The Voices of Medieval English Lyric: An Anthology of Poems ca 1150–1530 9780228000174

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

An Anthology of Poems cA. 1150–1530

Anne L. Klinck

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston · London · Chicago

© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2019

IsBn 978-0-7735-5881-6 (cloth) IsBn 978-0-7735-5882-3 (paper) IsBn 978-0-2280-0017-4 (ePDf ) Legal deposit fourth quarter 2019 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% postconsumer recycled), processed chlorine free This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.    We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien.

lIBrAry AnD ArchIves cAnADA cAtAloguIng In PuBlIcAtIon Title: The voices of medieval English lyric : an anthology of poems ca. 1150–1530 / Anne L. Klinck. Names: Klinck, Anne L., 1943– author. Description: Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190136561 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190136596 | IsBn 9780773558816 (cloth) | IsBn 9780773558823 (paper) | IsBn 9780228000174 (ePDf ) Subjects: lcsh : English poetry—Middle English, 1100–1500—History and criticism. | lcsh : Lyric poetry—History and criticism. | lcsh : Poetry, Medieval—History and criticism. Classification: lcc Pr 311.K 55 2019 | DDc 821/.109—dc23

Set in 11/14 Junicode Book design & typesetting by Garet Markvoort, zijn digital

To John Hutton, who taught me to read poetry

conTenTS

Acknowledgments xiii Abbreviations xv Introduction: Approaching Middle English Lyric 3 Presentation of the Texts 54 The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation 56 1. The Sain T Godric Lyric S  60 Crist and sainte Marie sƿa on scamel me iledde; Sainte Marie virgine; Sainte Nicholaes, Godes druð 61 2. Đe ƿes bold ȝebyld er þu iboren ƿere 61 3. Merie sungen ðe muneches binnen Ely 62 4. Mirie it is while sumer ilast 62 5. Ate ston casting my lemman I ches 63 6. Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non 63 7. Sumer is icumen in 65 Poems on Mortality 66 8. Man mei longe him lives wene 72 9. Wen þe turuf is þi tuur 74 10. Worldes blis ne last no þrowe 74 Carols are listed with the first line(s) of the burden treated as the title, and the first line(s) of stanza one given in parentheses.

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Contents



11. Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren 77 12. Wanne ich þenche þinges þre 80 13. Wynter wakeneþ al my care 80 14. Kyndeli is now mi coming 81 15. Whon men beoþ muriest at heor mele 81 16. Lade helpe, Jhesu merce, / Timor mortis conturbat me (Dred of deþ, sorow of syn) 87 17. In what estate so ever I be, / Timor mortis conturbat me (As I went in a mery mornyng) 89 18. Farewell, this world! I take my leve forevere 91 Personal Devotion 93 the voIce of mA nKInD

19. Nou goth sonne under wod 97 20. Quanne hic se on rode 98 21. Suete Jhesu king of blysse 98 22. Lutel wot hit any mon 101 23. Worldes blisce have god day 102 24. Loverd, þu clepedest me 103 25. Steddefast crosse inmong alle oþer 104 26. Al oþer love is lych þe mone 104 27. Jhesu Crist my lemmon swete 106 28. Luveli ter of loveli eyȝe (Þu sikest sore) 106 29. Gold & al þis werdis wyn 107 the voIce of c hrI st



30. Stond wel, moder, ounder rode 108 31. Love me brouthte 110 32. Ȝe þat pasen be þe weyȝe 111 33. O man unkynde 112 34. Revert, revert, revert, revert (Have myende howe I mankyende have take) 113 34a. Have mynd atte xxxti wynter old 115 35. Com home agayne (Mankend I cale, wich lyith in thrale) 116

Contents

Marian Poems and Lullabies 118 36. Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt 123 37. On hire is al mi lif ilong 125 38. Levedie, ic þonke þe 126 39. Lollai lollai, litil child, whi wepistou so sore? 127 40. Lullay lullay, litel child, / Qui wepest þu so sore? (Lullay etc. / Þu þat were so sterne & wild) 129 41. In a tabernacle of a toure 130 42. At a sprynge-wel under a þorn 134 43. I syng of a myden þat is makeles 134 44. Lullay myn lykyng, my dere sone, myn swetyng (I saw a fayr maydyn syttyn & synge) 135 45. Of a rose, a lovely rose (Lyth & lystyn both old & ȝyng) 136 46. Upon a lady my love ys lente 137 47. Lully, lulla, þow littell tine child (O sisters too) 139 48. Ther is no rose of swych vertu 140 49. Sodenly afraide (With favoure in hir face ferr passyng my reason) 141 50. Lully lulley, lully lulley (He bare hym up, he bare hym down) 142

Anonymous Snatches: The Rawlinson Lyrics 144 51. Of euerykune tre 147 52. Icham of Irlaunde 147 53. Maiden in the mor lay 148 54. Wer þer ouþer in þis toun 149 55. Al nist by þe rose, rose 150 56. Al gold, Jonet, is þin her 150 57. ... dronken, / Dronken, dronken 151

Popular Tradition and Humble Life 152 58. I have a gentil cook 155 59. I have a ȝong suster 156 60. I have a newe gardyn 157 61. In Aprell and in May 158 62. Bi a forrest as I gan fare 159 63. The fals fox came unto our croft 162

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Contents

Festive Songs 166 64. Adam lay ibowndyn 171 65. Deo gracias, Anglia (Owre kynge went forth to Normandy) 172 66. Hey, hey, hey, hey! / Þe borrys hede is armyd gay (The boris hede in hond I bryng) 173 67. Bryng us in good ale, & bryng us in good ale (Bryng us in no browne bred, fore þat is mad of brane) 175 68. Farewele Advent, Cristemas is cum (With paciens thou hast us fedde) 176 69. Make we mery, bothe more & lasse (Lett no man cum into this hall) 179 70. Now have gud day, now have gud day! (Here have I dwellyd with more & lasse) 180 71. Caput apri refero (The boris hed in hondis I brynge) 181

Humour and Satire 183 72. Swarte smekyd smeþes smateryd wyth smoke 186 73. Syng we alle, and sey we thus (Quan I have in myn purs inow) 187 74. How, hey, it is non les (Ȝyng men, I warne ȝou everychon) 188 75. Lord, how shall I me complayne 189 76. Care away, away, away (All þat I may swynk or swet) 192 77. Whane thes thynges foloyng be done to owr intent (When nettuls in wynter bryng forth roses red) 193 78. Of all creatures women be best (In every place ye may well se) 195 79. Hogyn cam to bowers dore 197

Refined Love: The Man Speaks 199 80. Foweles in þe frith 207 81. Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere 207 love lyrIcs of hArley 2253 (Poems 82–90)



82. Ichot a burde in a bour ase beryl so bryht 208 83. Bytuene Mersh & Averil 210 84. Wiþ longyng y am lad 211 85. Mosti ryden by Rybbesdale 213 86. A wayle whyt ase whalles bon 216 87. Lenten ys come wiþ love to toune 218

Contents

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88. Blow, northerne wynd (Ichot a burde in boure bryht) 219 89. When þe nyhtegale singes þe wodes waxen grene 222 90. Lutel wot hit any mon 223 91. Me þingkit þou art so loveli 225 92. My lefe ys faren in a lond 225 93. Alone walkyng 225 94. Now wolde y fayne sum merthis mak 227 95. Go, hert hurt with adversite 228 96. I must go walke þe woed so wyld 229 97. O mestres, whye 230 98. Westron wynde, when wyll thow blow 231 Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks 232 *99. Alas, hou shold y synge? (How shold y wiþ þat olde man) 238 100. “Kyrie, so kyrie” (As I went on Ȝol day in owr prosessyon) 238 101. Rybbe ne rele ne spynne yc ne may (Al þis day ic han souȝt) 240 102. Alas, ales þe wyle (Ladd y þe daunce a myssomur day) 242 103. Were it undo þat is ydo (Y lovede a child of þis cuntre) 244 104. Wolde God that hyt were so (The man that I loved altherbest) 245 105. I have forsworne hit whil I life (The last tyme I the wel woke) 246 106. A, dere God, qwat I am fayn (Þis enþer day I mete a clerke) 247 107. Whatso men seyn 248 108. Yit wulde I nat the causer faryd amysse 250 109. So well ys me begone (Off servyng men I wyll begyne) 251 110. Hey noyney, / I wyll love our Ser John & I love eny (O Lord, so swett Ser John dothe kys) 252 The Love Debate 254 111. Nou sprinkes þe sprai (Als I me rode þis endre dai) 259 112. As I stod on a day, meself under a tre 260 113. In a fryht as y con fare fremede 261 114. “My deþ y love, my lyf ich hate, for a levedy shene” 263 115. Throughe a forest as I can ryde 265 116. “Come over the woodes fair & grene” 268

* Poem 99 is probably not a carol.

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Contents

An Authored Collection: Charles d’Orléans 272 117. Ofte in my thought full besily have y sought 277 118. I have the obit of my lady dere 278 119. In the Forest of Noyous Hevynes 280 120. My gostly fadir, I me confesse 281 121. The smylyng mouth and laughyng eyen gray 282 122. Honure, joy, helthe, and plesaunce 282 123. Go forth, myn hert, wyth my lady 283 124. So fayre, so freshe, so goodely on to se 284 125. My hertly love is in your governans 285 126. Bewere, my trewe, innocent hert 285 Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar 286 r oBert henryson

127. Robene sat on gud grene hill 292 WIllIAm Dun BAr

128. Done is a battell on þe dragon blak 296 129. Hale, sterne superne, hale, in eterne 298 130. I þat in heill wes and gladnes 301 131. In secreit place þis hyndir nycht 306 Textual and Explanatory Notes 309 Facsimile Editions and Digitized Manuscripts 371 Index of Manuscripts Cited 376 Works Cited 383 Index 409

Ac K n o W l e D g m e n t s

Thanks are due to all the librarians and staff who helped me at libraries in Britain and Ireland, but most especially to the staff in the library at my own institution, the University of New Brunswick, whose generous and cheerful assistance over the course of many years, particularly in obtaining a vast number of inter-library loans, has been invaluable to me. The University of New Brunswick also provided some financial support, in the form of grants from the Retirees Research Fund in the period 2009– 13, which helped to defray the cost of travel to the British Isles to examine manuscripts. The content of this book has benefited from the wise and good-natured advice of the three anonymous readers who assessed it. In most instances, I was happy to adopt their recommendations. When I disagreed, I was still glad of an informed perspective other than my own. For drawing my attention to material I would otherwise have overlooked, I should also mention John C. Ball, in the English Department at unB , who provided some enlightening leads into global literatures in English. I am also very grateful to the staff at McGill-Queen’s University Press, especially the editor in chief, Jonathan Crago, for his sagacious advice about structure and presentation, and my eagle-eyed and patient copy-editor, Grace Seybold. Last, but not least, I am deeply grateful to my husband, Dennis Klinck, simply for being there, and understanding – and for helping me to bring this book to completion.

A B B r e v I At I o n s

This list does not include abbreviations that are widely known, self-evident, or clarified by their context. Add

Additional

Arn

Fortunes Stabilnes: Charles of Orleans’s English Book of Love, edited by Mary-Jo Arn

aspr

The Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records, edited by G.P. Krapp and E.V.K. Dobbie

B Balliol Bawcutt Bawcutt and Williams

Bce Beinecke

Bl BnF BnF angl BnF fr

Ballade (in Arn and Fox-Arn poem numbering) Balliol College, Oxford The Poems of William Dunbar, edited by Priscilla Bawcutt Priscilla Bawcutt and Janet Hadley Williams, eds., A Companion to Medieval Scottish Poetry Before the Common Era Beinecke Rare Book and Music Library, Yale University, New Haven, ct British Library, London Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris – fonds anglais – fonds français

xvi

Abbreviations

Bodl

Bodleian Library, Oxford

Brook

G.L. Brook, ed., The Harley Lyrics: The Middle English Lyrics of MS. Harley 2253, 2nd ed.

Brown XIII

Brown, Carleton, ed., English Lyrics of the XIII th Century

Brown XIV

– Religious Lyrics of the XIV th Century, 2nd ed., revised by G.V. Smithers

Brown XV c ca. Caius Camb

– Religious Lyrics of the XV th Century century circa Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge

cccc

Corpus Christi College, Cambridge

ccsl

Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina

ce Conlee

cul

Common Era John W. Conlee, ed., Middle English Debate Poetry: A Critical Anthology Cambridge University Library

Davies

R.T. Davies, ed., Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical Anthology

dimev

Linne R. Mooney et al., The Digital Index of Middle English Verse

Dobson (and Harrison)

dost

D -r

E.J. Dobson and F.Ll. Harrison, eds., Medieval English Songs A Dictionary of the Older Scottish Tongue, edited by W.A. Craigie et al. The Holy Bible, Douay-Rheims Version. 1582 (New Testament), 1609 (Old Testament)

Abbreviations

Duncan

eets Elliott es f., ff. Fein, Harley 2253 fl Fox Fox-Arn Greene Hall

xvii

Thomas G. Duncan, ed., Middle English Lyrics and Carols Early English Text Society Robert Henryson, Poems, edited by Charles Elliott extra series folio(s) Susanna Fein, ed., with D. Raybin and J. Ziolkowski, The Complete Harley 2253 Manuscript floruit The Poems of Robert Henryson, edited by Denton Fox Poetry of Charles d’Orléans and His Circle, edited by John Fox and Mary-Jo Arn Richard Leighton Greene, ed., The Early English Carols, 2nd ed. Joseph Hall, ed., Selections from Early Middle English, 1130–1250

Halliwell

J.O. Halliwell-Phillipps, ed., Early English Miscellanies in Prose and Verse

Holkham

Library of Holkham Hall, Norfolk

Jansen-Jordan

Kinsley

Kjv Klinck Lambeth

Sharon Jansen and Kathleen H. Jordan, eds., The Welles Anthology: MS . Rawlinson C .813. A Critical Edition The Poems of William Dunbar, edited by James Kinsley King James Version, i.e., The Holy Bible ... appointed to be read in churches (1611) Anne L. Klinck, ed. and trans., An Anthology of Ancient and Medieval Woman’s Song Library of Lambeth Palace, London

xviii

Abbreviations

lalme Maidstone

Angus McIntosh et al., A Linguistic Atlas of Late Mediaeval English Library of Maidstone Museum, Kent

ME

Middle English

MF

Middle French

med

ms , ms Myl

nimev

Middle English Dictionary manuscript Andrew Myllar (early Edinburgh printer) Julia Boffey and A.S.G. Edwards, A New Index of Middle English Verse

nls

National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh

nlW

National Library of Wales, Aberystwyth

ns OE

oed OF os

new series Old English Oxford English Dictionary Old French original series

pg

Patrologiae cursus completus, series graeca (Patrologia Graeca)

pl

Patrologiae cursus completus, series latina (Patrologia Latina)

pmla R

Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Ro(u)ndel (in Arn and Fox-Arn poem numbering)

r

recto side of folio

ra

recto, 1st column

Abbreviations

rb

rBc Libr rc

real

Ritchie Robbins Hist Robbins Sec Rylands s

sc

snd ss

stc

Steele-Day

suny

xix

recto, 2nd column Library of the Representative Body of the Church of Ireland, Dublin recto, 3rd column The Yearbook of Research in English and American Literature, edited by H. Grabes, H.J. Diller, and H. Isernhagen W. Tod Ritchie, ed., The Bannatyne Manuscript, written in tyme of pest, 1568 Rossell Hope Robbins, ed., Historical Poems of the XIV th and XV th Centuries – ed., Secular Lyrics of the XIV th and XV th Centuries, 2nd ed. John Rylands Library, University of Manchester series Falconer Madan and H.H.E. Craster, A Summary Catalogue of Western Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library at Oxford The Scottish National Dictionary, edited by William Grant and David D. Murison supplementary series Alfred W. Pollard, G.R. Redgrave, et al., A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland and Ireland, and of English Books Printed Abroad 1475–1640 The English Poems of Charles of Orleans, edited by Robert Steele and Mabel Day State University of New York

tcc

Trinity College, Cambridge

tcD

Trinity College, Dublin

xx

Abbreviations

v

verso side of folio

va

verso, 1st column

vb

verso, 2nd column

vc

verso, 3rd column

W

Welsh

Whiting

Bartlett Jere Whiting, Proverbs, Sentences, and Proverbial Phrases from English Writings Mainly Before 1500

Woolf

Rosemary Woolf, The English Religious Lyric in the Middle Ages

Wright-Halliwell

Thomas Wright and J.O. Halliwell-Phillipps, eds., Reliquae Antiquae

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

Introduction: Approaching Middle English Lyric

I . P ersP e c t I v e s As an edition and analysis of poetry, this book pursues my long-standing interest in genre and poetic voice, an interest reflected in The Old English Elegies (1992), An Anthology of Ancient and Medieval Woman’s Song (2004), and Woman’s Songs in Ancient Greece (2008). The selection of poems presented spans the period from the mid-twelfth century to the early sixteenth century. Well-known authors whose oeuvre has been the subject of extensive scholarship are excluded, except for the French Charles d’Orléans and the Scottish Dunbar and Henryson, who are represented here because, apart from being considerable poets, they provide an extra dimension to an English-language collection. Middle Scots is a distinctive dialect, but its speakers regarded it as English. Voice, along with the roles associated with it, is a concern throughout, and explicitly defines some sections of the Texts. Needless to say, voice is intimately connected with language – although it can also be regarded as going deeper than or transcending language.1 In view of the present emphasis on multilingualism and multiculturalism, a single-language collection perhaps requires a

4

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

little justification. I hope this book projects an awareness of the multilingual patchwork, insular and Continental, within which these poems were created and preserved. As I have remarked elsewhere, apropos of Charles d’Orléans and his English poems, and as my own experience, read and heard, confirms, each language has its own thought-ways.2 Focussing on English for the primary texts confers a significant kind of coherence. So, for instance, the eloquent voices of Welsh poetry, which indeed deserve to be heard, cannot be heard here. However, a few of the poems selected are also formulated in other languages; where this is the case, I include the other versions in the Notes, so that comparisons can be made. And some important translingual threads are traced in the present Introduction. These relate to my principal concern in the following discussion: the question of what kind of poetry we are referring to when we talk about Middle English lyric. In what follows, I will propose some parameters, and offer some samples of poetry relevant to the idea of a lyric genre.

Why “Lyric”?3 The term “lyric” as applied to Middle English is decidedly problematic. Scholars publishing collections of Middle English “lyrics” or writing about them tend to avoid the problem of definition by treating the word as synonymous with “short poem.”4 The difficulty is that “lyric” was not part of the medieval vocabulary and may not have been part of the medieval consciousness, although there was certainly awareness of more specialized genres that modern scholars would consider varieties of it. Nevertheless, designating as lyric certain kinds of Middle English short poem – not all kinds – is useful in invoking both ancient and modern ideas and applying them to the practices of medieval poets. To be sure, with lyric we are dealing with what linguists would call a “fuzzy concept,” but such concepts are a necessary phenomenon in human thought. Also, approaching the past from the perspective of the present – and modern readers can hardly do otherwise – we need to know not only how a particular kind of poetry was perceived by medieval poets and their audiences, but how we can contextualize it. What does this poetry gain by the anachronistic application to it of the term “lyric”? Nothing; but our appreciation of it does. The classification of poetry tends to be retrospective. Indeed, the word “lyric” was first applied to poetry several hundred years after the Archaic lyric

Introduction

5

poets of Greece were composing, and thus has always been anachronistic. What we call poems affects our response to them. “Lyric” is a pregnant word with a host of associations. When editors or critics collect and discuss poems under this title they unavoidably invoke those associations. Calling poems lyrics implies a broad generic affinity, and, as Tzvetan Todorov said, genre is the means by which a work is situated (by its author or its listeners/ readers) in relation to the universe of literature.5 Precisely because “lyric” is loaded with historical baggage, as a literary term it is far more useful to us than “short poem.” However, the baggage needs to be unpacked carefully, and that is what I want to do. The definition of poetic genres has tended to be pursued in aesthetic rather than sociological terms, and so was popular between the 1950s and 1970s, when literary studies were still dominated by the New Criticism, which favoured close analysis of poems in isolation from their authors and historical contexts. Even then there was skepticism, going back to Benedetto Croce in 1902, and beyond.6 Rene Wellek, in 1967, rejecting the then received view of lyric as the crystallization of intense personal experience, declares, “One must abandon attempts to define the general nature of the lyric or the lyrical.”7 In recent decades, when scholarship has leaned increasingly towards materialist approaches, genre theory has not been a major preoccupation. Nevertheless, theoretical interest in lyric has not died, but has realigned itself – as reflected by the writings collected in Chaviva Hošek and Patricia Parker’s Lyric Poetry: Beyond New Criticism (1985) and Virginia Jackson and Yopie Prins’s The Lyric Theory Reader: A Critical Anthology (2014). Two trends, especially, deserve comment: 1) an increasing synonymity between “lyric” and “poem”; 2) an emphasis on social function, with less interest in the detailed exploration of particular works. At the same time, some powerful voices plead for the distinctiveness of poetry and of lyric in particular: notably Simon Jarvis, in a brief but trenchant protest against indifference to form (“For a Poetics of Verse” [2010]), and Jonathan Culler, in an extremely probing and detailed study that changes the grounds for lyric as a genre (Theory of the Lyric [2015]). Neither the blurring of “lyric” as a term nor the focus on social function are new; they go back to Romantic as well as Marxist thought. What is at issue is, of course, lyric per se, rather than lyric poetry of overt sociopolitical content. In the early nineteenth century, the pronouncements of the Romantic poets on poetry and society can be thought-provoking, and

