed at wat so ryuen, As helde, drawen to Godde present, To mo of his mysterys I hade ben dryuen; Bot ay wolde man of happe more hente en mote by ryt vpon hem clyuen. erfore my ioye wat sone toriuen, And I kaste of kythe at laste aye. Lorde, mad hit arn at agayn e stryuen, Oer proferen e ot agayn y paye. To pay e Prince oer sete sate Hit is ful ee to e god Krystyin; For I haf founden hym, boe day and nate, A God, a Lorde, a frende ful fyin. Ouer is hyul is lote I late, For pyty of my perle enclyin, And syen to God I hit bytate In Kryste dere blessyng and myn,

at in e forme of bred and wyn e preste vus schewe vch a daye. He gef vus to be his homly hyne Ande precious perle vnto his pay. Amen. Amen.