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Of ghostly gladness sovereign suffisánce,
Chief heavenward guide unto the blest citý,
Gladdest resort of spiritual remembránce

To whom all things created bow the knee.

The prince was slain, the servant went at large;
And to redeem his subject from prisoun
The Lord took on Him for to bear the charge,
To quit mankind by obligatioun.

Sealed with five wounds He payéd our ransom
Man to restore to Paradise his city.

Is not man bound,-I ask this questioun-
To blessed Jesus for to bow the knee?

Within my closet, on my little couch,

O blessed Jesu, and by my bedside,
That me no foe, nor hurtful fiend may touch,
Ever shall Jesu's name with me abide !

My precious lodestar, and my sovereign guide!
In this world here, alike on land and sea,
O Jesu, Jesu, for all folk provide

Which to thy name devoutly bow the knee.

There is no love that perfectly is grounded,
But it in Jesus took original;

For upon Jesus perfectness is founded,

Do

Our tower, our fort 'gainst power infernál,
Our portcullis, our bulwark, and our wall,
Our shield and buckler 'gainst adversity,
Our heritage, our guerdon eternál

To whom all things that are shall bow the knee.

mercy, Jesus, ere that we hence pace Out of this perilous, dreadful pilgrimage, Beset with brigand foes in every place

With fierce assault to hinder our passage!

Among the rest, I, that be fallen in age,

I

Feeble and week with old infirmity,

cry to Jesus for my sin's outráge,

Right with whole heart thus kneeling on my knee.

Let not be lost that thou hast bought so dear,

With gold nor silver, but with thy precious blood.

Our flesh is frail and short abiding here;

Malicious is the old serpent, fell and wood [raging];
The world unstable, now in ebb, now flood;
All things I see in mutability.

Against all these I hold this counsel good
Mercy to ask of Jesus on my knee.

Let me not rest, O Lord, nor have quiét,
But fill my soul with spiritual travail,
To sing and say, O mercy, Jesu sweet;
Thou my protection art in the battail.
Set Thou aside all other apparail ;

Let me in Thee feel all my affiance.
Treasure of treasures, Thou dost most avail.
Grant ere I die shrift, pardon, repentance.

I feel my heart broken and ruinous,

Not pure for Thee, Jesu, therein to rest;
But as a wright comes to a broken house,
Or artificer mends a riven chest ;

So, Jesu, Thou of all wise men the best,

Repair my thought broke with misgovernance,
Visit my soul, unlock my steely breast,

Grant, ere I die, shrift, pardon, repentance.1

The latter part of the poem represents the encouraging answer of our Saviour, and ends with the following

verse:

Tarry no longer toward thine heritage;

Haste on thy way, and be of right good cheer;

Go each day onward in thy pilgrimage ;

Think that thou dost abide but short time here.

Thy place is made above the starry sphere,
No earthly palace wrought in such fair wise.
Come on, my friend, my brother most enteer [wholly];
For thee I gave my blood in sacrifice.2

In William Billyngs' poem on the Five Wounds of Christ, dating about 1400-30, occur those quaint lines, which may be familiar to the reader, upon 'Earth':Earth out of earth is wondrously wrought;

For earth hath gotten of earth a noble thing of nought ;
Earth upon earth hath set all his thought,

How earth upon earth may be high brought.

1 Dan John Lydgate's Minor Poems: Testament, ed. by J. O. Halliwell for Percy Society:

2 Id.

Ne song so swete unto the audience
As is Jhesu, now so ful of plesaunce.

Terye no lenger toward thyn heritage

Hast on thy weye and be of rihte good cheere.

Earth upon earth yet would be a king ;

But how earth shall to earth thinketh he nothing;
When that earth biddeth earth his rents home bring,
Then shall earth out of earth have a piteous parting.

Earth winneth upon earth both castles and towers;
Then saith earth to earth, 'This is all ours.'

But when earth upon earth hath builded all his bowers,
Then shall earth to earth suffer sharp showers.