6

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

even profound, but they are virtually impossible to apply in detail to particular cases. Wordsworth and Shelley on poetry and society are inspiring, and anything but specific. For them the poet par excellence is the lyric poet. Wordsworth proclaims in the Preface to Lyrical Ballads – a collection in which he makes a point of seeking subjects from humble life – “The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society” (Prose Works, 1:141). Shelley’s “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world” is the ringing final sentence of the Defence of Poetry (Critical Prose, 36). In the twentieth century, socialist thinking can produce similar sentiments about lyric poetry. Theodor Adorno, in the 1950s, saw lyric as the assertion of an individual subjective being against the collective and the realm of objectivity; but when he illustrates this with the “unfathomable beauty” (abgründige Schönheit) of Goethe’s Wanderers Nachtlied II , he balks at analysis, and resorts to almost mystical language to express the deep disquiet hidden behind the poem’s tranquil ending, in which the speaking subject’s “anxiety is felt as an after-trembling” (“Lyric Poetry and Society,” 158–9).8 The final words of Adorno’s essay remind one of Wordsworth and Shelley: “precisely this speech [Stefan George’s poetic language] becomes the voice of men between whom the barriers have fallen” (“Lyric Poetry,” 170).9 For these writers, poetry, especially lyric poetry, expresses the aspiration of the human spirit and its transcendence of the mundane. Even postmodern skepticism about establishing genre categories, a function of the perceived need to question conventional boundaries, can be seen as arising from an idealistic impulse to liberate. Contemporary modern usage has tended to understand by “lyric” a short, emotive poem expressive of personal feeling and experience, a sense established in the Romantic period. The adjective “lyrical,” often carrying a touch of irony, is not usually applied to dark or painful subjects and suggests a certain effusiveness. Scholars tend to be wary of it, and may distance themselves by placing the word in quotation marks.10 Obviously, the modern understanding of these terms will not accommodate all the short medieval poems that we call lyrics. But it should be possible to define lyric in a way that respects both modern concepts and medieval phenomena. If lyric is a genre, it is a large, trans-historical, cross-cultural one, overlapping with and including other genres. This conception of lyric is congruent with Culler’s view of genres as “always historical yet based on some sort of theoretical rationale” (“Lyric, History, and Genre,” 881). His own, inductive, rationale is based

Introduction

7

on a sample broadly representative of the Western canon, but not including medieval poetry.11 Rather than a genre, lyric might be called a mode, but such a categorization is rather abstract, and ignores poetic form. The major exponent of literary modes, Northrop Frye, does not include lyric among them, but speaks of it as a genre (Anatomy of Criticism, 270–81). Somewhat differently, Alastair Fowler, in Kinds of Literature (1982), distinguishes kind, i.e. genre, in his view marked by a full repertoire of external features, from mode, which he sees as lacking this complete repertoire and not marked by an external structure (107). On the relationship between genres and particular texts, the insights of Todorov and Fowler are helpful. Todorov, in his 1970 study of the fantastic, emphasizes that a work’s genre identification can be neither complete nor exclusive, observing that one should not speak of a particular genre existing in a work, but of the work’s manifesting that genre, and adding that a work can manifest more than one.12 Basing his position on Wittgenstein’s family resemblance theory, Fowler makes the case that “[r]epresentatives of a genre may … be regarded as making up a family whose septs and individual members are related in various ways, without necessarily having any single feature shared in common by all” (Kinds, 41). Wittgenstein makes his observation about family resemblances (Familienähnlichkeiten), in his Philosophische Untersuchungen (sections 66–71), with reference to the concept “game,” which he describes as necessarily blurred (unscharf). Todorov’s and Fowler’s approaches relieve us of the obligation to identify features as essential, or to specify a hierarchy of categories, by proposing more fluid ways of dealing with the protean shapes of genres and their interrelationships. It is tempting to speak of lyric as a universal genre; however, the resulting generalizations can only be based on one’s own frame of reference. Far-flung comparisons may be illuminating, but they may also be hazardous, as Pauline Yu makes us aware when she criticizes the unconscious application of Western assumptions about lyric to Chinese shi (“Alienation Effects,” 174–5). John Burrow, in a discussion of Middle English poetry, incidentally makes the same point in reverse. Speaking of the enigmatic bits of poetry known as the Rawlinson lyrics, Burrow notes that these “poems without contexts” – the title of his essay – contain symbols readily comprehensible to someone familiar with Western European conventions, and offers as an example the blossoming hawthorn standing in for the speaker’s sweetheart in Of euerykune tre (Poem 51, below): “only a reader from Mars, or perhaps China, could

8

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

misunderstand” (“Poems without Contexts,” 6, my italics). The symbol is culture-specific. For reasons such as this, objectively describing the manifestations of lyric world-wide, throughout human history, as J.W. Johnson’s entry in the third edition (1993) of the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics – thirteen dense two-column pages – bravely strives to do, is an impossible undertaking that, however informative, inevitably ends up being superficial and bewilderingly diverse. Significantly, Virginia Jackson’s entry in the fourth edition (2012) eschews this Herculean project, and focusses instead on the history of the theory of lyric in the modern Western world. A very detailed study that provides a useful counterbalance to Anglocentric scholarship is to be found in the Romanist scholar Gustavo Guerrero’s Poétique et poésie lyrique, originally published in Spanish in 1998, which traces notions of a lyric genre from Archaic Greece to pre-Romantic Europe. The trajectory remains Eurocentric, but has wider implications, since Western literary conventions have spread round the world, and are utilized by writers whose backgrounds are not necessarily European. As regards the medieval period, Jackson and Guerrero give it pretty short shrift, since theoretical pronouncements about lyric were thin on the ground. With a different emphasis from theirs, then, but with similar methods, rather than assuming universality, my present account will draw on a broad but European-based context, tracing the major steps in the evolution of “lyric” as a word and a concept from ancient to modern times, and focussing on ancient Greece, early modern and post-Romantic writers, and the scholarship of the last fifty years, in order to show how our understanding of medieval lyrics fits into this larger pattern.

A Preliminary Definition To begin with a fairly conventional New-Critical approach, the essential properties of lyric in general might be itemized as brevity, intensity, focus on the moment, and shaped form, usually involving certain repetitive features. My all-purpose definition is indebted to Theodore Silverstein’s in his 1971 edition of Medieval English Lyrics.13 I would understand “lyrical” accordingly, while accepting that the adjective carries with it an additional nuance that is not appropriate to all lyrics. These terms are necessarily imprecise. Brevity is a relative thing, and one can hardly specify that a lyric poem must be shorter than a given number of lines. Intensity is similarly vague: found in passionate

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feeling and vivid imagery, but also in exuberance, in the pleasure of play, and in the heightened sensibility that lifts poetry above the humdrum and the everyday. Focus on the moment distinguishes lyric from narrative, but there are poems that manage to be lyric and narrative at the same time. And, of course, there are lyrical passages in long narrative poems – such as Milton’s passionate apostrophe to light at the beginning of Paradise Lost, Book Three (1–26), or Wordsworth’s visionary moment in The Prelude on realizing that he has crossed the Alps (6.525–48, 1805 text), to take two famous examples. Using lyrical elements more structurally, Derek Walcott’s Odyssey-inspired, epic-length Omeros – a multitude of essentially lyric episodes, each imbued with an intensely concrete sense of place – constructs a narrative of lifejourneys, both within and away from his native St Lucia. The criterion of shaped form raises the question of lyric metre and the relationship between lyric and song. A detailed consideration of the musical form of lyrics lies outside the scope of this Introduction and must be left to others.14 Undeniably, musical performance would profoundly affect the impression made by a lyric. Nevertheless, there is some justification for paying attention to the words of a medieval song apart from the music, because the two are not particularly created to fit together, as they are in modern Lieder, for instance. This point was made by Elizabeth Salter with regard to her own survey (“The Mediaeval Lyric,” 450–1). In a detailed study of English courtly love-lyrics in late Middle English and early Tudor manuscripts, Julia Boffey emphasizes the “casual relationship between texts and melodies” and the ease with which melodies could move around (Manuscripts, 104–11 at 108). Similarly, John Stevens explains that in medieval and early Tudor times there was no “close ‘expressive,’ mutually responsive link between words and music” (Music and Poetry in the Early Tudor Court, 38). Often, completely different words were set to the same tune; we will look further at this process of making “contrafacta” below. Historically, lyric poetry, and perhaps all poetry, is rooted in song, but in the course of time and with the spread of literacy, text and music moved apart. In Western Europe lyric poetry is usually composed in stanzas, with rhyme and often refrain. As Thomas Duncan observes, “stanzaic structure is the verbal counterpart of the melodic structure of song” (A Companion to the ME Lyric, xxiii). A distinction is felt between this kind of more highly patterned verse and the simpler forms used for narrative or drama. This contrast is observable in ancient Greek, with its stichic (non-stanzaic) metres –

10

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

hexameters for epic, iambic trimeters for the speeches of the characters in plays, and more elaborate (though not rhyming) sung strophes of various kinds for lyric. To turn to the medieval period, somewhat similar contrasts are observable in Old Norse and Old French. Norse verse is nearly always stanzaic, but the simpler fornyrðislag (“old metre”) is found in the mythical and heroic verse of the Poetic Edda, as distinct from the four-line-stanza ljóðaháttr (“song metre”) and the formally very complex scaldic court poetry. In Old French the epic chansons de geste use assonance rather than rhyme, and are composed in laisses (irregular verse paragraphs) rather than stanzas. Generally, however, much medieval narrative and dramatic verse was composed in rhyming stanzas, and sometimes sung – as ballads are to this day. This complication gives one pause but does not make “lyric form” meaningless, particularly when it involves conspicuous repetition and refrain, and when it is linked to musical delivery. In ancient and medieval as well as later poetry, particular genres, including lyric genres, are often attached to a distinctive verse form. In the ancient world, lyric poetry, as defined by metre, came to be associated with certain themes, although in the Archaic period, when it flourished, the subjects were very various, encompassing not only monody on wine, women (or boys), and song, as well as politics, but also choral odes for celebration and ritual, eulogy and moralizing. Only in Hellenistic times did the link between metre and subject become really formalized, at the hands of Alexandrian scholars. It was through their editions that Roman writers familiarized themselves with the Greek lyric poets. Thus Horace prescriptively sets out the appropriate subjects for lyric in a list that calls to mind Alcaeus, Sappho, Anacreon, Pindar, and others: “The Muse gave to the lyre accounts of gods and the sons of gods, / the victor in boxing, the winner in the chariot race, / the [love] troubles of youth, and unrestrained wine” (Ars poetica, 83–5).15 A preoccupation with lyric topics appears again in Renaissance theorists influenced by classical writers. Lyric can also be defined by what it is not. While it would be impossible, and undesirable, to establish precise boundaries, and treating some kinds of short poems as peripheral or external to the lyric genre is not to imply that they are unworthy of notice or somehow ought to be different, some negatives help to clarify an inevitably fuzzy idea. Satire is unlyrical, at least in its harsher aspects, but it is hard, and probably unnecessary, to exclude particularly vivid and imaginative satiric verse from the category of lyric. With material that

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makes no artistic appeal, the decision is easier. Versified proverbs, admonitions, curses, mnemonics, and other genres that might be called practical spring to mind. Most of such items can only be regarded as lyric if we count anything short that rhymes.16 It is possible, though, that occasionally verse of this kind may be infused with an intensity that transcends its merely practical function. Similarly, verse where a doctrinaire or didactic function dominates and little aesthetic or emotional satisfaction is offered cannot meaningfully be regarded as lyric. As noted above, lyric implies a heightened sensibility, a certain “lift.” Accepting this specification excludes from the category of lyric much political, eulogistic, invective, and instructional material. This is precisely the material, often very pedestrian, that Rossell Hope Robbins assembles in his Historical Poems of the XIV th and XV th Centuries, the volume with which he completed the series of standard editions of Middle English lyrics. One wonders whether his decision to dispense with the term “lyric” arises from a sense that the majority of the poems in his book are not lyrics at all.

The Classic Triad Lyric is often thought to be one of three overarching genres, the others being narrative (or epic) and dramatic. The classic epic-dramatic-lyric triad, which has venerable origins, has been carefully taken apart by the theorist Gérard Genette, in the seventies, and the Hellenist Claude Calame, in 1998.17 Both Plato and Aristotle comment on the different kinds of expression chosen for three different kinds of poetry: epic, dithyrambic, and dramatic (Plato), or the first two plus iambic (Aristotle), in the Republic (394c) and the Poetics (1459a 5–10), Plato considering whether the poet speaks directly, through characters, or in both ways, and Aristotle commenting on poetic words. Dithyramb, mentioned by both and probably referring to an energetic song and dance, came to be understood as standing in for lyric here, but there is no evidence that this was what they meant. “Lyric” is a Hellenistic term, recorded only since the first century Bce and denoting poems composed “for the lyre” – or some other stringed instrument. In fact, it was not until the late fourth century ce that the term lyrikoi, originally referring to poets, became a term for the genre in which they composed.18 In Classical Greek, melē (musical measures) was the name given to a poem of this kind, because it was designed for a melody. As Genette shows, neither Plato nor Aristotle is really talking about genres, but about modes of utterance, that is, the

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

manner in which something is said.19 It seems to have been only from late antiquity on that their remarks were interpreted in a generic sense, when the fourth-century Roman Diomedes Grammaticus took up Plato’s modes of discourse and turned them into poematos genera (“kinds of poem”). He specifies that the kinds are three, goes on to enumerate them – the dramatic, the narrative, and the mixed20 – and then itemizes some of their particular “species” (a species being a division of a genus). In Diomedes’s scheme, epic and lyric are “species” of the mixed kind. Plato does very briefly allude to the possibility of composing in epic, melic, or tragic verse, and melē would have been his word for “lyric” (the adjective melikos is post-Classical), but he does not elaborate (Republic, 379a). In the Poetics more generally Aristotle is, of course, concerned especially with epic and tragedy, and actually says very little about lyric. At the beginning of the treatise he enumerates various genres, including that for the lyre (kitharistikē, 1447a 15 and 24), but he does not get into the nature of lyric poetry at all. Our triad receives little attention in the Middle Ages, although it does appear briefly, in Diomedes’s formulation, in John of Garland’s Parisiana Poetria, a mid-thirteenth-century handbook addressed to material in Latin and with no direct application to vernacular literatures.21 Modern scholars talking about the evolution of lyric tend to skip right over the medieval period to the Renaissance.22 For them, mostly, as A.C. Spearing observes, “post-classical lyric poetry seems to begin with Petrarch” (Textual Subjectivity, 175). Guerrero remarks that Dante says nothing about a lyric genre and probably wouldn’t have admitted that his own sonnets and chansons could constitute a model of lyric poetry (Poétique et poésie, 65). But in his 1559 De poeta, the Italian Antonio Minturno, echoing Plato, speaks of “epic, scenic, and melic” poets, and thereafter quite a few Renaissance writers theorize the subject.23 Guerrero sees Minturno as the founder of the “long doctrinaire tradition of the ‘three great genres’ of Antiquity.”24 As Jackson and Prins point out in their introduction to The Lyric Theory Reader, the modern conception of the triad is essentially a Romantic construct, indebted to Goethe, among others,25 and the idea of three universal Naturformen outlined in his 1819 Divan, the lyric being characterized as enthusiastisch aufgeregte (excited by ecstatic feeling).26 This threefold division of literature has been enormously influential, is often taken as a given, and is certainly useful, but it remains a construct rather than an independently existing system, and need not be regarded as a kind of Holy Trinity of archgenres, presiding over a multiplicity of genres, subgenres, sub-subgenres, etc.

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Middle English Conceptions of Lyric When we turn to Middle English literature we find little interest in formal classification. A detailed consideration of the manuscript evidence for attitudes to genre through the period would indeed be valuable, but a massive project.27 Here I will concentrate on terminology and some characteristic motifs. Middle English, like Old English, is rather vague about words for poetic genres. Old English lēoð, related to modern German lied and denoting a specifically metrical utterance, fell into disuse, leaving song and yedding, the latter derived from Old English giedd, and defined very capaciously by the Middle English Dictionary as “[a] poem or song; a saying; also, a recitation (spoken or sung) of a verse narrative.” So it is likely that in earlier Middle English no term more precise than these would be used.28 The Frenchderived “carol,” denoting a ring dance and subsequently the song accompanying it, is attested from around 1300 (oed and med , carol/carole, sense 1). Some modern scholars regard the carol as a genre separate from lyric, but there is no compelling reason why the narrower cannot be accommodated within the wider genre. In England the carol, religious and secular, is a stanzaic song, beginning with a burden which is repeated at the end of each stanza. Most of the Middle English examples are in manuscripts dating from around the fifteenth century. The term “complaint” for a poem of courtly love-longing is found sporadically in the late period. And from the time of Chaucer onwards the formes fixes of French lyric are applied to Middle English verse in special metres, i.e., the ballade, rondeau, and virelai. Even in the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, though, it is clear, because of the conventional formulas and motifs used, that poets were aware of smaller genres that we might see as embraced by the larger genre of lyric. “Reverdie” and “spring song” may be modern designations,29 but the charming natural setting, usually placed right at the beginning, the key words “lenten,” “April,” or “May,” the birds, the blossoms, and the springing of love in youthful hearts, all point to a well-marked genre. Witness the delightful Natureingang of Lenten ys come wiþ love to toune (87), one of the most famous of the Harley lyrics, and the brilliant paean to spring at the beginning of the Canterbury Tales (General Prologue, lines 1–18), here forming a lyric introduction to a narrative work, but reminiscent of many independent lyrics. Similarly conventional, but somewhat more particularized, the chanson d’aventure, in which a male narrator happens upon a maiden, often

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

begins with something like “Als I me rode this endre dai” (“As I rode the other day”), to quote the opening stanza of the early carol better known by its burden, Nou sprinkes þe sprai (“Now springs the budding spray,” 111). The (modern) French genre names reflect the French origins of these particular conventions. Other genres feature woman’s-voice lyrics of a deliberately uncourtly kind, for instance the chanson de délaissée30 and chanson de malmariée (song of an abandoned and of an ill-married girl, respectively), the latter very well documented in France. In late Middle English we find a mini-genre of poems, ranging from the humorous to the pathetic, spoken by girls who have been taken advantage of by a priest or clerk called John, Jankyn, or Jack. Examples are collected in the woman’s-voice “Desire and Seduction” section below. Although there is no contemporary term recorded for these seduction lyrics, the recurrence of the name (John and its familiar equivalents), the motifs (the overtures take place on feast days and holidays), and the poetic form (carol) suggest a distinct awareness of a particular type of poem, in this case very likely attributable to clerics. The handling of voice in relation to the disturbing subject of exploitation on the basis of gender and class raises thought-provoking issues here, as it does in the pastourelle, to which these “Jolly Jankin” lyrics are related.31 Throughout the Middle English period, key phrases also distinguish the genres of religious lyric with its Latin origins. Thus, the reproach of Christ to those who pass by the Cross echoes the Lamentations of Jeremiah, 1:12: “Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow,” in the King James version. The eloquent eight-line poem Ȝe þat pasen be þe weyȝe (32, rendering O vos omnes qui transitis per viam) is preceded in the manuscript by an explicit reference to this biblical passage. Lyrics on the fear of death may utilize familiar words from the Office for the Dead, such as John Audelay’s touching poem on his blindness and bodily decay, with its burden “Lade helpe, Jhesu merce, / Timor mortis conturbat me” (“the fear of death disturbs me,” 16), and William Dunbar’s powerful “Lament for the Makars” – and for himself, I þat in heill wes and gladnes (130), with the same Latin words for its refrain. Again, a standard scene may be evoked: Mary lulling the infant Jesus in lyrics beginning “Lullay,” or Mary at the foot of the Cross in poems following the pattern of the Latin Stabat mater (“The mother was standing” [by the Cross]). Another characteristic scene represents Christ pointing to his bleeding heart or his wounds. This imago pietatis, common in fifteenth-century iconography, appears five

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times in a British Library manuscript notable for its moralistic illustrations (Bl Add 37049). On folio 20r, the image of Christ accompanies a two-part poem (comprising Christ’s complaint and the penitent man’s response) beginning, “O man unkynde, / Hafe in mynde / My paynes smert. / Beholde & see / Þat is for þe / Percyd my hert” (33). Even if there is no technical terminology, all these, and many others, are unmistakable topoi, distinct and developed enough to create particular genres.

Status of Lyric in Middle English The absence of formal names does suggest, though, that the authors involved did not think analytically about poetic genres in English, a point made by George Kane in his 1972 “Short Essay on the Middle English Secular Lyric” (120). Alfred Hiatt, in a volume dedicated to challenging settled assumptions, argues for a “non-system of genres” in Middle English, meaning not that there were no genres, but “that what existed was more organic, decentred, and unpredictable, than the idea of a system demands” (“Genre without System,” 291).32 In a recent study that applies the psycho-sociological theory of Michel de Certeau to lyric in medieval England, Ingrid Nelson investigates the “tactical” relationship between textual “practices” and institutional norms, a relationship which, she argues, is more ad hoc and improvisatory than that in Continental lyric.33 As Nicolette Zeeman, notes, there are no artes poeticae concerned with lyrics in Middle English (“Passionate Song,” 239n38). A comparison between Nou sprinkes þe sprai (111) and its possible source is instructive. L’autrier defors Picarni (“The other day, outside Picarni”) is constructed as a “classical” pastourelle (the adjective is William Paden’s34 – the genre name is medieval): a light, playful poem featuring sophisticated male seducer and rustic maiden, at first lamenting but, in this case, happy to be consoled. The French poem calls the maiden une pastoure (“a shepherdess”) whereas the English one makes her simply “a litel mai” (“a little maid”). Both the less specific role and the more interiorized rendering of the still-suffering maiden betray a less programmatic attitude to genre: the poem is a chanson d’aventure, to be sure, and a pastourelle if the term is interpreted fairly broadly. Very likely the author of the English version would not have attached a genre name to his poem at all. Until the late fourteenth century, the English lyric genres, especially in secular verse, seem not to have been taken seriously (see John Scattergood,

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

“Love Lyric before Chaucer,” 44). The circumstances of their preservation point in this direction. Early manuscripts are never devoted to Middle English lyrics alone, and lyric pieces, often fragments, are frequently written on odd spaces: margins, blank areas, flyleaves, and scraps. The Rawlinson lyrics – twelve poems and fragments, two in French and ten in English including the well-known Maiden in the mor lay (53) – are written, as prose, on an isolated strip of parchment bound in at the beginning of a manuscript (Bodl Rawlinson D 913, f.1rv). It is usual in the earlier period for lyrics to be written in prose, but does suggest they are not regarded as particularly important. The low position of English in the language hierarchy, coming third after Latin and then French, can be detected in trilingual manuscripts, as noted by John Scahill (“Trilingualism,” 19–20). Significantly, too, in English manuscripts between 1100 and 1400, Anglo-French and Latin erotic lyrics “appear in very nearly equal numbers, with Middle English a distant … third,” a point made by Thomas Moser (Cosmos of Desire, 119). By and large, early Middle English lyric lacked prestige – although in certain contexts religious poetry and prose in English enjoyed a higher standing35 – since English was definitely not the language of scholarly learning, nor yet regarded as the language of the aristocracy, although it was increasingly used by them. Normans were becoming native speakers of English by the mid-twelfth century, but, in Ian Short’s words, only with Chaucer did English regain “the status of an innovative literary medium with a national dimension” (Manual of Anglo-Norman, 12).36 The low status of secular lyric also helps to account for the very small number preserved in Middle English relative to the languages of the Continent. It is probably not coincidental that the quantity of Anglo-French secular lyric preserved is also very small.37 Typically, the early fragments preserved in an incidental way or quoted in sermons belong to the realm of popular poetry. My use of the word “popular” here acknowledges a connection with orality, tradition, and ordinary people, but carries no implications about the origin or performance context of particular poems, and assumes that this sort of poetry, composed in a register that is non-elitist and contrastive to aristocratic or learned, was enjoyed by all levels of society.38 Frequently, though by no means always, popular lyrics are of the raunchy kind. Bernard O’Donohue, in a chapter dedicated to “Middle English Popular Lyrics,” claims that such poems may be seen as belonging to “the profane world,” as opposed to “the religious and courtly world” (Duncan, Companion to ME Lyric, 210–26 at 220). Effectively, “popular” in his application of the term means rude, lewd, and anti-feminist. A little

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biased, but not baseless. One can understand why vernacular songs of the popular type, especially the amorous ones, were consistently deplored by the medieval Church, which over the centuries unsuccessfully waged war against them as lewd and pagan. The songs performed by young women as they danced are the favourite target. Take, for example, the well-known anecdote, told by Giraldus Cambrensis shortly before 1200, of the English priest who, corrupted by hearing erotic dance songs being performed all night outside the church, very disgracefully said “Swete lamman dhin are” (“[Give me] your favour, sweetheart!”) instead of “Dominus vobiscum.”39 Another instance in the same vein is provided by a little song about a girl’s choosing her lover for his physical prowess and then dropping him in disappointment: Ate ston casting my lemman I ches (5). This ditty, preserved in two sermon collections, is found in two versions: the four-line one included here, and a shorter one beginning “Atte wrastlinge mi lemman I ches,” in which the couplet is introduced with a disparaging remark about disorderly songs accompanying ring dances (see Notes on Poem 5). For linguistic and cultural reasons, then, early Middle English secular lyrics were not high-status poetry, as they were, for example, in Occitan, where lyric was cultivated by well-known poets and a whole set of genre names subsequently created by theorists.40 Some of the troubadours spent time in England, but their production – even that of Richard I – had nothing to do with England and is absent from manuscripts written there.41 In contrast to troubadour and trouvère song, in England, as Ardis Butterfield says, “there is no broad recognizable tradition of high art but a much more diverse, messy and undefined … range of material” (“Lyric,” 96). English mingled with French and Latin in the manuscripts, but still for a long time it remained a poor relation. To be sure, the three languages interpenetrated each other, producing “not three cultures but one culture in three voices,” to quote Thorlac Turville-Petre (England the Nation, 181), but these voices were distinct and unequal. Turville-Petre does believe, however, that from the late thirteenth century on Englishness as a cultural construct was defined by language, a position that would now be challenged by many scholars.42 The humble status of English as late as Chaucer’s time is emphasized by Scattergood (“Love Lyric,” 44), and vis-à-vis French, the dominant lingua franca, by Butterfield, even as she stresses that the two languages were inseparable, and rejects a unilingual view of Englishness (The Familiar Enemy, 273–4). Still, in the course of the Middle English period the status of English does rise. This change is reflected in the copying of English lyrics: poems that

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

earlier on would have been treated in a more casual way are given greater prominence and more careful organization. In Harley 2253, probably dating from the 1340s, the English lyrics are mixed in with other material, including French and Latin, but do “occur in a rough sequence” (Boffey, “ME Lyrics and Manuscripts,” 9). Turville-Petre notes that the three languages were “perceived as different in function and character” in this manuscript, the English almost entirely verse, most of the Latin prose, and the French both (England the Nation, 199). Forty or fifty years later, the lyrics in the Vernon and Simeon manuscripts, both unilingual English collections, are much more systematically grouped together, most of the Vernon lyrics being refrain poems, in similar stanzas, as Boffey notes (“ME Lyrics,” 9).43 By the late fourteenth century, although English still came third in the language hierarchy, the composition of English verse could command respect, and be seriously cultivated by major authors, who carefully recreated in English the French-derived formes fixes. Not until the fifteenth century does English lyric receive the stamp of high approval implied by its use in a prestigious single-author manuscript, Harley 682, produced at the end of the long imprisonment of Charles d’Orléans and containing the English version of his poem cycle. Even this was a special case, Charles being a French poet, and royal.

Early Modern and Post-Romantic Uses of the Term “Lyric” I now turn to the Renaissance, which brings formal recognition of vernacular lyric as a genre with ancient precedents. The actual word “lyric” is first recorded in English in the late sixteenth century. Three oed citations of the word, as adjective and noun, date from the 1580s. The earliest is in Sidney’s Defence of Poesy (ca. 1580), where “lyric” and “lyrical” are used with reference to the classification of poetic kinds in antiquity, but also to the songs and sonnets of Sidney’s contemporaries (Sidney, ed. Duncan-Jones, 371). He also applies “lyric” and “lyrical” to some eulogistic and narrative poetry (Sidney, 218, 230–1, 236, 242, 246). The possibility that such kinds of poetry may be lyric will be considered below. George Puttenham, in The Arte of English Poesie (1589), describes “Lirique Poets” as men who “delighted to write songs or ballads of pleasure, to be song with the voice, and to the harpe, lute, or citheron,” this with specific reference to the lyric poets of Greece and Rome (Poesie, 71). “Ballad” here means much the same as “lyric”: a song or songlike short poem.44 William Webbe’s Discourse of English Poetry (1586) is similarly

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oriented towards ancient usage. Webbe divides poems into four categories – heroic, elegiac, iambic, and lyric (Discourse, 86) – following the Greek classification of genres by form, different kinds of content being associated with particular metres, and those mentioned here using, respectively, hexameters, elegiac couplets, iambics (for satirical and scurrilous verse), and various sorts of strophe. Although the Elizabethan theorists looked not to earlier England but to ancient Greece and Rome for their categories, Tudor lyric was not separate from medieval poetry, and early Tudor song was very much continuous with it, as Stevens shows with particular reference to three pre-Reformation songbooks produced in the period 1470–1520.45 Post-Romantic writers on lyric have tended to emphasize its personal aspect, and, similarly, the idea of lyric as an essentially private genre. John Stuart Mill characterized (lyric) poetry as a kind of soliloquy and an inborn skill, as opposed to trained rhetoric; he was drawing on the Latin proverb Oratur fit, nascitur poeta (“An orator is made, a poet born”). I am putting together two passages here, in two originally separate essays, later published as one: “What Is Poetry?” (January 1833), where Mill distinguishes between eloquence, which is heard, and poetry, which is overheard, and “The Two Kinds of Poetry” (October 1833), where he contrasts Shelley, the natural poet, with Wordsworth, the man of ideas, whose poetry is essentially unlyrical, although the lyric kind is “more eminently and peculiarly poetry than any other.”46 Northrop Frye took up Mill’s insight approvingly, and spoke of lyric as “pre-eminently the utterance that is overheard” (Anatomy of Criticism, 249). Similarly, T.S. Eliot, in “The Three Voices of Poetry,” defined lyric as “the voice of the poet talking to himself – or to nobody,” the first of his three poetic voices, one soliloquizing, one addressing an audience, and one speaking through a persona (On Poetry and Poets, 89–102 at 96–7); Plato’s three modes and the subsequent lyric-epic-dramatic triad probably lie behind this. But actually Eliot is unhappy about calling the kind of poetry that uses the first voice “lyric,” and prefers “meditative verse,” so, as we shall see, he is really thinking of a very particular kind of lyric poetry.

Modern Medievalists: Some Influential Views Modern scholars have felt the need somehow to balance medieval attitudes to Middle English poetry with the very different perspective of their own time. There is a general consensus that whatever “lyric” means in a medieval context, it means something different from its usual meaning now. Unless one

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

has decided that the word is to be treated as essentially devoid of meaning (which makes it useless), approaches to the problem tend to limit its meaning to a particular facet. Thus, lyric may be understood as basically song, or as an especially intimate kind of poetry, or as poetry voiced in the first person. Alternatively, one may concentrate on a particular kind of medieval lyric and thus avoid the difficulty of accommodating other kinds that in their different ways correspond to some aspect of what we would regard as lyric. It will be useful at this point to summarize some influential views. Peter Dronke, whose two major books on medieval lyric appeared in the sixties, emphasizes especially its sung or song-like aspect. In the Preface to the first edition of his magisterial Medieval Latin and the Rise of European Love-Lyric, Dronke runs off a list of the vernacular songs that, he believes, must have existed before they were first recorded in the twelfth century: “dance songs, love-dialogues, aubades, ballads, reverdies, lovers’ greetings and meditations” (Medieval Latin, xvi). And in the first chapter of his shorter Medieval Lyric (first published in 1968), he seeks to demonstrate the rootedness of medieval lyric in the unrecorded oral songs of late antiquity by quoting in translation from a sermon by the famously eloquent St John Chrysostom (347–407 ce ), a long and highly evocative passage on the many kinds of song pervasive in the lives of ordinary people.47 In a later article, making the rather difficult case for a continuity of love lyric from Old to Middle English (discussed more fully below), Dronke incidentally defines lyrics as “brief poems of keen emotional intensity, using refrains and other incantatory elements,” this with reference to a few Old English pieces.48 As well as drawing on the typical Romantic view of lyric, Dronke’s formulation raises the question of lyrical form mentioned earlier, to which I will return. In her classic study The English Religious Lyric in the Middle Ages (1968), Rosemary Woolf turns away from poetry as song, and also rejects the assumption that lyric must reflect the author’s feelings (1). Instead, she insists on its private nature. She sees herself as writing “a history of medieval meditative poetry” (308), and distinguishes between the lyric proper, private and intimate, and the carol, which is sung, public, and celebratory (383–4). Speaking of the carol, she says, “its purpose – and probably its ancestry – is dramatic rather than meditative” (385). Effectively, she has appropriated the genre name for a much narrower genre of devotional verse. She acknowledges a fundamental similarity between this and the meditative English poetry of the seventeenth century, exemplified especially by Donne and Herbert, although, as she points out, the medieval poems avoid the individualism

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that so sharply distinguishes the later writers (4–7). As she admits, Audelay’s poem about his blindness and physical decay, mentioned earlier, is a notable exception. Woolf is talking about religious poetry specifically, but in contrasting the lyric with the carol, as private and public respectively, she is adopting a position that is often applied more widely. She does not define the lyric as personal, but comes close to doing so when speaking of it as private and intimate. Other scholars do find the lyric a personal genre, in that it uses a firstperson voice. Thus, Judson Allen asserts that the medieval lyric invites its audience to occupy the “I” of the poem.49 Somewhat similarly, Douglas Gray, in his book on Middle English religious poetry published a few years after Woolf ’s, explains that medieval devotional poems in the first person are “intended for other people to use.”50 This “generic I” is carefully distinguished from the “I” as dramatis persona by John Burrow in his well-known introduction to Middle English literature, Medieval Writers and Their Work, first published in 1982. Burrow, who says he accepts the equation of lyric with short poem, at the same time admits that it is impossible to make general observations about lyrics so defined, and then promptly limits his discussion to poems uttered in the first person.51 A particular kind of first-person voice is also felt to be a defining feature by Rosemary Greentree, who, in the Introduction to her bibliography The Middle English Lyric and Short Poem (2001), favours a distinction between the lyric “I,” addressing one person, and the epic or romance “I,” addressing a plurality (12). Interestingly (and not coincidentally) this distinction corresponds to the difference between the monodic and the choral “I” in Greek lyric. Greentree also provides some all-purpose definitions of lyric in terms of criteria that will by now sound familiar: intense emotion, repetitive and evocative sound, music, and commemoration of an event (5). She is drawing on critics writing in the fifties, specifically, Kenneth Burke and Susanne Langer.52 And she does ultimately decide that, to be on the safe side, “lyric” should be taken to mean no more than “short poem” in Middle English. Richard Greene’s massive edition of the Middle English carols (first published in 1935, and re-edited in 1977) does not investigate the definition of lyric, but does go to great lengths to define the carol, with its burden at the beginning and following every stanza. He carefully distinguishes the carol from the ballad, the latter defined by narrativity and objectivity, features which are possible but unusual in carols (The Early English Carols, lxv–lxxii). Somewhat similarly, the collection by John Hirsh (Medieval Lyric, 2005)

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treats ballads and carols as two genres, with lyric a third. Greene is especially interested in the origins of the carol, which he explains as a development of dance-song performed by young women, with a varying stanza sung by the leader and an unvarying burden sung by the chorus (xlviii). He supposes a wide diffusion and ancient origin for dances of this type (xlvii–xlix). As he acknowledges, he is indebted to the theories of Alfred Jeanroy and Gaston Paris (first voiced around 1890), who traced the whole of European lyric back to these girlish songs.53 Both Greentree and Hirsh, though writing comparatively recently, hark back to the work of an earlier generation. Recent scholarship has paid more attention to material subjects, such as manuscript presentation, than generic affinities. However, the former have been carefully brought to bear on the latter by Julia Boffey and Ardis Butterfield. In “What to Call a Lyric?” (2005), Boffey demonstrates that the choice of titles for short poems in late Middle English manuscripts has implications for the understanding of genre. She shows that terms for varieties of lyric were used pretty loosely at the time: Latin and French words for “song,” along with “tretys” and “dite,” and in courtly verse “complaint.” But her findings only indirectly address the question of what we should call a medieval lyric. Butterfield also emphasizes manuscript presentation and manuscript context. Her chapter on lyric for the 2009 Cambridge Companion to Medieval English Literature arranges its material by the kinds of manuscript involved, showing how closely implicated the English material is with Latin and French. Butterfield does not actually define lyric, but does say that in Middle English it includes poetry that would be regarded as lyric by modern critics (“intense, private, and literary”) and also poetry that would not (95–6). In “Why Medieval Lyric?” (2015), she deplores the marginalizing of medieval texts by putting them to the test of inappropriate New Critical theory; essentially, she accepts the use of the term “lyric” but disapproves of using it in an exclusive, rather than an inclusive, way (see 325–6).

Three Angles: Song, Celebration, Personal Poetry Taking account of all these views, I now want to supplement the definition of lyric sketched out earlier. I suggest that one useful approach to lyric can be taken via three dominant aspects in which it presents itself: that is, in the guise of song, festivity, or personal confession. The overwhelming majority of Middle English lyrics present at least one of these three. All have

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a long history, probably going back to remotest origins. The first aspect, or angle, has come in the last hundred years or so to be very separable from lyric as a concept; the last accommodates a widespread post-Romantic view of lyric, but should not, I think, require the assumption of autobiographical authenticity. Contrasting with each other, the second and third mark a distinction between public and private somewhat similar to that made by Woolf and others between the carol and the lyric. I will expand a little further on each of the three. Although song is an extremely important element of lyric, non-lyrical kinds of poetry could be sung – as the Old French chansons de geste were, famously the Song of Roland at the Battle of Hastings. The inspiring moment is recorded in a Latin chronicle, by William of Malmesbury, and an AngloFrench romance, by Wace.54 The words cantilena in William and chantout/ chantant in Wace indicate sung delivery, but may not be used literally. It is possible, too, as Stevens suggests, that narrative verse was performed with a recitative rather than a fully sung delivery (Words and Music, 130, 200n3, 259). In Occitan, the verse forms of the courtly canso were used for the satirical or moralizing sirventes – which, like the canso, was sung.55 Song, then, does not preclude non-lyrical genres. Again, it is often unclear whether particular pieces unaccompanied by musical notation were actually intended to be sung.56 When presented as songs in longer works, such as romances, they obviously were. The presence of refrain might also be an indicator.57 And the snippets included in early Middle English (or Latin) sermons – such as Ate ston casting (5) and its ilk – doubtless came from real songs.58 Many verse forms originally sung, notably the formes fixes mentioned above, came to be literary forms quite independent of music, a development reflected in the differentiation between sung and unsung lyric found in L’art de dictier et de fere chançons, balades, virelais et rondeaulx by Chaucer’s contemporary and friend Eustache Deschamps (Oeuvres complètes, 7.270–1). In late Middle English, the word “song” often designated texts with no particular musical application, as shown by Boffey in “What to Call a Lyric,” mentioned above. Still, the association of lyric with song is powerful, and has been stressed in some of the most important scholarship on the subject. Festive or celebratory lyric runs the gamut from reverence to jollity and sometimes combines the two, as in many Christmas hymns and carols, such as Poems 68–71 in the “Festive Songs” section here (and see the 141 edited in Greene, 1–85). For this reason, and also to define a kind of lyric that is public and collective, I include in this category the playful as well as the earnest.

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

The two are usually separated, but I think they can usefully be seen as on a continuum, the ludic type including poems that imply, without specifically mentioning, a context of group merriment. Gray’s view of a particular type of lyric expressing “delight in ‘game’ and festive entertainment” is relevant here. He includes in this category Christmas songs as well as bawdy verses and good-humoured satire (Later Medieval English Literature, 366).59 Banqueting and drinking songs join festive carols at the lighter end of the spectrum, as in the late Middle English Boar’s Head Carol (for two versions of this, see 66 and 71), sung as that impressive dish was brought ceremoniously into the hall, and Bryng us in good ale (67). At the opposite end of the spectrum is a kind of ambitious composition practised by sophisticated poets over the ages. “Ceremonial poems uttered in a public voice on a public occasion” are included under “lyric” in M.H. Abrams’s Glossary of Literary Terms.60 This epideictic poetry is seen by modern critics as part of a classical tradition. Admired down the centuries, Pindar’s splendid epinicians praising the victors in the Games are perhaps the example par excellence. In the hands of Pindar and other Greek choral lyricists, praise poetry was also moral and didactic, though raised above mere preaching by its imaginative grandeur. W.R. Johnson characterizes as “choral” lyric the kind of poetry that involves “singing for and to the community about the hopes and passion for order, survival, and continuity that they all share.” He uses both “choral” and “singing” figuratively, and traces a tradition “from Pindar to Horace, from Horace to Jonson, from Jonson to Whitman and other modern choralists” (The Idea of Lyric, 178). In the Middle English context, poetry of this kind may be simpler and more “popular,” as with the Agincourt Carol (65). And it is worth noting that Greek choral lyric was not always edifying; in the comedy it could be quite frivolous. As we have seen, personal poetry is often equated with poetry spoken by an “I.” But it is also possible for poetry that speaks of the intimate concerns of the individual human being to be regarded as personal whether grammatically first-person or not. Sometimes direct address conveys this quality; sometimes the intimacy and urgency of the topic does. Poetry of the choral kind can be personal only in a special, collective sense. While it is true that the idea of lyric poetry as intensely personal is a Romantic one, the roots of this concept go far back. Paul Allen Miller has found a new awareness of the speaker’s interiority in literary Latin as opposed to performance-oriented Greek lyric, a point he makes with specific reference to the adaptation of

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Sappho 31, describing the devastating physical effect on the poet of the presence of her beloved, in Catullus 51, where the subject is the male poet and his feeling for his “Lesbia.”61 Notwithstanding this shift, the Roman poets remain comparatively restrained and convention-bound in their outpourings. Even poems of personal anecdote are not disposed to wear their heart on their sleeve. Catullus 10, for instance, neatly captures the poet’s embarrassment at a girl’s asking him to lend her the eight litter-bearers he claimed to own when really he had nary a one. His discomfiture strikes us as absolutely true to life. But the witty account of it is light-years away from, say, Wordsworth’s detailed account of the development of his own mind in The Prelude. Going further back and further afield than Miller, E.K. Chambers, in an observation about origins that now seems quaint and patronizing but probably has some truth in it, averred that anthropological investigations trace the beginnings of lyric among “barbarous peoples” to “the instinct of emotional self-expression.”62 I would concur with Chambers to the extent that lyric may well originate in oral song, individual or communal, which expresses the feelings of the singer with regard to a specific occasion. This is not the same thing as Ruskin’s claim that lyric is “the expression by the poet of his own feelings.”63 What is or is not the genuine expression of somebody’s own feelings is virtually impossible to determine. As Käte Hamburger emphatically says, “How far the lyrical I is the poet-I can never be settled and the poet himself would hardly be able to do so.”64 Indeed, the question is really a red herring. Often the singer adopts a stage persona, a stage “self ” to which the audience is invited to respond, as is still the case with popular song.65 All the same, poetry that lays bare a personal situation in individualistic detail is, by virtue of the deliberate conventionality of medieval topics and motifs, decidedly unmedieval – and uncharacteristic of the reserve and role-playing of classical verse too.