Earth buildeth upon earth, as mould upon mould;
And earth goeth upon earth glittering like gold,
Like as earth unto earth never go sholde [should];

And justly then shall earth go to earth sooner than he wolde.
O Thou Lord, that madest this earth for this earth and
sufferedst pains ill,

Let never earth from this earth bear mischief and spill ;
But let earth on this earth be ever working Thy will,

So that earth from this earth may climb up to Thine high
hill.1

Some meditations from the seven Penitential Psalms are supposed to have been written in 1414 by Thomas Brampton, a Franciscan monk, professor of theology. He introduces them with a preface about the circumstances which led him to write these verses :

In winter time, when it was cold,
I rose at midnight from my rest,
And prayed to Jesus that He wold

Be help to me, for He might best ;
And in my heart anon I kest [cast]

How I had sinned, and what degree;
I cried, knocking upon my breast,
'Ne reminiscaris, Domine !'1

He repeated some verses from his book of prayers, and then went, with sorrowful heart, to his confessor, who instructed him to repeat the seven penitential psalms. The subsequent lines consist of a short meditation upon

1 Corser's Collectanea Anglo-Poetica, ii. 284; and E.E.T.S. 4 (Furnivall), 24:

Erth owt of erth is wondyrly wrought,

For erth hath goten of erth a nobul thyng of noght.

2 T. Brampton's Paraphrases, ed. by W. H. Black for Percy Society : 'In wynter whan the wedir was cold.'

each verse in these psalms, with the refrain in each case, 'Ne reminiscaris, Domine.' I quote four of them :— On Psalm xxxii. 41—

The hand of vengeance, more and more

Is hard upon me, day and night;
The prick of conscience grieveth sore
As often as I do unright.

But mercy, Lord, as thou hast hight [promised]
To all that turn them unto thee!

I know no succour in this plight

But 'Ne reminiscaris, Domine !'

On Psalm xxxviii. 42—

My guilt is grown above my head;
All wickedness in me is found;
My sins be heavy as heavy lead,

They draw me down unto the ground.
The fiend with craft hath me so bound,
Both hand and foot, I may not flee.
Nothing can make me safe and sound
But 'Ne reminiscaris, Domine !'

From Psalm li. 103

My heart hath been defiled with sin;
My spirit was to thee untrue.

O, cleanse me, therefore, Lord, within!
A rightful spirit, O, renew,

That I may ever sin eschew,

And if my heart shall froward be,
Thy mercy still will I pursue

With 'Ne reminiscaris, Domine.'

From Psalm cxxx. 64—

Fully I trust that thou wilt keep

My soul from mischief day and night;
For wheresoe'er I wake or sleep,
With me is still an angel bright,

1 Brampton's Paraphrases. The Latin verse is: Quoniam die ac nocte gravata est super me manus tua: conversus sum in ærumna mea, dum configitur spina.'

The hand of vengeaunce, more and more.

2 'Quoniam iniquitates meæ supergressæ sunt caput meum: et sicut onus grave gravatæ sunt super me.

My gylt is growyn over myn heed.

3 'Cor mundum crea in me, Deus: et spiritum rectum innova in visceri

bus meis.'

Myn herte hath be dyffoyled with synne.

4 'A custodia matutina usque ad noctem : speret Israel in Domino.' I truste fully Thou wylt me kepe.

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John Audelay, or Awdlay, was a devout monk who lived at the beginning of the fifteenth century in the monastery of Haghmon, in Shropshire, the ruins of which are still existing. In a short note inserted above the colophon of the manuscript, we are told that he was living in that religious house in the year 1426, and that he was blind and deaf. He tells in his poems that he had lived sinfully in earlier life. He detested the opinions of Wickliffe, and thought them perilous in the extreme; but he was very earnestly desirous of a great reformation in religious life and discipline. This is all that is known of him. His writings, with the exception of some lines on Henry VI., are all of a religious character. He says of his book:

As I lay sick in my langúre,

In an abbey here by west,
This book I made with great doloúr,
When I might not sleep nor rest.
Oft with my prayers my soul I blest,
And said aloud to heaven's King:
'I know, O Lord, it is the best

Meekly to take Thy visiting;
Else well I wot that I were lorne [lost].
High above all lords be He blest,
All that Thou dost is for the best ;
By fault of thee was no man lost
That is here of woman born.2

He assures his readers that what he wrote was not his own, for his own speech were but folly; it was put into his heart by the Holy Spirit. Then he concludes his preface with the words:

1 The Seven Penitential Psalms. Supposed to have been written by Thomas Brampton in the year 1414, ed. by W. H. Black for the Percy Society, 1841.

2 Poems of John Audelay, ed. by J. O. Halliwell for the Percy Society : As I lay seke in my langure,

In an abbay here be west.

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