I I. t h e P rI m a ry m a t e r I a ls : m Id d le eng lI s h ve r s e Lyric Form in Middle English: Continental Influence, Poems Including Latin and French Formally, the roots of lyric in Middle English are Continental, rather than native. Lyric form as defined by structure, essentially strophic, is unrecorded

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in the English vernacular before the twelfth century, although it was known to the Anglo-Saxons long before that, as a phenomenon of Latin verse, especially hymns. Whether dance songs existed in Anglo-Saxon oral culture remains an open question. It is easy to believe that they must be universal. When speaking of the origins of the carol, Greene is convinced that AngloSaxon maidens would have disported themselves in dance and song on the meadow or around the fire (xlvii–xlix). But the first references to such activities are later – in the Giraldus anecdote and the sermon quoting Atte wrastlinge mentioned above, for example. The only one that I know of from the Anglo-Saxon period, in a Latin Life of St Dunstan written around 1000, describes a visionary scene of sacred dance song performed by virgins in a church – hardly a reflection of current popular practice.66 The legend of the cursed ring-dancers of Colbek appears to originate from events that occurred in 1021, but in Saxony, not England.67 I cannot imagine any extant Old English poem accompanying dancing. Only The Riming Poem uses rhyme consistently throughout; there are no poems in rhyming stanzas, and only one, Deor, with a real refrain.68 The new metres are “an importation from the Latin schools or Romance courts,” influenced by “accentual Latin verse, stemming from the popular poetry of the latter days of the Roman Empire.”69 The St Godric songs (1), simple little compositions by the Anglo-Saxon saint who died in his nineties in 1170, are among the earliest Middle English texts preserved with musical notation; the oldest manuscript probably dates from the late twelfth century. Formally, they resemble Latin hymns of the Ambrosian type.70 Another very early lyric, also preserved with music, is Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non (“Previously I knew no care,” 6). This poem, a plea to God for release from prison, is written in an English and a French version in the manuscript. Both are contrafacta of a Latin lament by Godefroy of St Victor, Planctus ante nescia (“Previously unaccustomed to weeping”): that is, they use its tune. It is not uncommon for secular lyrics in the vernacular to share their melodies with sacred songs in Latin. Sumer is icumen in (7) and Maiden in the mor lay (53) are familiar examples. Sumer shares its melody with Perspice Christicola (“Take heed, Christian”), Maiden with Peperit virgo (“A maiden has given birth”).71 Sumer and Perspice are preserved together, along with their music, in a miscellany from Reading Abbey. The music and opening line of Maiden are found in the Red Book of Ossory, in Ireland, among religious verses in Latin composed by Bishop Richard de Ledrede to the music of popular English songs. These early Middle English poems are

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all sung, and they all reflect a break with Old English and a turning towards Latin and French models. Even though the alliterative long line persists in some quarters right to the end of the Middle English period, that line is in essence a tool of stichic verse, and lends itself to lyric poetry only when combined with other devices – that is, with rhyme, refrain, and strophe. Witness the highly wrought artistry of Pearl and its elaborate stanzas. This poem is too long and too narrative to be a lyric per se, but, like the opening to the General Prologue of the Canterbury Tales, as well as the passages I mentioned from Paradise Lost and The Prelude, along with the individual episodes of Omeros, it lingers on lyric moments captured in vivid detail. While on the subject of form and its indebtedness to Latin and French models, we should consider the actual inclusion of these languages in macaronic verse. Incorporation of foreign words, usually Latin, is in fact very common, found most frequently in refrains, especially the burdens of carols. The repeated Latin line, often from the Bible or the liturgy, adds learning or solemnity – sometimes ironically (78, 100). Such lyrics are essentially English, but with a particular resonance contributed by the other language. Fully macaronic poems, in which Latin, and sometimes French, plays a more dominant part, are for the most part excluded here, because they are only to a limited extent English, but also because the challenging technique tends to assume more importance than the sentiment and thus makes them inherently less lyrical. Pace Elizabeth Archibald, who uses the term only to reject it, a poem of this type is indeed a “jeu d’esprit” (“Macaronic Poetry,” 287), and may be a very clever one. A particularly good example is to be found in a pair of trilingual verse epistles from around 1400, entitled in the main manuscript De amico ad amicam and Responcio (dimev 19; Duncan, II.12 and 13). I quote the opening of the first: A celuy que plus eyme en mounde, Of alle tho that I have founde Carissima (cul Gg 4.27 [Part 1a], ff. 10v–11v).

to her whom I love most in the world dearest

The poem consists of twelve stanzas, each containing two triplets of exactly this pattern; the Responcio of nine stanzas, constructed in the same way. As noted by Ad Putter (“The French of English Letters”), these two poems exploit the tendencies of each language in a virtuoso performance: the English

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“‘natural,’” the French “sublimated,” the terse Latin displaying “a higher level of syntactical complexity” (Putter, 407). Drawing on much the same linguistic tendencies, a shorter and less ambitious piece in Harley 2253, Dum ludis floribus velud lacivia (“While you disport yourself among flowers, as in playfulness”), consists mainly of Latin and French, which it combines fairly unsystematically.72 But the poem ends with a homely, “sincere” English couplet: “May y sugge namore, so wel me is; / Ȝef hi deȝe for love of hire, duel hit ys” (“I can say no more … ; if I die … it is sad”). The Marian Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt (36), however, is both macaronic and delicately lyrical, its reverential, hymnic quality unifying the alternating English and Latin, while the two languages retain their distinctive sensibilities, the former more intimate, the latter more stately.

Embedded Lyric From the medieval period on, longer English poems tend to include lyric passages. These may be integral building blocks – in the opening of the Canterbury Tales, and, as in the examples mentioned earlier, in later largescale works. But when these passages are readily separable from their context, whether they were specifically composed for it or not, their function as embedded lyric offers a contrast to and perhaps an implied comment on the containing poem. This embedding device is more formally developed in the poetry of medieval France, where, beginning with Jean Renart’s earlythirteenth-century Roman de la Rose (also entitled Guillaume de Dole), the quoting of brief songs, or parts of them, in romances became an established technique. In English, a curious embedding practice characterizes two romances: Kyng Alisaunder and Arthour and Merlin, both dating from the early fourteenth century, both based on French works, and both doggedly long, though King Alisaunder, with its more varied action, is much the livelier of the two.73 These poems, possibly by the same author, make use of “headpieces” in the form of brief lyric or gnomic inserts, which are introduced quite randomly and seem to be interchangeable. There are over twenty in King Alisaunder, ten in Arthour and Merlin. They serve the same function in both poems, of occasionally marking a new phase in the action; they are also similar in their stereotypical content, often tied to particular seasons of the year. In Kyng Alisaunder their range is broader and the gnomic element frequent, making

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some of the inserts more moralistic than lyrical. For a typical example of the seasonal kind, consider the following lines from that poem; the passage begins with the keyword that is almost de rigueur at some point in these passages: Mery tyme it is in Maii. Þe foules syngeþ her lay; Þe kniȝttes loveþ þe turnay; Maydes so dauncen and þay play. (lines 5201–4)

birds sing their song tournament

Arthour and Merlin includes a headpiece beginning with the same line and continuing with flowers burgeoning, birds singing, and damsels performing carols (lines 1709–14). Mini-inserts of this kind may be lyrical, but, I would argue, they are not poems, because they lack focus and specificity. Mery tyme it is in Maii constitutes a spring setting, but, unlike the cuckoo-focussed Sumer is icumen in (7), not a spring song. Still, lyric inserts of this type offer a refreshing break from the unrelenting and very gory military campaigns that form the bulk of the action in these two poems. For a fully realized lyric embedded in another poem I turn to Chaucer, who provides us with some artful examples of contrast and complementarity between lyric intervention and enclosing narrative.74 Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe (dimev 3815) is a pleasant little roundel sung by the birds in his light-hearted take on the dream vision and courtly love, The Parliament of Fowls, an assembly which he claims to have observed in his sleep after reading Cicero’s Dream of Scipio. The action takes place in a green paradise, presided over by the Goddess of Nature, where all the birds have gathered to choose their mates on St Valentine’s Day. That agreeable fantasy may have actually been invented by Chaucer, since it is unrecorded before him. Afterwards it became widespread, and is used, for example, in an epithalamion by Donne beginning “Haile Bishop Valentine, whose day this is, / All the Aire is thy Diocis,” and a very mildly risqué quatrain by Herrick mentioning the coupling among the birds and lamenting “But by their flight I never can divine / When I shall couple with my valentine.” The Parliament of Fowls is more complex than these. Now welcome, somer, though, is quite simple, as is appropriate for its little performers, and gains its particular effect from the enclosing narrative. When courtly pronouncements by the leading birds have degenerated into general squabbling, Nature steps in, and the song to

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summer marks the restoration of harmony. Since the poem is very short, I quote it entire: Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe, weathers That hast thes wintres wedres overshake, And driven away the longe nyghtes blake! high; above Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte, Thus syngen smale foules for thy sake: birds [Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe, That hast thes wintres wedres overshake.] have; rejoice Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte, Sith ech of hem recovered hath hys make, since; mate Ful blissful mowe they synge when they wake: can [Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe, That hast thes wintres wedres overshake, And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!] (Parliament, 680–92) Chaucer claims that the melody (“note,” line 677) was composed in France. The poem is smooth and graceful, its opening line, with its s alliteration, conjuring up the propitious summer season – still pretty far-off on 14 February. Readers may well be reminded of “In a somer seson, whan softe was þe sonne,” the first line of Langland’s Piers Plowman.75 Taken by itself Now welcome, somer is not a very interesting composition. But within The Parliament of Fowls it resolves idle dispute, turns squawking into song, and prepares for the action to come full circle, as Chaucer returns in the final stanza (lines 493–9) to that fascination with the world of the imagination represented by his passion for reading.

Contemptus mundi and the Ubi sunt Motif Turning now from formal and structural issues, I would like to focus on some major themes. While many of these reflect a departure from Anglo-Saxon preoccupations and practice, some topics, especially religious and moral ones focussing on the darker aspects of medieval spirituality, continue traditions that flourished in England before the Conquest. Contemptus mundi, the product of an asceticism that medieval society embraced and admired (in theory anyway), produces an abundant, if often forbidding, literature in Latin

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and the vernaculars. It finds expression in horrific evocations of the rotting corpse such as those in the Old English addresses of the Soul to the Body76 and “The Grave” (2), a transitional text from the late twelfth century. These poems are not in lyric form, and their content is not lyrical. But when the contemptus theme excites nostalgia or intimate concern it can produce lyric moments. Thus, “The Grave” has an energy that hits home, while the early Middle English poem that Carleton Brown picturesquely entitles “Death’s Witherclench” (8) strikingly combines lyric intensity and personal focus, the latter conveyed by empathy and direct address: “Alas, there is no king nor queen / That shall not drink of death’s drink. / Man, ere you fall off your bench, / Your sin quench. / There’s none so strong nor stark nor keen / That he can escape death’s hostile clench” (1.7–10, 2.1–2). Lyric also in its formal properties, being constructed in strophes and intended for singing, this piece is accompanied by musical notation in one of its several manuscript versions. Also from the thirteenth century, Wen þe turuf is þi tuur (9) is equally alarming: “When the turf is thy tower, / and the pit thy bower, / thy well-being and thy white throat / for the benefit of worms. / What helpeth thee then / all this world’s joy?” The contrast between flourishing life and rotting death is all the more shocking for its extreme brevity. The poem renders a Latin original alongside it in the manuscript. Another extremely widespread motif, “Where are the dead of former days?” animates the famous passage in the Old English Wanderer (lines 92–6) beginning Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa? (“What has become of the steed, the rider, the treasure-giver?”)77 as well as early Middle English poetry. Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren (11), sometimes known by its Latin title Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt, is extant in several manuscripts, with variations in the stanzas and their arrangement; since it tends to be mixed in with the moralistic maxims called The Sayings of St. Bernard perhaps it should not be regarded as a separate poem. I describe it here as it appears in the Digby version, where it is set off as discrete. Similarly evocative is a haunting stanza from Thomas of Hales’s Love Rune (“secret love message”), a 210-line poem that seeks to turn a young woman’s desires towards a divine lover.78 Although the Love Rune is too long and too hortatory to be in its totality a lyric, Brown includes it in his Thirteenth Century collection (No. 43, pp. 68–74).79 Reflecting on the famous dead, the speaker asks, rhetorically, “Hwer is Paris & Heleyne …?” They are all “iglyden ut of þe reyne / so þe schef is of þe cleo” (“glided out of the rain,

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like the sheaf from the hill,” st. 9). The most famous rendition of this theme must be François Villon’s fifteenth-century Ballade des dames du temps jadis (Le Testament Villon, 329–56), best known to modern Anglophone readers in Rossetti’s version with its familiar refrain “Where are the snows of yesteryear,” translating Ou sont les neiges d’antan? Ranging from the wistful to the macabre, verse on this theme can produce bursts of concentrated intensity. In Hales’s Love Rune, the ubi sunt stanza climaxes the images of transience in the first half of the poem, the latter part of which consists of somewhat tedious recommendations to preserve chastity. Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren is more severe. Those who “took their paradise here” are now in the ever-burning fire of Hell together, where for eternity they cry out in anguish: “Their paradise they took here, / and now they lie in hell together, / the fire that burns forever. Long is ‘Ai!’ and long is ‘Oh!’ / Long is ‘Whee’ and long is ‘Wo!’ / From thence shall they come never” (st. 4). Not lyric in its quieter or sweeter aspects and certainly not lyrical in the Romantic sense of the word, these poems and passages speak to the deepest fears and anxieties of the individual human being, the message driven home by parallelism, repetition, rhyme, and alliteration.

Devotional Lyric This devotional poetry is personal in its intimacy and its frequent use of direct address: mankind to Christ, or Christ to mankind. Thus, a representative “I” – which, in Gray’s words quoted earlier on, is intended “for other people to use” – features in most of these pieces. Usually, the human speaker is uncharacterized and typical. A more distinctive example is supplied by Loverd, þu clepedest me (24), found in a small early-fourteenth-century manuscript of preaching materials in Latin. The Middle English poem translates Augustine’s famous words about his own former procrastination and spiritual sloth (Confessions 8.5), and follows the Latin text. In “words slow and sleepy,” like someone reluctant to be awakened, the speaker responds to the Lord’s voice calling him: “Þole [endure] yet! þole a litel,” meaning “Just wait a bit!” But “yet” (i.e., “for now”) is endless, and “ a little” is very long. The Latin plays on modo (“right away”), and being without modus (“a limit”). Leo Spitzer finds a “poetic,” that is generic, “I,” rather than a truly personal “empirical” one, in Augustine’s Confessions.80 The informal Latin in which this plea for postponement is expressed certainly sounds autobiographical, but whether it is really so is unknowable. We have here a moralizing anecdote which

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through its patterned form and vivid re-creation of a moment of personal experience also becomes a lyric. Whether it faithfully represents an actual incident in the life of St Augustine is an interesting question, but, as far as the poem’s lyrical quality is concerned, ultimately irrelevant. Similar in its concentrated focus is the well-known and richly evocative Nou goth sonne under wod (19), musing on Mary’s sorrowing face as she stands by the Cross, the first poem in Brown’s Thirteenth Century volume, entitled by him “Sunset on Cavalry”: “Now the sun goes down beneath the trees— / I am sad, Mary, for thy fair face. / Now the sun goes down beneath the Tree— / I am sad, Mary, for thy Son and thee.” Two images are created, the second called up by the first: the sun (or the Son) going down into darkness and death, with wod connoting both the trees in a wood and the Cross as tree, and the fair face of Mary, marred by weeping, her rode (ruddy complexion) suggesting its near homophone, the rood.81 These lines are quoted by St Edmund (Rich), in his Merure de Seinte Eglise, after a passage in Anglo-French verse urging the reader (or audience) to think of Mary and her suffering. Conveying empathy, instead of admonition, Nou goth sonne under wod prompts sympathy and love instead of fear or penitence. Meditative rather than musical, Loverd þu clepedest me and Nou goth sonne under wod epitomize lyric of the personal and private kind, here voicing an intimate but generic “I” that invites others to use it.

Love Complaint The new lyricism is conspicuous in the male-voice love complaint, with its precursors in the Occitan canso and northern French grand chant courtois.82 The only two love complaints in Old English are The Wife’s Lament and Wulf and Eadwacer, both in the female voice; they are given no title or descriptor in the manuscript. Nor is The Husband’s Message; this is a love poem of sorts – a formal spousal invitation, but certainly not a love complaint. Like their male counterparts among the Old English elegies, the bereft, isolated speakers in the two “woman’s songs”83 are projected against a background of hostile nature – very different from the genial spring setting that frames so much of later medieval love lyric. Apart from sharing the key themes of separation and longing, these Old English poems belong to another world. Not entirely convincingly, Dronke argues for continuity between them (along with The Husband’s Message and Deor) and a few early Middle English poems that are also enigmatic and, in some cases, include motifs of imprisonment

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and separation by water.84 None of these remotely resembles the poignancy of the Old English laments, and none of them except the robust Atte wrastlinge (Ate ston casting my lemman I ches, 5) seems to be in a woman’s voice. The typical pining lover appears in a couple of them. All are fairly unsophisticated; they make no attempt to convey refinement of feeling. In this respect, very early Middle English poetry is little marked by Romance influence, unlike the love poems of Harley 2253, probably somewhat earlier than their mid-fourteenth-century manuscript. The Harley love-lyrics (Poems 82–90), with their rich language of courtly praise, touched with humour, will be explored more fully later. At this point it will be useful to look at a poem that both exemplifies and explodes the courtly complaint: the masterly triple roundel Merciles Beaute, probably by Chaucer.85 Here, the roundel form, characterized by its brevity and repeated lines, mirrors the mannered insistence of the speaker’s statements. The first two sections in the triad frame conventional conceits: the lady’s eyes casting mortal darts, and her “Daunger” (haughty domination) imprisoning her “Mercy” (both pity and sexual favour); the love allegory is concentrated in French-derived vocabulary reminiscent of the Roman de la rose, which Chaucer knew so well.86 The poem begins with the speaker’s suitably extravagant despair: Your yen two wol slee me sodenly; I may the beautee of hem not sustene, So woundeth hit thourghout my herte kene. (lines 1–3)

eyes; slay

This theme is maintained through the second roundel, where the smitten lover faces the certain prospect of death: Allas, that Nature hath in you compassed So greet beautee, that no man may atteyne To mercy though he sterve for the peyne. … For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne. (lines 21–6)

die holds

Then, suddenly, and delightfully, the third roundel performs a complete volte-face. The speaker – a cheerful and witty Chaucer? – tosses exalted language aside and proclaims his happy escape:

Introduction

Love hath my name ystrike out of his sclat, And he is strike out of my bokes clene For evermo; [ther] is non other mene. Sin I fro Love [escaped am so fat, I never thenk to ben in his prison lene; Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.] (lines 34–9)

35

slate completely way lean not worth a bean

An engaging, but less accomplished, spoof is found in Poem 75. The Harley poets never descend to outright parody, but do seem to be aware of that possibility. Their handling of courtly lyric, especially the characteristic blending of courtly sentiments with evocation of the natural world, is anticipated in the shorter late-thirteenth-century piece that begins “Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere, / Kynd is come of love, love to crave” (“Bird on briar, bird, bird on briar, / Out of love, nature has come to beg for love,” 81). This poem participates in the native alliterative tradition, but its form and conceits are far removed from those of Old English poetry. With its association between love and birds on branches, Bryd seems to be a spring song. So is the little canon, perhaps a few decades older, Sumer is icumen in (7), in this case a very exuberant song, full of irrepressible animal life, with not a repining lover in sight. The lively response of the human heart to the natural world in spring strikes one as a universal that must predate the Norman Conquest in England, but we have little evidence for this theme as an impulse to love.87 Bryd one brere was found in 1932 on the back of a papal grant of privileges to an abbey whose revenues later came into the hands of King’s College, Cambridge. Copying on this strange medium suggests a curious mixture of negligence and care on the part of the copyist, who probably quickly noted it down, perhaps from memory, on a parchment that was at hand, because he liked it and wanted to preserve it. Bryd is a graceful, pleasing little poem, presenting itself as intimately personal while being extremely conventional, and probably evoking sensitivity and tender feeling as much or more by its music as its words. Its three fourline stanzas, rhyming and alliterating, encapsulate a series of motifs that were probably already conventional: the lover’s confession made to a bird and involving a repeated formula, his nearness to death (“greyd [prepare] þu me my grave”), and, rather paradoxically, his delight in contemplating his lady’s stereotypical charms (“hende [gracious] in halle”), his wish for a happy constancy – expressed with the predictable rhyme “trewe” and “newe,” echoing

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

“rewe” earlier on. The words of the poem lay claim to lyric intensity rather than really generating it. In that respect Bryd is like many subsequent love poems in Middle English. One of the hallmarks of the courtly love complaint is its claim to represent intense feeling. Both simpler and more remarkable than Bryd one brere, the widely praised Foweles in þe frith (80), which Abrams quotes entire in the lyric entry in his Glossary,88 condenses to five lines the often-sung restless pangs of the lover in springtime, the narrative element here completely pared away, and the sense of creaturely physicality pressed home by the alliteration. The “foweles in þe frith” (forest) and the “fisses in þe flod” are at home in their native element; the speaker is not. Sexual desire seizes him differently. As a human being capable of reflection, and therefore derangement and mental distress, he waxes “wod” (grows mad) and walks with sorrow, as he longs for the “beste of bon and blood.” Like many another alliterating tag, this is a conventional compliment to a lady. But here it contains a play on words: “best” and “beast,” with short and long open e, respectively, are near homophones in Middle English; thus, the lady is at the same time merely a thing of bone and blood, like the animals, and the speaker too. The poem, both sympathetic and critical towards the love-sickness it depicts, raises the problem of the human condition, of being an animal with a soul. Spring song and love-complaint, intimately personal but without individualistic detail, the artistry of Foweles in þe frith embodies a medieval but also engages a modern sensibility. Equally compressed and evocative, the much later Westron wynde (98), preserved in a Tudor songbook, also strikes a modern reader as quintessentially lyrical. Unlike Bryd one brere and Foweles, this poem has nothing preponderantly medieval about it. Its motifs are widely found in European poetry over the ages, and its sharing a melody with religious material (in this case, settings of the Mass), though common in the medieval period, continues to be a widespread practice well into the sixteenth century. Westron wynde can be assigned to no genre more specific than the love complaint. There is no narrative, and no setting. The poem’s voice is completely unidentified. Now usually taken to belong to a man, perhaps because its sexual earnestness fits in with the stance adopted by the courtly (male) lover, it could also belong to a woman, and might be performed by either sex, and appeal in different ways to both. Like the modern reader, the fifteenth- or sixteenth-century singer and listener were probably stirred by the song’s structure and motifs: the expect-

Introduction

37

ations raised by the blowing wind, the pathetic fallacy of the coming rain implying a sympathy in nature, the abrupt shift from melancholy to passion, the longed-for and vividly imagined union. All this gives depth and resonance to its two plain sentences, whatever the precise nature of one’s response to the poem. The rain as nature’s tears has an Anglo-Saxon parallel in Wulf and Eadwacer, where the speaker sits in the rain lamenting her absent lover, as well as a late-nineteenth-century one in Paul Verlaine’s “Il pleure dans mon coeur comme il pleut sur la ville.” Westron wynde is not a marinha (“sea-song,” common in medieval Galician-Portuguese), but the opening line could suggest that genre, in which a young woman waits by the shore for her lover. One might compare the burden of Blow, northerne wynd (88) and the folksong Blow the Wind Southerly. Again, if in the voice of a woman, Westron wynde would resemble the Occitan Estat ai eu en greu cossirier (“I have been in great distress”) by the Comtessa de Dia, which proclaims her desire to hold her lover one night naked in her arms (st. 2).89 Westron wynde’s open sexuality resembles the woman’s-voice love-lyrics included here under “Desire and Seduction” – although not the sauciness in some of them. The poem’s love-longing is rather like Wolde God that hyt were so (104), written as a woman’s love-complaint, but revised for a male speaker. Elemental in its appeal, Westron wynde transcends the boundaries of place, period, genre, and gender.

How Lyrical Must a Lyric Be? The appearance of lyric elements in non-lyric poems raises questions about degrees of lyricism. In the same manuscript as Foweles in þe frith is preserved another short poem on the subject of love, a trilingual quatrain, in Latin, Anglo-French, and English: Love is a selkud wodenesse Þat þe idel mon ledeth by wildernesse, Þat þurstes of wilfulscipe and drinket sorwenesse And with lomful sorwes menget his blithnesse.90 (“Love is a strange madness / That leads the idle man through the wilderness, / That thirsts for pleasure and drinks unhappiness / And with frequent sorrows mingles his cheerfulness.”) A cynical definition of love’s madness,

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

impersonal and gender-neutral, this quatrain is something like Shakespeare’s Sonnet 129, “The expense of spirit in a waste of shame,” but without that poem’s passion. Whereas the appearance of Foweles in þe frith, on a musical stave with a whole page to itself, draws attention to its lyrical qualities, the trilingual quatrain is presented as nothing in particular: crammed against the entry immediately before it, with which it has absolutely no connection – a description in Latin of the form and weight of the English shilling. The poem is thus treated extremely casually, more so than the Rawlinson lyrics, which at least form a little collection of verse samples, or even Bryd one brere, which, though relegated not very tidily to the back of a legal document, is accompanied by music and written on an otherwise empty page. Like the trilingual verse epistles mentioned above, Love is a selkud wodenesse is a clever literary exercise, which can be somewhat doubtfully regarded as a specimen of lyric because it is a short poem on the subject of love – a favourite lyric subject. The contrast between Foweles in þe frith and Love is a selkud wodenesse raises another issue: the question of whether poetic quality enters into the question of genre, and whether a piece of verse should be disqualified from consideration simply because it is poetically unimpressive. Being too grandiose or too trivial – or simply not very inspiring – need not be incompatible with lyricism, but being dull and prosaic definitely is. Siegfried Wenzel frequently implies as much in his Preachers, Poets, and the Early English Lyric (171–2, 250, and passim). Here, taking up his discovery documented slightly earlier in Speculum (1985), he shows that some of the items regarded as lyrics and analyzed as such by critics are merely the rhymed divisions of a sermon: a sort of versified Table of Contents, and comments especially on the earlyfourteenth-century poem called by Brown “How Christ Shall Come.”91 Wenzel notes that even those who found the poem so interesting recognized that it was “poor poetry” (“Poets, Preachers,” 345, 350). In this particular case the metrical clumsiness of the poem – if it can be called that – should have been a tip-off. Being a versified Table of Contents does not per se disqualify a poem from having the qualities that would make a lyric, but this function is an unpromising start. Alan Fletcher comments that though the categories for classifying Middle English lyric may be flexible, “it is doubtful whether structural verses like these warrant inclusion in any of them” (“Lyric in the Sermon,” 95–7). Butterfield, however, simply accepts, as a particular kind of lyric, these versified structural guides (“Lyric,” 99). In contrast with these

Introduction

39

very mechanical items, Love is a selkud wodenesse is not poetically negligible; its sharp antitheses are pithy and nicely cutting, especially in the Latin. As epigram it is effective. Nor can many of the small pieces included in manuscript miscellanies be regarded as lyric in any meaningful sense. This is surely true of some of the utilitarian specimens edited by Robbins in his Secular Lyrics of the XIV th and XV th Centuries – for example, under “Practical Verse,” twelve rhyming lines on the uses of leeks, which seem to have been a panacea for all ills (Sec, No. 80). The instructions begin, “Juce of lekes with gotes galle / For evyl herynge helpe it shall,” and end, “It is gud for dronkyn men / A raw lek to ete & comfortyth þe brayn.”92 The Huntington manuscript in which this version of the leeks recipes appears is a late-fifteenth- or early-sixteenth-century collection of “alchemical, medical, and technical texts in English and Latin” (Dutschke, Guide, on hu 1051). This item is followed by recipes in prose. Somewhat similar, in its use of rhyme for mnemonic purposes, is this warning curse directed to book-stealers, in the “Occasional Verse” section of the same volume (Robbins Sec, No. 89): He þat stelys this booke Shulbe hanged on a crooke; He that this booke stelle wolde Sone be his herte colde: That it mow so be, Seiþ amen, for cherite. Qui scripsit carmen Pookefart est sibi nomen. Miller jingatur; qui scripsit sic nominatur.

from a hook

may say

The first six, mildly amusing, lines might at a pinch be considered lyric; they are called a carmen (“song,” “poem”) in the doggerel postscript, which can be translated “The name of the person who wrote this verse is ‘Pookefart.’ ‘Miller’ is joined to it [jingatur for jugatur?]. That is what the person who wrote this is named.” In Robbins’s version, the warning bookplate is found on the flyleaf of a collection of homilies.93 Less prosaic, but coarser, Hogyn cam to bowers dore (79) narrates a little story with the same misplaced-kiss plot as Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale, and thus combines lyric with fabliau. Hogyn is found in the eclectic collection compiled by the London grocer Richard Hill, during the first three decades of

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

the sixteenth century. The poem is a song, featuring lyric repetition and refrain, as it gleefully describes Hogyn’s little adventure. When the young woman he fancies has “torned owt her ars” at the window, he replies, Ywys, leman, ye do me wrong, Ywis, leman, ye do me wrong, Or elles your breth ys wonder strong.   Hum, ha, trill go bell. Or elles your breth ys wonder strong.   Hum, ha, trill go bell. (st. 6)

surely; sweetheart

Neither very edifying nor very subtle, but witty and catchy, Hogyn displays the delight in play which creates a certain kind of lyric heightening. Probably sung in chorus in a context of convivial merriment, the poem, although not exactly celebratory, can be placed in relation to light-hearted songs of a festive kind – as it is by Gray, in his remarks mentioned above. Pushing the boundaries of lyric in a different way, Swarte smekyd smeþes smateryd wyth smoke (“Black-smoky smiths, begrimed with smoke,” 72) is rough but not lewd, and full of sound effects, though not euphonious ones. This fifteenth-century alliterative poem resounds with the violent activity of a work crew of blacksmiths, banging and clanging, huffing and cursing, and driving the sleepless narrator to distraction. Intense the poem certainly is, and, though it claims to be prompted by extreme exasperation, full of delight in its own energetic virtuosity and its alliteration gone mad: “Þei spyttyn & spraulyn & spellyn many spelles, / Þei gnauen & gnacchen, þei gronys togydere” (“They spit and spring about and utter many curses, / They gnaw and gnash and groan together”). Like Hogyn, this is the kind of genial mockery that could be enjoyed by a group, perhaps in this case recited to them rather than performed by them. The blacksmiths poem could hardly have been intended for singing. Its alliterative metre, without rhyme or stanzaic structure, is, “when thus full-blooded, a style generally unsuitable for lyric poetry,” to quote R.T. Davies, who finds this poem “unique” (Medieval English Lyrics, 34).

Lyric versus Narrative and Satire While lyric is typically non-narrative, occasionally a narrative poem (a ballad, say) may possess lyric elements. Evidently Wordsworth thought his Lyrical

Introduction

41

Ballads did. Culler embraces the ballad, seeing it as “framed for lyric by a highly rhythmical ballad stanza and often by refrains or other forms of repetition that interrupt narrative and place us in a present of poetic articulation” (Theory of the Lyric, 275). The well-known Edward and Lord Randall (Nos. 12 and 13 in Child’s collection) might be called dramatic lyrics; these two poems are both post-medieval, although they may have unrecorded medieval ancestors. Lord Randall’s lyric framing in “ritual [i.e. formally repetitive] elements” is striking (Theory, 277). Both poems leave their plots of treachery and love-hate relationships in the background, and focus, in lyric fashion, on a particular moment, in this case a moment of terrible realization, that Edward has stabbed his father to death, and that Randall’s sweetheart has poisoned him. Both poems are in dialogue form, with no narratorial intervention. The poems in the “Love Debate” section below, which focus on a significant event of a different kind, i.e. an amorous encounter, form mini-narratives; one of them, Throughe a forest as I can ryde (115), is very much in ballad style, and was published in Child’s collection (No. 111). Probably more distant from lyric, although it is often anthologized as such, Hit wes upon a Scere Þorsday þat ure loverd aros is a genuine early ballad, indeed, the earliest recorded. Entitled by Brown “The Bargain of Judas” and probably dating from the second half of the thirteenth century, this isolated example suggests the existence of others contemporary with it. In its vivid, and biblically very free, rendering of Judas’s betrayal of Christ and Peter’s denial of him, the Judas has much in common with the later mystery plays. The poem is found in the same Trinity College, Cambridge manuscript as Wen þe turuf is þi tuur, a miscellany of materials including numerous bits of vernacular poetry of a proverbial kind.94 Significantly, the Judas poem is afforded more dignified treatment than these scraps.95 It has a page to itself, and is nicely set out, in stanzas. Though regularly included in collections of medieval lyrics, presumably on the basis of its shortness, this poem is thoroughly ballad-like in its narrativity, objectivity, and use of ballad metre. The late Middle English Agincourt Carol, Deo gracias, Anglia (65), inspired by Henry V’s victory over the French and his instatement as an English folkhero, is ballad-like in its theme and structure, and lyric of the celebratory kind in its carol form, its composition for singing, and its nationalistic and eulogistic purpose. Robbins includes it in the “Politics in Song” section of his Historical Poems. The poem is preserved in two manuscripts, the more famous of which, the Trinity Carol Roll, is a collection of carols with music, most of them associated with Christmas. The manuscript, though battered,

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

is still handsome, and evidently intended as a collection of music for group singing. Ballad-like in its vigorous narrative, the Agincourt Carol resembles a national anthem in its burden, “Deo gracias Anglia / Redde pro victoria” (“Give thanks to God for victory, England”), and its final stanza asking God to preserve the king. To my mind, it is worth making a distinction between the Agincourt Carol, however jingoistic, and more vindictive poems such as those by the fourteenth-century Laurence Minot, which Turville-Petre calls “hate lyric” (“Political Lyrics,” 185). In a poem celebrating the English victory over the Scots at Halidon Hill in 1333, Skottess out of Berwik and of Abirdene (entitled “Bannockburn Avenged” by Robbins),96 Minot disgorges a torrent of abuse: Rughfute riveling, now kindels þi care, Berebag with þi boste, þi biging es bare; Fals wretche and forsworn, whider wiltou fare? Busk þe into Brig, and abide þare.   Þare, wretche, saltou won and wery þe while;   Þi dwelling in Donde es done for þi gile. (st. 4) “Rough-footed rawhide boot, now your trouble is starting, / Bag-carrier with your boasting, your building [home] is bare; / False wretch and forsworn, whither will you go? / Hurry to Bruges and stay there. / There, wretch, shall you dwell, and curse the while; / Your dwelling in Dundee is done with for your guile.” Certainly celebratory, but also savagely satirical, Minot hurls insults at a generic Scottish soldier, the mockery heightened by the packed, vivid lines with their insistent alliteration. The poem’s concentrated intensity is one of the hallmarks of lyric, but the vituperative content is decidedly unlyrical. For a final example, take the light-heartedly misogynist fifteenth-century carol with the burden “Whane thes thynges foloyng be done to owr intent, / Than put women in trust and confydent” (77), which applies these words to a litany of impossibilia. This poem is charmingly absurd rather than hostile, conjuring up some delightfully outrageous pictures, such as whitings walking forests (st. 3), and mice moving mountains with the wagging of their tails (st. 6) – mowing corn with the waving of their tails in another version. Although in the satirical mode, Whane thes thynges foloyng is thoroughly lyric in its combination of songlike form, vivid images, and playful exuberance.

Introduction

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In a Nutshell: Middle English Lyric and the Modern Reader What, then, can the word “lyric” reasonably be taken to imply in a Middle English context? It will be a metrical composition, almost always in rhyming stanzas, usually non-narrative, sometimes following a simplified narrative line or centring on a key event. The lyric poem will be enlivened with an aesthetic, rather than merely practical, appeal and a poetic “lift,” even if its subject is trivial, coarse, or violent. To a greater or lesser degree it will be characterized by the four properties with which I began: brevity, intensity, focus on the moment, and shaped form. Most examples will present themselves in at least one of three typical ways: as song, group celebration, or personal statement. Particular Middle English lyrics are likely to be more narrowly defined by one or more of the characteristic topoi, which sometimes assume generic significance in themselves: among others, the love complaint, reverdie, chanson d’aventure, chanson de délaissée, Marian lyric, Crucifixion lyric, Nativity song or lullaby, meditation on timor mortis, ubi sunt, or the grave – the last three topics tending to produce moral sententiae although they can be treated lyrically. As well, or instead, the lyric in later Middle English may be defined by a very specific metrical form, especially the carol. Also, lyric elements, lyric passages, and sometimes entire lyric poems occur in poems that are not themselves lyrics. And lyrics in Middle English are by no means always “lyrical” in the popular modern sense, meaning something approaching “rhapsodic.” Nevertheless, we should probably not simply throw out the adjective “lyrical.” Its problematic nuance reflects a persistent sense that ugliness, cruelty, and utter despair are inconsistent with lyricism. In the introduction to his anthology One Hundred Middle English Lyrics, Robert Stevick observes that “[t]he Elizabethan notion of lyrics as poetry composed to be sung and the modern notion of lyrics as expressing intensely personal emotion can be seriously confusing [when used in a medieval context]” (x). As we have seen, the Renaissance concept is indebted to the Greeks, the modern one to the Romantics. While Stevick’s comment about Elizabethan and modern concepts of lyric causing confusion is perfectly valid (at least for people with more knowledge of Renaissance literature and nineteenth- and twentieth-century poetic theory than of Middle English poetry), these concepts are actually highly relevant; they just need to be appropriately modified and contextualized. Lyric poetry meets similar personal and social needs in different ages with different ways of looking at

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

the world: it expresses love-longing, whether autobiographical or artistic, in Sappho, Catullus, Charles d’Orléans, Foweles in þe frith, Westron wynde, and modern popular song; spiritual quest in Augustine and the anonymous Middle English poet who translated his words, as well as in Donne, Herbert, and Vaughan; civic celebration and fervour in Pindar, Horace, the Agincourt Carol, and modern national anthems; and, more modest, but not to be passed over, simple joie de vivre, in light-hearted songs enjoyed at gatherings for entertainment and pleasure throughout the ages. To appreciate medieval forms of literature and art we do need to take into account the ways in which their contemporaries may have related to them – insofar as that information can be recovered. But we cannot replicate the thinking of an earlier age. What we can do is take advantage of our broader perspective and our hindsight; a judicious use of the word “lyric” is one way of doing that.

I II. t hIs col le ct I o n The total number of Middle English lyrics must be in the thousands. How many thousand it is impossible to say. Robbins estimates 2,000 (Secular Lyrics, xvii), but any figure depends on such uncertainties as the definition of the term, the application of the length criterion, the variants that might constitute one poem or more than one, the terminus ad quem for Middle English, and so on. The sampling of poems that follows aims to reflect the range and variety of this rather slippery corpus, and draws quite frankly on my own taste. I have made no attempt to represent different kinds of poem in a way that reflects their relative numbers. Much poetry in Middle English, as in any period, is decidedly uninspiring. While I would hesitate to proclaim that I am selecting for merit alone (as Luria and Hoffman do97), I have given preference to material that I expect readers to find interesting. In practice, this has meant a high proportion of secular poetry, especially love poetry, to religious. Any arrangement of the primary texts is problematic. Possibilities for grouping and ordering are endless: by chronology, theme, manuscript type, verse form, characteristic medieval topoi, etc.98 Collections may also focus on one particular topos.99 My approach here emphasizes the voices associated with particular lyric genres, an arrangement book-ended by some of the earliest and some of the latest poems that are linguistically Middle English. Placement of particular poems in sections is inevitably somewhat arbitrary

Introduction

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too. Westron wynde, for instance, is certainly a love complaint, but putting it among the male-voice poems of “refined love” is just one possibility. My arrangement of amorous poetry into complementary sections based on a binary male/female sexuality corresponds to a medieval rather than a modern view: opprobrium attached to gay activity, and lesbian was largely subsumed under female friendship. To the best of my knowledge, there are no extant Middle English poems from gay or lesbian, or indeed from transgender or nonbinary, perspectives.100 In most of the sections, characteristic contrasting voices are highlighted: mankind versus Christ or Mary, male versus female, upper versus lower class, courtly or learned versus popular. “Voice,” although it implies a point of view and a perspective, does not necessarily imply a distinct persona. This latter is, as Culler points out, not always created in lyric – he prefers “voicing” to “voice” in this disembodied sense (Theory of the Lyric, 35). A similar phenomenon is explored by Spearing in “autographies,” long narrative poems where the speaking “I” represents not a person but a “means of evoking proximality and experientiality” (Medieval Autographies, 257). My use of “voice” is the everyday one, and makes no attempt to extend the possibilities of the word, as in the investigations of David Lawton, where “voice” is associated with his “public interiorities” and includes but goes far beyond vocal utterance,101 or of Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, who, implicitly, uses it rather like “theme” in the musical sense (see note 2). All of the items chosen here can be viewed from one or more of the three angles described earlier. Thus, many of the pieces are intended to be sung; those included under “Festive Songs” and “Humour and Satire” call for a public setting and an atmosphere of group conviviality; a majority of the poems contain (conventional) personal statement. Some sections have been assembled for specific external reasons. “The Earliest Texts” is intended to illustrate both continuity with Old English and change; “The Rawlinson Lyrics” comprises poems preserved on the same sheet; and the final two sections bring together the work of particular authors. It will be seen that the various categories on which sections are based are not evenly represented throughout the Middle English period. In the early period, because of the monastic context of book production, moralistic and spiritual verse is far more in evidence than secular poetry, while the examples of festive and humorous verse, and woman’s-voice erotica, are all late. One can hardly believe that these kinds were non-existent earlier on. Their preservation is

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

to be attributed to more widespread literacy and the increasing number of personal collections – although, as Boffey notes, clerks remained the principal public for courtly love lyrics into the sixteenth century (Manuscripts of English Courtly Love Lyrics, 129). To end on a personal note, this edition is driven by a particular agenda. I come to the project trained in the methods of New Criticism and convinced of the continuing value of aesthetic analysis, but realizing more and more the importance of historicism and philological precision. I am aiming the book at readers, both specialists and non-specialists, who care about poetry and ideas of poetry. By my choice of examples, and by situating these medieval English poems within a larger evolving context of literature in the Western European tradition, I hope to make some sense of the term “lyric” as applied to Middle English. note s A substantial portion of the material in this Introduction is drawn from Klinck, “What’s in a Name?” 1 See Lawton on “Public Interiorities” in his Voice in Later Medieval English Literature, 61–82 (ch. 3), and A Handbook of Middle English, 94; Wogan-Browne, “What Voice Is That Language,” 184. 2 Klinck, “Making a Difference: Bilingualism and Re-creation in Charles d’Orléans,” 688. 3 The question, without the quotation marks, forms the title of an article by Jonathan Culler in pmla (2008), and of sections III and v in one by Ardis Butterfield in elh (2015) – the article itself entitled “Why Medieval Lyric?” 4 Notably Rossell Hope Robbins, John Stevens, R.T. Davies, J.A. Burrow, Rosemary Greentree, Julia Boffey, and more implicitly Ardis Butterfield. Robbins in the Preface to Sec (v), Stevens in Music and Poetry (9, 203), Davies in his anthology (46), Burrow in Medieval Writers and their Work (64), Greentree in her annotated bibliography (37), Boffey in “ME Lyrics and Manuscripts” (1n1), and Butterfield in “Lyric” (95–6) and “Why Medieval Lyric?” (325–6). 5 “… se met en rapport avec l’univers de la littérature,” Littérature fantastique, 12. Except where explicitly indicated otherwise, all translations are my own. 6 Croce emphasizes that there is nothing scientifically erroneous about assigning visual and verbal artistic works to categories, and acknowledges that such groupings have a practical utility, but he also points out their inevitable arbitrariness. See Estetica, 41; trans. in Esthetic, 38.

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7 “Genre Theory, the Lyric, and Erlebnis,” 412. 8 “… nicht die Unruhe des Objekts dem Subjekt entgegensteht: vielmehr zittert dessen eigene Unruhe nach” (lit., “not the disquiet of the object confronts the subject, but rather his own disquiet produces an after-tremor,” “Lyrik und Gesellschaft,” 81). For Adorno’s acknowledgment that he has stopped short of analysis, see “Lyrik,” 91; Mayo’s translation, 164. 9 “… wird eben diese Rede zur Stimme der Menschen, zwischen denen die Schranke fiel” (“Lyrik,” 104). 10 See sense 3 in the oed Online, under “Draft Additions 1997”: “Excitedly effusive; highly enthusiastic, fervent.” Both Ardis Butterfield and Nicolette Zeeman put “lyrical” in quotation marks: see, resp., “Lyric,” 96, and “Theory of Passionate Song,” 233. 11 Rejecting the view of lyric poetry as the utterance of a poetic persona, Culler presents a radical analysis of lyric as creating rather than representing an event, via the lyric present, the epideictic assertion of truths, the ritualistic use of formal patterning, and the hyperbole of the extravagant or impossible. See Theory of the Lyric, esp. ch. 1 (10–38). 12 “On devrait dire qu’une oeuvre manifeste tel genre, non qu’il existe dans cette oeuvre … une oeuvre peut … manifester plus d’une catégorie, plus d’un genre” (Littérature fantastique, 26). For Todorov’s theories, see also Les genres du discours (1978). 13 “Modern critics … have variously talked of its [lyric’s] relation to song, its brevity, its intensity, its selection of significant moment” (Medieval English Lyrics, 4). 14 Significant contributions are the Stainers’ Early Bodleian Music (facsimile edition, 1901), Dobson and Harrison’s Medieval English Songs (1979), Stevens’s Words and Music in the Middle Ages (1986), and Treitler’s With Voice and Pen (2003). 15 “Musa dedit fidibus divos puerosque deorum, / et pugilem victorem, et equum certamine primum, / et juvenum curas, et libera vina referre.” 16 As Butterfield does in her “Lyric” chapter, and her “Why Medieval Lyric?” article. 17 In “Genres, ‹‹types››, modes” (1977), expanded in Introduction à l’architexte (1979), and “La poésie lyrique grecque, un genre inexistant?” resp. Genette’s 1979 monograph is translated, in abbreviated form, in Jackson and Prince, 17–30. 18 See Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship, 182–3; Gentili, Poetry and Its Public in Ancient Greece, 243n1; Calame, “Lyrique grecque,” 95. 19 “Nous n’en sommes pas encore à un système de genres; le terme le plus juste … est … mode: il ne s’agit pas à proprement parler de ‹‹forme›› … comme dans

48

20

21 22 23 24

25

26 27

28 29 30 31

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

l’opposition entre vers et prose, ou entre les différents types de vers, il s’agit de situation d’énonciation” (“Genres, ‹‹types››, modes,” 393–4, Genette’s italics). See also Calame, “Lyrique grecque,” 96. “Aut enim activum est vel imitativum, quod Graeci dramaticon vel mimeticon, aut ennarrativum vel enuntiativum, quod Graeci exegeticon vel apangelticon dicunt, aut commune vel mixtum, quod Graeci koinon vel mikton appellant” (“De poematibus,” Ars grammatica 3, in Keil, Grammatici Latini, 1.482). See also Calame, “Lyrique grecque,” 95–9. See The Parisiana Poetria of John of Garland, ed. Lawler, 98–100; also Genette, “Genres, ‹‹types››, modes,” 400. As does Michael Silk in his overview of post-Greek attitudes to lyric that forms the Epilogue to the 2009 Cambridge Companion to Greek Lyric. See Silk, 379; Guerrero, 86. “la longue tradition doctrinaire des «trois grands genres» de l’Antiquité,” Poétique, 86. Guerrero comments extensively on the efforts of the Renaissance theorists to find a place for lyric in Aristotle’s Poetics; see p. 204 and passim. Calame regards the Spanish Francisco Cascales, in a letter dating from 1613, as a key figure in establishing the triad, a discussion in which Milton took part (Of Education, published 1644); see “Lyrique grecque,” 92–3. See 11–12 (editorial introduction), 17–30 (from Genette’s The Architext). Jackson and Prins’s remarks simplify Genette, who does indeed speak of a late-18thcentury change in thought, but also says a very great deal about earlier applications of the genre-triad. Under “Naturformen der Dichtung,” in the Noten, Berliner Ausgabe 3.234. In general, I reserve detailed consideration of manuscripts to the Notes (Textual and Explanatory) at the end. Considerable work has been done on reading (and writing) practice as it emerges from a detailed study of particular, usually late, manuscripts. See, for example, Wakelin, Scribal Correction and “The Carol in Writing.” On the fairly loose terminology used for lyrics in late ME manuscripts, see Boffey, “What to Call a Lyric?” See Reichl, “OE giedd, ME yedding.” On giedd, see also Niles, Homo Narrans, 16–19, 209n26, 211–12n42. Stevens believes ME song could refer to instrumental music (Music and Poetry 279). Zumthor mentions that the term reverdie appears in Old French in the 13th century, and that it is not clear exactly what it meant at the time (Essai de poétique médiévale, 158). The term is Pierre Bec’s; see Lyrique française, 1.65–6. Robbins’ title (Sec, No. 27) for “Kyrie, so kyrie” (100), from which it is a quotation. And see Harris’s discussion of pastourelle in “Rape Narratives”; she regards “clerk-and-serving-maid ballads” as a variant of the pastourelle (283n10).

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32 In Middle English, ed. Paul Strohm. See Strohm’s Introduction, 1. 33 She repeatedly characterizes “insular” lyric as “ad hoc and improvisatory” in its practices; see Lyric Tactics, 13, 49, 58, 60, etc. 34 Medieval Pastourelle, 1.ix. The four-stanza French poem edited in 1870, Bartsch, 111. A somewhat different version, beginning Au douz mois de mai joli and including a fifth stanza, printed in Paden’s collection, 1.302–3 (text and facing translation), 2.610–11 (notes). 35 See Wogan-Browne, “What Voice Is That Language?” 187. 36 See also Taylor, “Aultre manier de language,” 109. On English-French bilingualism “well into the late medieval period,” see Ingham, The A-N Language and its Contexts, 1. On writers in England in the mid-15th century choosing French for “snob appeal” or for very specific writing contexts, see Kibbee, “Institutions and Multilingualism,” 78. 37 See Dronke, Medieval Lyric, 65. Also Reichl, “Beginnings of the ME Secular Lyric,” 206–7. 38 I am influenced by Bec’s notion of a “registre popularisant” as opposed to “aristocratisant,” first explained in “Quelques réflections sur la poésie médiévale.” See also Bec, Lyrique française, 1.59. For other views, see Davis, Medieval English Lyrics, 19; Wakelin, “The Carol in Writing,” 34. On the use of the word “popular” in connection with woman’s-voice poetry, see Klinck and Rasmussen, eds., Medieval Woman’s Song, 3–5. 39 Gemma ecclesiastica, 1.43. This chapter begins with a reference to the strictures of the Third Council of Toledo (589 ce ) against singing and dancing in churches and cemeteries. See Decretum Gratiani, ed. Richter, Pars 3, Distinctio 3, c . 2 (col. 1782). For other examples of such strictures, see Synodus Autissiodorensis (Council of Auxerre, ca. 578 ce ), canon 9, and Concilium Cabilonense (Council of Chalons, 647–53 ce ), canon 19, in de Clerq, 266 and 307; Concilium Romanum (Council of Rome, 853 ce ), canon 35, in Hartmann, 328. 40 See Paden, “System of Genres,” Medieval Lyric, ed. Paden, 22–67, at 30, 32, 44; Pickens, “Old Occitan Arts of Poetry,” Med. Lyric, 209–41. On medieval Occitan and Northern French genres more generally, Zumthor, Essai, 157–85; Bec, Lyrique française. On the late-13th-century collection of French lyrics in Bodleian Douce 308 arranged by genre (grans chans, estampies, jeus partis, pastorelles, balettes, sottes chansons, and motès), Earp, “Lyrics for Reading and Lyrics for Singing,” 118n8. 41 See Reichl, “Beginnings,” 205–6; also Erlebach, Geschichte und Vorgeschichte der engl. Liebeslyrik, 149–61. 42 England the Nation, 10, 19, 97, 181. For opposing views, see Butterfield, The Familiar Enemy, 172, 316; Stein, “Multilingualism,” 30; Hahn, The Cambridge

50

43 44 45

46

47 48

49 50 51 52

53 54 55 56 57 58

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

History of Medieval English Literature, ed. Wallace, 61; Putter and Busby, Medieval Multilingualism, ed. Kleinhenz and Busby, 12. See also Butterfield, “Lyric,” 103–4. Stevens suggests that in the earlier 16th century “balet” meant “a courtly song of popular character” (Music and Poetry, 120). Fayrfax (Bl Add 5465), Henry VIII’s (Bl Add 31922), and Ritson’s (Bl Add 5665). Stevens argues that only in the folk tradition were lyric and music composed together in the late medieval and early Tudor periods, Music and Poetry, 98–115 (ch. 6) and Epilogue (329). The two early versions are included in Sharpless, 3–22 and 28–43, the later combined version (1867) in Robson and Stillinger, 341–65. Mill invokes the Latin proverb in the second essay, and one guesses it was also in his mind in the first. “Introduction: Performers and Performance,” 15; from Chrysostom’s Greek “Expositio in Psalmum 41,” pg 55.155–8. His name means “golden mouth.” “On the Continuity of Medieval English Love-Lyric,” 7. The OE poems are Deor, Wulf and Eadwacer, The Wife’s Lament, and The Husband’s Message. Citations from OE poetry taken from The Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records, ed. Krapp and Dobbie. The poems mentioned are all in aspr 3, The Exeter Book. See “Grammar, Poetic Form, and the Lyric Ego,” 208, 211. Allen regards Oliver’s view of the ME lyric – “spoken by types” – as also implicating the ego of the audience (“Grammar,” 214, referring to Poems without Names, 11–40 (ch. 2). Themes and Images in the ME Religious Lyric (1972), 60, Gray’s italics. I refer to the second edition (2008). The section on lyric remains virtually unchanged. Burke defines lyric in a nutshell as “an ordered summation of emotional experience” (“Three Definitions,” 174). Langer explains the lyric genre as “the literary form that depends most directly on pure verbal resources” (Feeling and Form, 258). See Jeanroy, Les origines de la poésie lyrique, 445; Paris, Mélanges, 611 (in a review of Jeanroy’s Origines). De gestis regum Anglorum, 1.454; Roman de Rou, 2.183. Both from the 12th c. See Paden, “System of Genres,” in Medieval Lyric, 21–67, at 22. See Davies, Medieval English Lyrics, 27. He adds that “in very round figures, only some two hundred [ME poems] survive with musical settings, and, of these, a good half are polyphonic carols.” As suggested by Brown XIII for Quanne hic se on rode (20); see 195 (Notes). On this poem, see also Reichl, Religiöse Dichtung, 92–3, 113–14, 488–92. Fletcher suggests that parts of lyrics, and even possibly whole lyrics, were sometimes actually sung during preaching (“The Lyric in the Sermon,” 206–8).

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59 Cf. Oliver, who, in his analysis of ME poems by social function, defines a “celebration” category including both the grave and the jovial – but not the lewd or the mocking (Poems Without Names, 14–21). 60 These words do not in fact appear in the earlier versions of this progressively longer and more complex entry, but are to be found from the sixth edition on. 61 Lyric Texts and Lyric Consciousness, 1; see also “Sappho 31 and Catullus 51,” 194–5. 62 Chambers and Sidgwick, Early English Lyrics (1907), 259. 63 Fors clavigera, 1.167. In Ruskin’s arrangement, vol. 3, Letter 34. Published 1886, dated 1873 by the oed in its entry under “lyric.” 64 “Wieweit das lyrische Ich das Dichter-Ich ist, kann niemals ausgemacht werden, und auch der Dichter selbst dürfte schwerlich dazu imstande sein,” Die Logik der Dichtung (1st ed.), 186; these words do not appear in the 2nd ed., although a similar sentiment is expressed (221; Rose’s translation, 277). Sentence from 1st ed. quoted in English by Wellek, “Genre Theory, the Lyric, and ‘Erlebnis,’” 396. Hamburger makes the point with reference to her fundamental distinction between poetry and fiction. 65 See Allen, “Grammar, Poetic Form, and the Lyric Ego,” 208. 66 See The Early Lives of St. Dunstan, ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, B text: Vita S. Dunstani, 36 (p. 100). Page argues that the way in which the vision is described does indeed provide evidence for the existence of OE dance song (“The Carol in Anglo-Saxon Canterbury?”). For a broader investigation of dance in Anglo-Saxon England, see Bayless’s illustrated article “The Fuller Brooch and A-S Depictions of Dance” (204–5 on the Vita Dunstani passage). 67 Narrated in Robert Mannyng of Brunne’s Handlyng Synne (dimev 1283), ed. Furnivall, lines 8987–9252. See also Sisam, Fourteenth Century Verse and Prose, 204–5. 68 Both poems in aspr 3, The Exeter Book. On the issue of rhyme, see McKie, “The Origins and Development of Rhyme in English Verse.” 69 Lerer, “The Genre of the Grave,” 130; Davies, Medieval English Lyrics, 39, resp. Lerer has some qualifications to add to this opinion. 70 Only a few of the “Ambrosian” hymns of the early Church can be firmly attributed to St Ambrose. 71 See Dobson and Harrison, 143–5 and 188–96. 72 Harley 2253, f. 67r; dimev 1156.5; Fein 2, item 55. Some editors, including Brook, read lacinia, the hem of a garment; but it is hard to make sense of this. 73 Both poems have been edited in the eets os. See Smithers, Kyng Alisaunder (dimev 1131); Macrae-Gibson, Of Arthour and of Merlin (dimev 2807). 74 For an example of both contrast and complementarity, see Antigone’s song, purportedly of happy love, in Troilus and Criseyde II . 827–75, examined in Robertson, “Lyric Interventions.”

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75 Quoted from the B text as edited by Schmidt. 76 Soul and Body I and II are found in the Vercelli and the Exeter Book, aspr 1 and 3, resp. 77 See aspr 3, the Exeter Book. 78 dimev 104; in Jesus Oxf, Part II , ff. 187r–188v. The ms dates from the late 13th century, and contains a variety of religious and moralistic material, including Poems 8, 12, and part of 37. The phrase luve runes appears previously in the Life of St. Katherine, where it translates amatoria carmina. See Fein, Moral Love Songs and Laments, 13. 79 The poem has fairly recently been regarded as a lyric by Anlezark (who cites the Brown volume) in contrast to two OE elegies (The Wanderer and Resignation, emphasis mine). See “From Elegy to Lyric,” 94–6. 80 “Note on the Poetic and the Empirical ‘I,’” 418n8. On the Confessions, see also Stewart, Poetry and the Fate of the Senses, 203–7. 81 In early ME the vowels in wod and rod(e) are still short (from OE wudu and rudu); that in rod, “Cross,” would be long (as in OE). 82 The former term is medieval, the latter modern. Canso comes into use around 1170, replacing the earlier vers. See Zumthor, Essai, 158. Grand chant courtois is Dragonetti’s term. See La technique poétique des trouvères, 15–139 (ch. 1, “Le style du grand chant courtois”). 83 On “woman’s song” as a particular kind of traditional poem, usually a love poem, in a woman’s voice (but not necessarily composed by a woman), see Klinck, “Woman’s Song in Medieval Western Europe.” 84 The poems are the following, titles as in Dronke’s opening lines: Ic am witles, ful iwis (dimev 5888); Hi may cume to mi lef (dimev 1840); Atte ston castinges ... (dimev 728 [5]); We schun maken a joly castel (dimev 6175); Wer þer ouþer in þis toun (dimev 6222 [54]). The first two of these are textually problematic, but probably male-voice poems of love-sickness. 85 In Benson’s edition, Merciles Beaute appears in a section entitled “Poems Not Ascribed to Chaucer in the Manuscripts,” 657–60, at 659. 86 See Benson, 686. Possibly Chaucer was responsible for part of the translation of the Rose that follows (686–767), but this is not certain. 87 The signs of spring prompt those contemplating a voyage: the Seafarer in the poem of that name (ll. 48–55a), the wife (or betrothed) in The Husband’s Message (ll. 22–3), Hengest on a mission of vengeance in Beowulf, (ll. 1133b–36a). While the evocation of spring is very suggestive, the motivation to action is practical: at this time the ocean becomes calmer after the winter storms. 88 In all its editions to date, though not in its predecessor of the same title, by Norton and Rushton, published in 1941.

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89 See Klinck, “Woman’s Song in Medieval Western Europe,” 531–3 on Occitan, 541–4 on Galician-Portuguese and Castilian. 90 Oxford, Bodleian, Douce 139, f. 157r. dimev 3272.5; Brown XIII , No. 9. On this trilingual poem and its manuscript context, see Reichl, “Beginnings,” 200–2. 91 dimev 2261; Brown XIV , No. 36. 92 Huntington hu 1051, f. 85r; dimev 4171, item 18. The numerous variants of the “virtues of herbs” verses, of which the Huntington rhyme is one, are set out in the dimev entry. 93 Bl Royal 18.A .XvII , f. 199r; dimev 1896, item 4. There are various versions of this book-plate. 94 B .14.39, f. 34r. dimev 2768; Brown XIII , No. 25. See Reichl’s detailed study of this manuscript, Religiöse Dichtung, at 116–18 and 375–8; see also Scahill, 19–23. Brown prints two ballad lines as one, and does not separate the stanzas. 95 For example, ff. 27v–29v contain 24 little proverbs, in English, French, and Latin, the French and Latin versions on f. 28r apparently squeezed in later among the English entries. 96 Bl Cotton Galba e .IX , f. 52 va; dimev 4796; Robbins Hist, 9. 97 “… we have … held artistic merit rather than philological or historical significance to be our first touchstone for inclusion,” Middle English Lyrics, 10. 98 These various arrangements are adopted by Davies (chronology), Luria and Hoffman (theme), Brown’s and Robbins’s standard editions (a combination of both methods), Butterfield’s survey (manuscript type), Greene’s carol collection (verse form). 99 The pastourelle convention in Paden’s collection, for example, which features poems in many languages. 100 Wilhelm’s Gay and Lesbian Poetry: An Anthology from Sappho to Michelangelo contains a single ME item, Chaucer’s distasteful depiction of the effeminate Pardoner in the General Prologue and the epilogue to the Pardoner’s Tale (Canterbury Tales [ed. Benson], A 669–714 and c 919–68). Hardly a reflection of gay sensibility. 101 For Lawton, the “voice” of a particular writer, or of some discrete part of his/ her work, is associated with, but not the same as, “author”/“poet,” “narrator,” and “subject.”

Presentation of the Texts

My aim in setting out these poems and the glosses on them has been to provide a version that is easily readable while at the same time reminding the reader that it is the product of a medieval manuscript. Within the various sections, the poems are arranged in roughly chronological order. Approximate dates of composition, citations of versions in other manuscripts, and textual commentary are included in the Notes. Except for the Tironian sign (⁊), ampersand, and etc., abbreviations are expanded, and superscripts and diacritics are simply incorporated into the text. Modern punctuation and capitalization are used. Verse lines begin with a capital. Modern practice is followed in the distinction between i and j, u and v. Apart from these modernizations, manuscript spellings are retained, as are the medieval characters eth or crossed d (ð), thorn (þ) for th, wynn (ƿ) for w, and yogh (ȝ) – for y (word-initially), gh, and occasionally other letters. Word-initial Ff is treated as a single letter. Square brackets are used for restorations and reconstructions of missing words and letters. Emendations are indicated below the text.

Presentation of the Texts

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My editorial practice is relatively conservative, and chary of emendation. In general, emendations to improve verse form are not incorporated into the texts, but commented upon in the Notes. However, occasionally restoration, supplementation, or emendation is introduced in order to maintain a strategic pattern, as, for example, in the repetitions of Poem 53, Maiden in the mor lay, and the dialogic arrangement of stanzas in Poem 113, In a fryht as y con fare fremede. Sometimes the constitution of the text is a matter of opinion. Often one cannot be sure what letter was intended, or whether a certain flourish or horizontal line indicates an abbreviation or not and if so what letters are involved (cf. Roberts, Guide to Scripts, 9). The same is true of variant readings from other manuscripts; they invite a detailed textual discussion that is not undertaken here, and are therefore not supplied. The side glosses explain words and forms that may be difficult or problematic.

The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation

This opening section gathers some of the earliest poetry in Middle English – omitting one or two poems which are included in the voice-themed groupings that follow. These early lyrics, all probably composed before 1250, project very diverse themes and voices. All of these poems are short, some of them mere fragments, and nearly all are preserved in manuscripts principally devoted to other things. Most of these lyrics use rhyming verse; only one is composed in the Old English alliterative metre. The voices are varied, but all imply a speaker, and the majority also imply the dramatic situation of direct address: to God, a saint, sympathetic listener(s), a dead body, a bird. While most of these poems and passages embody a lyric form and spirit absent in Old English, it is hard to fit most of them into the genre conventions that become so noticeable later on. Thus, Sumer is icumen in (7) is certainly a spring song, but quite unlike those in the Harley Lyrics: there is nothing about love, and the animal high spirits include farting. Again, Mirie it is while sumer ilast (4), which may be just a fragment, could be a lover’s complaint but sounds like a lament over injustice similar to Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non (6). One wonders whether Ate ston casting (5) reflects songs that go back to Anglo-Saxon times and were

The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation

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simply never recorded. Another version of this poem is said by the person who quotes it to have been sung as an accompaniment to ring dancing, but there is virtually no written evidence of that practice in England before the Norman Conquext (see Introduction, 26, above; pace Page, “The Carol in Anglo-Saxon Canterbury?”). Only the grim memento mori that has been called “The Grave” (2) clearly continues an Old English tradition. Thematically, as well as metrically, “The Grave” could easily be an AngloSaxon poem – and is often so regarded. It represents a well-established convention whereby the soul of a sinner addresses its decaying body. The manuscript in which the poem appears contains sermons and homiletic materials in English and Latin, and a drawing of St Wulfstan of Worcester (f. 173r), the Anglo-Saxon bishop who retained his office longest after the Conquest until his death in 1095. Worcester, where Old English literary culture survived longest and where homiletic works, by Ælfric in particular, continued to be copied through the twelfth century, may well have produced this version of “The Grave.” Less archaic in style, but also harking back to the Anglo-Saxon age, the St Godric Lyrics (1) are likely to be earlier than “The Grave,” at least in its preserved form, if they were indeed composed by Godric, who died in his nineties in 1170. They are quoted in various Latin lives of the saint. Godric is essentially an Anglo-Saxon figure, but his vernacular songs are influenced by Latin models. As E.J. Dobson notes, “[his] melodies are based on plainsong, and … in a general way his [rhyming] stanza-forms are modelled on those of Latin hymns of the Ambrosian type” (Medieval English Songs, 104). The three little poems attributed to him are associated with visions – of his dead sister Burgwen, the Virgin Mary, and St Nicholas – experienced while he lived as a hermit at Finchale, near Durham, after a well-travelled earlier career. In language, the St Godric Lyrics use mainly the native word-stock, with a couple of French imports: sainte (instead of OE halga) and flur (corresponding to blōstm). But as genuine songs they are unlike anything in Old English. “The Canute Song,” as Merie sungen ðe muneches binnen Ely (3) is usually called, is quoted in a late-twelfth-century Latin history of Ely and its abbey. The chronicler, a monk of Ely, narrates that King Canute, inspired by hearing the singing of the monks as he was being rowed to the island of Ely, composed a pious song beginning with these words. If so, these lines would date from the earlier eleventh century; he reigned from 1016 to 1035. The story is picturesque, raising the suspicion that the tale, along with the song,

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may have grown in the telling. It is less likely that this rather rudimentary fragment and its continuation were composed extempore by Canute and promptly sung by him and his attendants. The chronicler comments that the song (evidently transmitted orally) was still being performed in a festive way (“publicly,” “in groups” [choris]) in his own time (see Liber Eliensis 2.85, in Blake, translated in Fairweather; Reichl, “Beginnings of the ME Secular Lyric,” 196–7). Although no collection of English lyrics survives from this early period, there is evidence for at least one bilingual collection, in which Mirie it is while sumer ilast (4) was included. This poem, like the St Godric verses, is one of the earliest English lyrics to be preserved with musical notation. Contrasting winter sadness with the past delight of summer, the lines are poignant and mysterious. Very likely this is only the beginning of a longer song, which might be about love or a more spiritual angst. Mirie it is follows two French love songs, the three written on an isolated leaf bound in at the beginning of another manuscript. Karl Reichl makes a strong case for reading the English poem as a love lyric because of its immediate context (“Beginnings,” 211–14, with facsimiles of the two relevant pages), but the tone of Mirie it is distinguishes it from its French companions. The French songs fairly glibly roll out the stock woes of the unhappy lover. The English voice, weary with a night that seems endless, is far more intense. In its darkness this lyric resembles the poems in the “Mortality” section below. Duncan includes Mirie it is under “Penitential and Moral Lyrics.” Reichl observes that the leaf on which it appears must have come from a songbook like the chansonniers that contain collections of troubadour and trouvère poetry from Occitania and Northern France. Thus, the lost manuscript would be the earliest recorded chansonnier. Like many early Middle English song snatches, Ate ston casting my lemman I ches (5) has a homiletic context, and serves the purpose of sermon writers who use the popular appeal of such verses to make a point. Ate ston casting is found in a longer version, printed here, in which the young speaker picks her lover at stone-casting and dumps him at wrestling. She laments that he fell so soon, and asks derisively why he couldn’t have stood up longer. Evidently she is not just thinking about his wrestling match. The shorter version puts the two contests in the opposite order, and omits the second couplet. Both are interpreted allegorically by those who quote them. The Latin sermon containing the present version explains that the lemman chosen at stone-casting and dropped at wrestling is the sinner chosen by God but cast away because of the temptations of the Devil. The shorter version appears

The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation

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in an English sermon, and is introduced by the interesting comment that songs of this type are sung by wild women and men when they are dancing in the ring (see Notes). But the homilist proposes to turn this idle song into a Christian message: wrestling symbolizes the fight of the good against the world, the flesh, and the Devil; stone-casting represents the hardness of heart that keeps sinners from heeding God’s word and makes them reject him (see Reichl, “Beginnings,” 207–8, for a summary of both sermons). Thus, for the edification of their public, preachers clean up this little song, with suitable, if not too plausible, interpretations. Among these early bits and pieces, “The Prisoner’s Prayer” (Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non, 6) is a full-fledged song that seems to have been prompted by a real event: the unjust punishment of the speaker and his associates. In fervent words, he prays to Christ, and the Virgin Mary as intercessor, for release. The poem, which was probably composed in Anglo-French, is set out in two languages – French above, English below – along a musical stave. A political conflict seems to lie behind these words, but what that might have been is a mystery. And one is tempted to identify the speaker with the poet. Whether the song is autobiographical or not, its urgent appeal would undoubtedly be heightened by its music, and its contemporary audience, like its modern readers, could easily receive it as heartfelt. The last, but not necessarily the latest, of the pieces in this section is “The Cuckoo Song” (Sumer is icumen in, 7), which must be the most famous lyric in early Middle English. The song is a canon (Latin rota) for up to four voices, in what Carleton Brown calls “a monk’s commonplace book” from Reading Abbey (Brown XIII , 168). The only English text in a manuscript of miscellaneous materials, this light-hearted little song shares its melody with a joyful, but more earnest, Resurrection hymn, Perspice, Christicola (“Take heed, Christian”), which is written in red directly below it, both beneath the musical notes. The “Cuckoo!” refrain is certainly cheery, and probably innocent. However, Rosemary Woolf ties it in with verteþ (“farts,” 2.3) to suggest an element of rude mockery featuring not just farmyard noises but also deceived husbands (“Later Poetry: The Popular Tradition,” 280–1), as in Shakespeare’s song at the end of Love’s Labour’s Lost, where “cuckoo” suggests “cuckold.” These earliest English lyrics are found in manuscripts of the late twelfth to the fourteenth century, the shorter pieces often preserved as quotations in longer works. Their earliness is reflected in the mainly native vocabulary, and, in the oldest ones, the retention of the Old English characters wynn and

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occasionally eth. The main content of the manuscript is usually religious or instructive. Thus, 1 and 3 are in a vita and a chronicle; 2 and 5 in homiletic compilations; 6 in a collection of historical records; 7 in a miscellany serving both serious and recreational ends. Only 4 comes from a songbook. The high proportion of texts accompanied by musical notation (not typical of Middle English lyrics in general) suggests it was a significant factor in their preservation. All of these lyrics except “The Grave,” the least lyrical among them, were undoubtedly sung.

1. th e s aInt g odr Ic ly r I c s The speaker in the first of these is Godric’s dead sister Burgwen, who appears to him in his chapel, in her beatified form, supported by Christ and the Virgin Mary. In the second and third lyrics, Godric speaks in his own voice. Crist and sainte Marie sƿa on scamel me iledde Þat ic on þis erðe ne silde ƿið mine bare fote itredde.

led me to the altarplatform in such a way  that I should not tread with my bare foot

Bl Royal 5.f .vII , f. 85r ƿið] ms ƿid; itredde] ms itredie

Sainte Marie virgine, Moder Jhesu Cristes Nazarene, Onfo, schild, help þin Godric, Onfang, bring heȝilich ƿið þe in Godes riche. 2 Sainte Marie, Cristes bur, Maidenes clenhad, moderes flur, Dilie min sinne, rix in min mod, Bring me to ƿinne ƿið þe self God.

receive, shield receive; honourably; kingdom

bower purity; flower of mothers wipe out my sin; rule in my spirit joy with the very God

Bl Royal 5.f .vII , f. 85r 1.4 ƿið] ms ƿið altered to þið; 2.1 Cristes] ms XPistes with chi-rho for cr; 2.4 self ] ms selfd

The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation

Sainte Nicholaes, Godes druð, Tymbre us faire scone hus. At þi burth, at þi bare, Sainte Nicholaes, bring us wel þare.

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God’s darling build us a fair, beautiful house (in heaven) by your birth, by your bier there

Bl Royal 5.f .vII , f. 85r

2. The soul of a sinner addresses its decaying body in language that combines repulsive imagery with a certain grim humour. In “The Grave” the voice, here speaking in universal terms and not individualized, may be merely that of disembodied admonition, or of Death, or possibly the soul, as in other poetry in the “soul and body” tradition. Đe ƿes bold ȝebyld er þu iboren ƿere,

a dwelling was built for you before you were born Đe ƿes molde imynt er ðu of moder come. the ground was meant for you before ... Ac hit nes no idiht ne þeo deopnes imeten, but it was not prepared nor the depth measured Nes ȝyt iloced hu long hit þe ƿere. it was not yet ordained how long it should be for you Nu me þe bringæð þer ðu beon scealt. now men bring you where you must be Nu me scæl þe meten ⁊ þa molde seoðða. now men must measure you and then the ground Ne bið no þin hus healice itinbred. your house will not at all be high-built Hit bið unheh and lah þonne þu list  it will be mean and low when you þerinne. lie therein Đe heleƿaȝes beoð laȝe, sidwaȝes unheȝe,  the end walls will be low, side walls not high Þe rof bið ibyld þire broste ful neh. the roof will be very close to your breast Sƿa ðu scealt on molde ƿunien ful calde,  thus you shall dwell in the ground full cold Dimme ⁊ deorcæ; þet den fulæt on honde. dim and dark; that den will soon grow foul Dureleas is þet hus ⁊ dearc hit is wiðinnen, doorless is that house ... Đær þu bist feste bidytt, ⁊ dæð hefð þa cæȝe. you will be shut fast; death will have the key

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Ladlic is þet eorðhus ⁊ grim inne to ƿunien. Đer þu scealt ƿunien ⁊ ƿurmes þe todeleð. Đus ðu bist ileȝd, ⁊ ladæst þine fronden. Nefst ðu nenne freond þe þe ƿylle faren to Đæt efre ƿule lokien hu þe þæt hus þe likie, Đæt æfre undon ðe ƿule ða dure * ⁊ þe æfter lihten, For sone þu bist ladlic ⁊ lad to iseonne. Bodley 343, f. 170r *a half-line possibly missing before these words

disgusting is that earth-house ... to dwell in you shall dwell and worms take you apart you will be laid, most loathsome to your friends you will have no friend who will approach you that will ever enquire how the house pleases you will undo the door for you give you relief you will be disgusting and hateful to see

3. A fragment of a popular song, attributed to King Canute and said to have been spontaneously composed by him on the occasion it describes. Merie sungen ðe muneches binnen Ely, Đa Cnut ching reu ðer*by. Roƿeþ, cnites, noer the land, And here ƿue þes muneches sæng.

merrily sang the monks in Ely when King Cnut rowed by row, men, nearer the land let us hear these monks’ song

tcc o .2.1, ff. 73v–74r Cnut] ms chut; cnites] ms chites

*f. 74r

4. The speaker’s wretchedness, at the mercy of winter and ill fortune, is compelling, although its source is mysterious. Along with the St Godric lyrics above, this is one of the very earliest English songs preserved with music.

The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation

[M]irie it is while sumer ilast Ƿið fugheles song, Oc nu necheð ƿindes blast And ƿ[e]der strong. Ei, ei! ƿhat þis nicht [is] long, And ich ƿið ƿel michel wrong Soregh and murne and [fast].

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lasts with birds’ song but now comes the wind’s blast harsh weather how long this night is I with great wrong sorrow

Bodl Rawlinson g 22, f. 1v 1] space left for ornamental capital

5. This cheeky little song, whose remarks about the young man’s failing to stand are an obvious double-entendre, is turned, rather improbably, into Christian allegory by the sermon writers who quote it. Ate ston casting my lemman I ches, And atte wrastling sone I hym les. Allas, þat he so sone fel! Wy nadde he stonde better, vile gorel?

I picked my sweetheart I quickly lost him why couldn’t he stand; useless fat slob

cul I i.3.8, f. 87r (recte 86r) gorel] ms geres

6. This lyric is striking in its application of conventional religious themes – appeals to Christ and the Virgin, reflection on the transience of this world – to a fervent protest against unjust and cruel imprisonment. Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non, Nu ich mot manen min mon; Karful, wel sore ich syche, Geltles ihc tholye muchele schame— Help, God, for thin swete name, Kyng of hevene riche.

previously I knew no sorrow now I must utter my lament full of care, I sigh very sorely guiltless, I endure much indignity heaven’s kingdom

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2 Jesu Crist, soð God, soð man, Loverd, thu rew upon me. Of prisun thar ich in am Bring me ut and makye fre. Ich and mine feren sume— God wot ich ne lyghe noct— For othre habbet misnome Ben in thys prisun ibroct. 3 Almicti, That wel lictli Of bale is hale and bote, Hevene king, Of this woning Ut us bringe mote. Foryhef hem The wykke men, God, yhef it is thi wille, For wos gelt We beð *ipelt In thos prisun hille. 4 Ne hope non to his live, Her ne mai he bilive. Heghe thegh he stighe, Deð him felleð to grunde. Nu hað man wele and blisce, Rathe he shal tharof misse. Worldes wele mid, ywisse, Ne lasteð buten on stunde. 5 Maiden that bare the heven king, Bisech thin sone, that swete thing,

real God, real man Lord, take pity from the prison in which I am make (me) free I and my various companions God knows I am not lying because others have erred have been brought

Almighty very easily misery; healing and remedy dwelling may you bring us out forgive them if for whose guilt have been thrust evil

let no one have hope for his life is not permitted to remain high though he climb death fells to the ground prosperity and happiness quickly lose those things world’s prosperity also; to be sure lasts only a short time

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The Earliest Texts: Song and Meditation

That he habbe of hus rewsing And bring hus of this woning For his muchele milse. He bring hus ut of this wo And hus tache werchen swo In thos live, go wu s’it go, That **we moten ey and o Habben the eche blisce.

have pity on us us; dwelling great mercy teach to act in such a way this life, however it goes may for ever and aye eternal happiness

London Metropolitan Archives, Liber de antiquis legibus, ff. 160v–161v ð written as d in soð (2.1), beð (3.11), deð, felleð (4.4), hað (4.5), lasteð (4.8) 1.4 tholye] ms sholye *f. 161r; **f. 161v

7. Delight in spring is heightened by the plurality of voices and the echoic repetition of the cuckoo’s musical name. Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweþ sed and bloweþ med And springþ þe wude nu. Sing cuccu! 2 Awe bleteþ after lomb, Lhouþ after calve cu, Bulluc sterteþ, bucke verteþ, Murie sing cuccu! Cuccu, cuccu, Wel singes þu cuccu. Ne swik þu naver nu. Sing cuccu nu! Sing cuccu! Sing cuccu! Sing cuccu nu! Bl Harley 978, f. 11v 1.3 wude] ms wde

has come loud seed; meadow the wood burgeons now

ewe cow lows bullock leaps; buck farts merry

never stop now

Poems on Mortality

Focussing on human inadequacy in the face of death, these poems typically construct a generic voice, either of preacherly admonition, or of universal human fear, like Everyman’s when summoned by Death, God’s mighty messenger. As in the morality play, Death here can be a vividly embodied character, credited with agency and volition. Voice in these poems may be heightened by direct address and sung performance, as in Man mei longe him lives wene (“Death’s Witherclench,” 8) and Worldes blis (10), in both of which Christian wisdom admonishes ignorant “man.” Or the speaker may voice his own sharp fears, perhaps with a request to Christ for mercy. Occasionally the first-person speaker is more dramatically present, in poems such as In what estate so ever I be (17), with its chanson d’aventure setting, and Farewell this world (18), spoken from the grave. Only in Audelay’s lyric on his own infirmity (16) is the “I” individualized. As observed in the Introduction (31–2, above), the lyrics here reflect the contemptus mundi so common in medieval religious texts, and Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren (11) draws on the ubi sunt topos. While the subject of these reflections on death continues a theme popular from AngloSaxon times – as the very early “Grave” (2) shows – these

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lyrics are often closely associated in manuscripts with poetry of a newer kind, less negative and more tender. The first poem in the present group, “Death’s Witherclench,” begins with a moralizing generalization, “Man mei longe him lives wene, / Ac ofte him liyet þe wreinch” (“Man may expect a long life, but is often deceived by the trickery of things”). The statement is a truism, but its expansion here is given concrete urgency by terse, unadorned wording and emphatic rhyme, most strikingly the same rhyme in -ench maintained through the first two stanzas. A grim memento mori like “The Grave” but more dramatic, this poem’s action moves through one startling metaphor after another: drinking Death’s “drench,” falling off your bench, confronting Death’s witherclench – he attacks with a grip that won’t let go. In a similar vein, but more compressed, Wen þe turuf is þi tuur (9) translates a rhymed maxim in Latin. The speaker seems to be addressing a beautiful young woman in a chamber of a lofty castle. With a compression more emphatic than elaboration, the vivid antitheses of high and low, pride and humiliation, flourishing life and rotting death, all picked out by alliteration, are encapsulated in six lines – turf versus tower; pit versus bower; weal, whiteness, and worldly wynn ( joy) reduced to worm-devoured carcass. Several Middle English lyrics start with “Worldes blis” or a similar opening (see nimev 4220–8, 13 poems; dimev 6784–95, 12 poems). The phrase has a very particular resonance, implying that this kind of bliss, as opposed to heavenly, is a vain thing, and raising the expectation that the poem will moralize on the transience of life – as indeed Poem 10 does, more eloquently in song than in the prose preaching of a sermon. As Ardis Butterfield shows, the “worldes blis” network is a complex one, interlocking with other networks. She argues that these connections “invite us to stand back, to observe the pattern,” rather than to engage in close reading of an individual poem (“Why Medieval Lyric?” 328–30 at 330). Fortunately, the two are not mutually exclusive. Each poem has its own sensibility. The present poem’s is penitential; it repeatedly urges “seli mon” to make amends for his misdeeds and do good. Nevertheless, the things of this world are not necessarily vanities. The examples of worldly transience here are not wealth, power, and display, as in Poem 11, but include deeper loves, for “house and home and child and wife,” ties felt by the humble as well as the rich. The loves felt in this world tend to be bitter though we expect them to be sweet. This thought has been around for a long time. Sappho called eros glukupikron, “sweet-bitter”

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(Sappho 130.2); here the poet/speaker puts this idea in the proverbial metaphor of licking honey from a thorn. With this lyric, compare Worldes blisce have god day (23), which begins with the same mutability topos, but moves on from it to contrast love of the world with love for Christ, which becomes the poem’s main focus. The stanzas that begin with “Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren” are usually found as part of the rather tediously moralizing Sayings of St. Bernard, but in this version they are distinct, the first four stanzas arresting and memorable – the rest of the lyric energetic, but less vivid. Reflections on the ubi sunt theme tend to be nostalgic, not horrific. Here they are both. The poem begins with scenes of courtly life, at first only hinting at its arrogance and focussing almost lovingly on the rich ladies with their elaborate headdresses and bright faces. Stanza 2 is sterner, but the charm of that happy life, all the more winsome because it is gone, reappears for a while, with the laughing ladies in their long dresses, until, in 4.1, the scene abruptly shifts to Hell’s fire, and the admonitory narrating voice echoes the damned in their agony. As in Wen þe turuf is þi tuur, no punches are pulled in the contrast between the pampered life of the rich, and their miserable fate after death, reduced in that poem to worm-riddled body, in this to howling soul in the fire that never stops. While the previous poems are impersonal in their voice and collective in their assumed audience, the next three (12–14) are much more intimate. Their “I,” with whom the listener or reader readily identifies, is a pitiable individual, obsessed with human mortality and unable to rise above his (and our) fears. All three lyrics are profoundly dark. Joy is not contemplated regretfully, but quite out of the picture – except for a fleeting glance in Wynter wakeneþ al my care (13). The two very short lyrics Wanne ich þenche þinges þre (12) and Kyndeli is now mi coming (14) are impressive in their stern brevity. The former focusses on death as the unknowable; the latter, on life as inescapable pain, only the hope for mercy in the closing line offering a glimmer of light. Wynter wakeneþ is more expansive, softened by natural imagery and a longer line ending each stanza. This is one of the Harley Lyrics. Like Mirie it is while sumer ilast (4), it sets the scene in winter, in words that suggest the possibility of a lover’s lament for past joy and present sorrow. The nod towards secular love is also present, more obviously, in its companion piece in Harley, “A Spring Song on the Passion” (Brook, No. 18). But in spite of these gentler touches, the conclusion of Wynter wakeneþ comes to

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the same place as Wanne ich þenche, and though less stark this “Winter Song” bears the same essential message as the other two. Whon men beoþ muriest at heor mele (15), preserved in the splendid, monumental Vernon Manuscript, a collection of religious and moral prose and verse in English, is the longest piece included in this book. The poem is one of the most substantial of “the Vernon lyrics,” a set of twenty-seven poems of spiritual instruction and warning, most of them using a refrain that highlights their message. They are found on folios 407ra–412vb of the manuscript (see Thompson, “The Textual Background and Reputation of the Vernon Lyrics”). The weighty stanzas tend not to form a rigorous progression, but, as Burrow observes, relate to the refrain “like spokes to a hub” (“Shape of the Vernon Lyrics,” 189). Admittedly, the rambling length of Whon men beoþ muriest pushes the boundaries of lyric, but the keyword “yesterday,” more nostalgic than moralizing, sustains the poem’s lyricism. After a protracted and rather meandering course, Whon men beoþ muriest comes satisfyingly full circle, the opening line repeated at the close. The poem’s themes, though given a Christian thrust, are universal, and can be paralleled in the widest range of contexts, from the venerable august to the modern popular. The extended simile, in stanza 11, of children compulsively and futilely chasing their shadows on the wall of a candle-lit room calls up a profound reflection on the human condition, in an image at least as old as Pindar’s epameroi! ti de tis, ti d’ou tis? skias onar / anthrōpos, (“[we are] only for a day! What is anyone? What are they not? Man is the dream of a shadow,” Pythian 8.95–6). And a repeated “yesterday” haunts us in Paul McCartney’s sentimental love song from 1965. Both Lade helpe, Jhesu merce (16) and In what estate so ever I be (17) are carols with the burden Timor mortis conturbat me (“The fear of death disturbs me”), words taken from the Office for the Dead. Probably both were intended to be sung. But there is a huge difference between them. The former reflects an intense personal struggle; the latter fairly lightly repeats the familiar message, this time quaintly placed in the mouth of a bird. The range of Middle English carols is vast; witness Richard Greene’s enormous collection – numbered 474, but actually, taking account of the many additions and variants, considerably more. Although the carol originated as a dance song, and was often associated with festive occasions, it could also be meditative, its repetitions helping to focus the mind of the reciter or attentive listener. Poem 16 is of that kind.

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This carol is the best-known item in the collection of devout poems produced by John Audelay (not all actually composed by him), and preserved in the manuscript dedicated to his work (Bodl Douce 302). Most of what we know about him comes from his own writing, in which he repeatedly mentions himself by name (on his life, see Fein, John the Blind Audelay, 1–7). He was a chantry priest in the Augustinian abbey of Haughmond, near Shrewsbury in Shropshire. But he had also been personal chaplain to Richard Lord Strange of Knockin, in the same area. We know from other sources that Strange was involved in a scandal arising from a murderous brawl. Audelay may even have had to participate in the public penance imposed on his employer. In a Latin colophon dated 1426 (f. 22vb), and in the final stanza of Audelay’s Conclusion (f. 35r, the last item in the book), as well as in this timor mortis poem, he speaks of himself and his infirmity – deaf and ailing as well as blind – towards the end of his life, so that his readers can pray for his soul. Lade helpe, Jhesu merce recounts his sufferings, most poignantly in stanzas 2 and 3, punctuating them with the refrain Passio Christi conforta me (“Passion of Christ give me courage”), which underlines Audelay’s faith that good can come out of pain and misery, and counterbalances the poem’s troubled burden. In detailing the author’s own particular situation, this moving carol is highly unusual for poetry of its period. As Rosemary Woolf says, “In this [poem], for perhaps the first time in an English lyric poem, the poet truly speaks in his own voice” (335). The remaining two poems in this section are quite frankly removed from everyday reality to the realm of fantasy, superstition, and myth, and draw on a sense that the animal world or the dead have a special access to truth. In what estate so ever I be (17) voices its message through a female hunting bird, who is beautiful and noble (“fayer and gent”). There are a couple of similarly vocal birds uttering words of wisdom in Greene’s carol collection (see Notes on 17, below). Talking birds as purveyors of wisdom, usually occult or prophetic, are found in many cultures. For instance, in Norse legend, Sigurd gains access to bird language by drinking dragon’s blood, and Odin is instructed by two ravens who whisper in his ears. In the present case, the bird-speaker expresses the fellow-feeling of the natural world. Farewell, this world! I take my leve forevere utters words from the grave. Like the wealthy folk in Wen þe turuf is þi tuur and Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren, who flourish in this world only to be brought low in every sense when they die, the speaker here has fallen from high estate. In stanza 2, which strikingly mixes its metaphors and images, he appears to have been a monarch seated on a throne, an allusion

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to Fortune’s Wheel, from which the king seated at the top tumbles when the wheel turns. These reflections on death and transience share their manuscript context with the lyrics in the next two sections, so the following remarks apply to all three. Lyrics of religious devotion and moral admonition are found, often in multiple versions, throughout the Middle English period. Most typically they appear in miscellanies and collections, and, in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, songbooks. Occasionally an early lyric will come from a songbook fragment, as does Poem 23, Worldes blisce have god day, and Poem 4, Mirie it is while sumer ilast, from the previous section. But a context associated with preaching is more common. The subject has been intensively explored by Siegfried Wenzel; see especially his Preachers, Poets, and the Early English Lyric. Short religious pieces are frequently preserved in sermon collections – Wanne ich þenche þinges þre (12) and Loverd, þu clepedest me (24), both in New College, Oxford 88, for example. Four major manuscripts from the mid- to later thirteenth century are trilingual assortments of instructive material, religious and moral: Trinity College, Cambridge B .14.39 (containing 9, 20, 36, 37, 38); Bodleian Digby 86 (10, 11, 30); Cotton Caligula A .IX (8 and 37); Jesus College, Oxford 29, Part II (8 and 12). John Grimestone’s Preaching Book, Advocates 18.7.21 (12, 23, 28, 29, 31, 32, 40), is later, ca. 1372. Sometimes it is hard to decide whether particular items should be regarded as variants or separate poems. Poem 12, for example, is one of many poetic reflections on the “Three Sorrowful Things.” Poems 20, Quanne hic se on rode, and 21, Suete Jhesu king of blysse, in the next section, are attested in a veritable maze of forms. In the course of the fourteenth century, English comes to occupy a more prominent place in manuscript production, as in Bl Harley 2253 (containing 13, 21, 22, and 30, as well as many of the secular items included here); this volume will be described later in connection with its love poems. Harley is not monolingual, but the Vernon Manuscript mentioned above (15, 21, 27) is almost exclusively so. Opulent and visually striking, the Vernon is also massive in size, and must have been intended for public reading from a lectern. For a comprehensive and detailed study, see A.I. Doyle’s facsimile edition, and his “Codicology, Palaeography, and Provenance” in Wendy Scase’s The Making of the Vernon Manuscript. Although the authored collection in the modern sense is not found until the fifteenth century, from the fourteenth century on manuscripts claimed as their own by particular individuals appear: Friar William Herebert, who

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collected the material in Bl Additional 46919, including his translations of Latin hymns (not represented here); along with his fellow Franciscans John Grimestone and, later, James Ryman, and, of course, the chantry priest John Audelay. Audelay clearly thought of his collection as his own creation – as Fein notes, he was an author in the broadest medieval sense, including being a compiler (John the Blind Audelay, 4–5). But his book was not a singleauthored manuscript in the way that Charles d’Orléans’s slightly later volume was. Ryman’s manuscript collection, the poems mostly authored or translated by him, dates from the end of the fifteenth century. Two important songbooks, Bl Sloane 2593 and Bodleian Eng poet e.1, dating from the first and second halves of the fifteenth century respectively, contain a few of the later religious poems included here, notably the lovely Marian lyrics I syng of a myden þat is makeles (43) and Lullay myn lyking, my dere sone, my swytyng (44) in Sloane. These manuscripts are commented on in the “Festive Songs” section, along with the Tudor commonplace books assembled by private individuals, Richard Hill’s being the best known (Balliol College, Oxford, 354, containing 12, 17, 18, 45, 50). In addition to these multifarious manuscript sources, short pieces, specifically 33 (O man unkynde) and the last part of 18 (Farewell, this world), are sometimes found in stone inscriptions. Collectively, Middle English religious lyrics are not only far more numerous, but have a much wider and more complex manuscript diffusion than the lyrics contemporary with them on secular subjects.

8. The hopeless conflict with Death is represented in a striking series of images, including, along with the pathos of nature’s yellowing green and the repulsion of foul body turning to worms’ meat, Death as trickster and wrestler, both combined in his “witherclench.” Man mei longe him lives wene, Ac ofte him liyet þe wreinch. Fair weder ofte him went to rene, An ferliche maket is blench. Þarvore, man, þu þe biþench. Al sel valui þe grene.

expect a long life he is deceived by a nasty trick turns to rain suddenly plays its trick shall fade completely

Poems on Mortality

Welawey, nis king ne quene Þat ne sel drinke of dethis drench. Man, er þu falle of þi bench, Þu sinne aquench. 2 Ne mai strong ne starch ne kene Aȝlye dethis wiþerclench. Ȝung and old and brith ansiene, Al he riveth an his streng. Vox and ferlich is þe wreinch. Ne mai no man þar toȝenes. Weilawei, iweping ne bene, Mede, liste, ne leches dreinch. Man, let sinne and lustes stench. Wel do, wel þench. 3 Do bi Salomones rede, Man, and so þu selth wel do. Do al so he þe tothte and sede What þin endinch þe brinch to, Ne seltu nevere misdo. Sore þu mith þe adrede. Weylawey, suich wenþ wel lede Long lif and blisse undervo, Þar deth luteth in his swo To him fordo. 4 Man, fwi neltu þe biþenchen? Man, fwi neltu þe bisen? Of felthe þu ert isowe, Weirmes mete þu selt ben. Her navest tu blisse days þre; Al þi lif þu drist in wowe. Welawey, deth þe sal dun þrowen

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death’s drink subdue sin

unflinching nor valiant escape death’s hostile grasp bright face tears apart in his strength quick and terrible is the crafty stroke (stand) against it entreaty reward; stratagem; physician’s draught leave sin and stink of lust

advice you shall taught (as regards) what your ending brings you to you shall (not) you might fear such a one as expects to lead receive bliss lurks in his shoe destroy

why will you not look out for yourself filth; sown you have bliss for not even ... endure in woe

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Þar þu wenest heye ste. In wo sal þi wele enden, In wop þi gle.

where you expect to climb high in weeping your merriment

5 Werld an wele þe bipecheth. Iwis hie buth þine ivo. If þi werld mid wele þe sliket, Þat is far to do þe wo. Þarfore let lust overgon, Man, and eft it sal þe liken. Welawey, hu sore him wiket Þar in one stunde oþer two Wurh him pine everemo. Ne do, man, swo.

deceive certainly they are your foes flatters pass by afterwards you will be glad lets him down hour makes everlasting torment

Maidstone Museum A .13, f. 93v 1.2 liyet] ms liþet; 2.3 ȝung] ms þung; 4.7 dun þrowen] ms þrowen dun

9. An arresting and disturbing little poem that makes its point with shocking antitheses. Wen þe turuf is þi tuur & þi put is þi bour, Þi wel & þi wite þrote Ssulen wormes to note. Wat helpit þe þenne Al þe worilde wnne?

your skin and your white throat shall be good for worms world’s delight

tcc B .14.39, f. 47v

10. Grimly moralistic, this poem gives vivid specificity to the conventional warnings that earthly prosperity is fleeting and our just deserts await us hereafter. “Worldes blis” is like licking honey from a thorn!

Poems on Mortality

Worldes blis ne last no þrowe, Hit wit ant wend awey anon; Þe lengur þat hich hit iknowe Þe lasse hic finde pris þeron. For al hit is emeynd wyd kare, Mid sorewe ant wid uvel fare; Ant at þe laste pouere ant bare Hit let mon, wen hit ginnet agon. Al þe blisse *þat is here ant þere Bilouketh at hende wop ant mon. 2 Al shal gon þat her mon howet, Al hit shal wenden to nout; Þe mon þat her no god ne sowet, Wen oþer repen he worth bikakt. Þenc, mon, forþi, wil þu havest mykte, Þat þu þine gultus here arikte, Ant wrche god bi day an nikte Ar þen þu be of lisse ilakt. Þu nost wanne Crist ure drikte Þe asket þat he havet bitakt. 3 Al þe blisse of þisse live Þu shalt, mon, henden in wep, Of huse ant home ant child ant wyve. Seli mon tak þerof kep. For þu shalt al bileven here Þe eykte wereof loverd þu were; Wen þu list, mon, upon bere Ant slepest a swyþe druye slep, Ne shaltu haven wit þe no fere Butte þine werkus on an hep.

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no time at all quickly passes and turns away I know it value mingled with ill-faring leaves; begins to go encompasses at the end weeping and moaning

owns sows disappointed therefore; while you have the power sins; rectify work before you are snatched from joy know not; our lord committed (to you)

end poor; take notice leave behind possessions of which you were lord you lie very dreary? companion

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4 Mon, wi seestu love ant herte On worldes blisse þat nout ne last? Wy þolestu þat te so ofte smerte For love þat is so unstedefast? Þu likest huni of þorn iwis, Þat seest þi love on worldes blis, For ful of bitternis hit is. Sore þu mikt ben ofgast, Þat despendes here heikte amis, Werþurh ben into helle itakt.

why do you set why do you endure; what would hurt you

5 Þenc, mon, warof Crist þe wroukte, Ant do wey prude ant fulthe mod. Þenc wou dere he þe bokte On rode mit his swete blod. Himself he gaf for þe in pris, To buge þe blis yf þu be wis. Biþenc þe, mon, ant up aris Of slouþe, angin to worche god, Wil time to worchen is, For elles þu art witles ant wod. 6 Al day þu mikt understonde Ant ti mirour bifor þe sen, Wat is to don an to wonden, Ant wat to holden ant to flen. For al day þu sigst wid þin eguen Wou þis world went ant wou men deiegt. Þat wite wel, þat þu shalt dreigen Det, al so anoþer det. Ne helput nout þer non to ligen, Ne may no mon bu det ageyn.

lick honey; certainly

terrified (“aghast”) misspend your possessions here whereby; conveyed

filthy how dear(ly) on the cross with ... buy from sloth, begin mad

see your mirror to do and to refrain from (doing) hold on to and flee from see with your eyes how; changes; how men die understand; suffer death, just as another does stand (“be”) against death

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Poems on Mortality

7 Ne wort ne god þer unforgulde, Ne non uvel ne worth unboukt. Wanne þu list, mon, undur molde Þu shalt haven as tu havest wrokt. Biþenc þe wel forþi, hic rede, Ant clanse þe of þine misdede, Þat he þe helpe at þine nede Þat so dure hus haved iboukt, Ant to hevene blisse lede Þat evere lest ant failet nout. Amen.

no good is unrequited there no evil is unpaid for

therefore; I advise you

who so dearly has redeemed (“bought”) us lasts

Bodl Rawlinson g 18, ff. 105v–106r 1.9 þat is] from Digby, ms þis; 2.4 bikakt] ms bikert; 3.9 haven] ms haben *f. 106r

11. Beginning with opening scenes on the ubi sunt theme, the poem moves on to direct address and admonition. The first four stanzas are particularly vivid in their contrast between the elegant life of the wealthy on earth and their horrific sufferings in the hereafter. Ubi sount qui ante nos fuerount Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren, Houndes ladden and hauekes beren *And hadden feld and wode? Þe riche levedies in hoere bour, Þat wereden gold in hoere tressour Wiþ hoere briȝtte rode. 2 Eten and drounken and maden hem glad, Hoere lif was al wiþ gamen ilad, Men keneleden hem biforen.

where are (those) who before us were [rubric]

their bower headdress complexion

sport knelt

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

Þey beren hem wel swiþe heye, And in a twincling of on eye Hoere soules weren forloren. 3 Were is þat lawing and þat song, þat trayling and þat proude ȝong, Þo hauekes and þo houndes? Al þat joye is went away, Þat wele is comen te weylaway, To manie harde stoundes. 4 Hoere paradis hy nomen here, And nou þey lien in helle ifere, Þe fuir hit brennes hevere. Long is ay and long is ho, Long is wy and long is wo. Þennes ne comeþ þey nevere. 5 Dreȝy here, man, þenne if þou wilt A luitel pine, þat me þe bit. Wiþdrau þine eyses ofte. Þey þi pine be ounrede, And þou þenke on þi mede Hit sal þe þinken softe. 6 If þat fend, þat foule þing, Þorou wikke roun, þorou fals egging, Þere neþere þe haveþ icast, Oup and be god chaunpioun! Stond, ne fal namore adoun **For a luytel blast.

very high

laughing trailing (of long robes); gait

well-being hard trials

took together always aiee ... ooh [exclamations of pain] wee ... wo/woe

endure suffering; I bid you comforts although; severe desert it shall seem soft to you

fiend wicked counsel; incitement

Poems on Mortality

7 Þou tak þe rode to þi staf And þenk on him þat þereonne ȝaf His lif þat wes so lef. He hit ȝaf for þe, þou ȝelde hit him, Aȝein his fo þat staf þou nim, And wrek him of þat þef. 8 Of riȝtte bileve þou nim þat sheld, Þe wiles þat þou best in þat feld. Þin hond to strenkþen fonde, And kep þy fo wiþ staves ord, And do þat traytre seien þat word. Biget þat murie londe. 9 Þereinne is day wiþhouten niȝt, Wiþouten ende strenkþe and miȝt, And wreche of everich fo; Mid God himselwen eche lif, And pes and rest wiþoute strif, Wele wiþouten wo. 10 Mayden moder, hevene quene, Þou miȝt and const and owest to bene Oure sheld aȝein þe fende. Help ous sunne for to flen, Þat we moten þi sone iseen In joye wiþouten hende. Amen Bodl Digby 86, ff. 126va–127ra *col. b; **f. 127ra

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cross gave so dear yield take that staff avenge him on that thief

right belief whilst try to strengthen keep off your foe with the point of your staff make ... admit defeat (“say the word”) achieve

vengeance on eternal well-being

ought to be to flee sin may see your son end

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

12. A succinct reflection – simple, conventional, and telling – on the melancholy of the human condition from the perspective of eternity. There are many variants of these lines on “The Three Sorrowful Things.” Wanne ich þenche þinges þre, Ne mai nevre bliþe be. Þat on is ich sal awe, Þat oþer is ich ne wot wilk day, Þat þridde is mi meste kare, I ne woth nevre wuder I sal fare.

think (about) I can never be cheerful I must (depart) away I know not which day my greatest trouble I never know whither I must go

New Coll Oxf 88, f. 31r

13. Reflections on the transience of life and the uncertainty of what lies beyond are here prompted by sympathetic reaction to a winter scene. Each fiveline stanza moves from observation to moralization, given emphasis by the clinching rhyme and the greater length of the fifth line. This winter song is immediately followed by a spring song, When y se blosmes springe, in which the season stirs the speaker’s heart to love, in this case not for a sweetheart but for the crucified Christ. Wynter wakeneþ al my care, Nou þis leves waxeþ bare. Ofte y sike & mourne sare When hit comeþ in my þoht Of þis worldes joie hou hit geþ al to noht. 2 Nou hit is & nou hit nys, Al so hit ner nere, ywys. Þat moni mon seiþ soþ hit ys: “Al goþ bote Godes wille, Alle we shule deye þah us like ylle.”

sigh and mourn sorely how it all comes (“goes”) to nothing

now it is and now it is not all as if it never were, certainly what many men say is true everything passes away except although it pleases us ill

Poems on Mortality

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3 all the green that grows green (for me) Al þat gren me graueþ grene Nou hit faleweþ al bydene. it very quickly fades Jhesu, help þat hit be sene made clear Ant shild us from helle. whither I must (go) For y not whider y shal ne hou longe her duelle. Bl Harley 2253, f. 75vb 2.5 þah] ms þaþ

14. One of the grimmest of these reflections on mortality. The phases of our concrete being in this world, their parallelism underlined by the two sustained rhymes, are in turn pitiful, insignificant, painful, and disgusting. Kyndeli is now mi coming Into þis [werld] wiht teres and cry. Litel and pouere is myn having, Briþel and sone ifalle from hi. Scharp and strong is mi deying, I ne woth whider schal I. Fowl and stinkande is mi roting, On me, Jhesu, þow have mercy.

creaturely

fallen from high I know not whither I must (go)

Bl Harley 2316, f. 25r þ written as ȝ 2 werld] ms omits a word here

15. The irretrievable loss of the past, and its message that the present must suffer the same fate, is summed up in the sadly echoing “yesterday,” rounding off each stanza. Whon men beoþ muriest at heor mele, Wiþ mete & drink to maken hem glade, Wiþ worschip & with worldlich wele,

meal prestige; prosperity

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Þei ben so set þey conne not sade. *Þei have no deynte for to dele With þinges þat ben devoutli made; Þei weene heor honour & heore hele Schal ever laste & never diffade. But in heor hertes I wolde þei hade, Whon þei gon ricchest men on aray, Hou sone þat God hem may degrade, And sumtyme þenk on ȝusterday. 2 Þis day as leef we may be liht Wiþ al þe murþes þat men may vise, To revele wiþ þis buirdes briht, Uche mon gayest on his gyse. At þe last hit draweþ to niht, Þat slep most make his maystrise. Whon þat he haþ ikud his miht, Þe morwe he boskeþ up to rise, Þen al draweþ hem to fantasy[s]e. Wher he is bicomen con no mon say, And ȝif heo wuste þei weore ful wise, For al is tornd to ȝesterday. 3 Whose wolde þenke uppon þis Mihte fynde a good enchesun whi To preve þis world alwei iwis Hit nis but fantum and feiri. Þis erþly joye, þis worldly blis Is but a fikel fantasy, For nou hit is and nou hit nis; Þer may no mon þerinne affy. Hit chaungeþ so ofte & so sodeynly; Today is her tomorwe away. A siker ground ho wol him gy, I rede he þenke on ȝusterday.

habituated; cannot be serious pleasure think; good fortune fade go; apparel

delights; devise ladies style exercise his power shown his might prepares turn (themselves) into illusions what has become of them if they knew

whoever reason why always, certainly is nothing but phantom and enchantment

now it is and now it is not have confidence in it

whoever wants to direct himself a sure way advise

Poems on Mortality

4 For þer nis non so strong in stour, Fro tyme þat he ful waxen be, From þat day forþ everuch an hour Of his strengþe he leost a quantite. Ne no buyrde so briht in bour Of þritti winter, I enseure þe, Þat heo ne schal fade as a flour, Luite and luite leosen hire beute. Þe soþe ȝe may ȝorself ise Beo ȝor eldres, in good fay. Whon ȝe ben grettest in ȝour degre, I rede ȝe þenke on ȝesterday. 5 Nis non so fresch on fote to fare, Ne non so fayr on fold to fynde, Þat þei ne schul abere be brouȝt ful bare. Þis wrecched world nis but a wynde, Ne non so stif to stunte ne stare, Ne non so bold beores to bynde, Þat he naþ warnynges to beoware. For God is so corteys and so kynde— Bihold þe lame, þe bedrede, þe blynde— Þat bit ȝou bewar whil þat ȝe may: Þei make a mirour to ȝor mynde, To seo þe schap of ȝesterday. 6 Þe lyf þat eny mon schal lede Beþ certeyn dayes atte last; Þen moste ur terme schorte nede, Be o day comen anoþer is past. Hereof and we wolde take good hede And in ur hertes acountes cast, Day bi day, wiþouten drede, Toward ur ende we draweþ ful fast.

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battle full grown every hour loses lady assure lose little by little you can see the truth yourself by your elders, truly

on earth to the bier; quite naked resolute to stand unstaring to tie up bears has not; beware bedridden bids you

a certain number of days must needs grow short by (the time when) one day comes if we would reckon up accounts without doubt

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Þen schal ur bodies in erþe be þrast, Ur careyns chouched under clay. Herof we ouȝte beo sore agast, And we wolde þenke on ȝesterday. 7 Salamon seide, in his poysi, He holdeþ wel betere with an hounde Þat is lykyng and joly And of seknesse hol and sounde, Þen be a leon, þouȝ he ly Cold and ded uppon þe grounde. Wherof serveþ his victori Þat was so stif in uche a stounde? Þe moste fool I herde respounde Is wysore, whil he lyve may, Þen he þat hedde a þousend pounde, And was buried ȝusterday. 8 **Socrates seiþ a word ful wys: Hit were wel betere for to se A mon þat nou parteþ and dys Þen a feste of realte. Þe feste wol make his flesch to ris And drawe his herte to vanite; Þe bodi þat on þe bere lys Scheweþ þe same þat we schal be. Þat ferful fit may no mon fle, Ne wiþ no wiles win hit away. Þerfore, amon[g] al jolyte, Sumtyme þenk on ȝusterday. 9 But ȝit me merveyles over al, Þat God let mony mon croke and elde, Whon miht & strengþe is from hem fal,

our carcasses be laid terrified

poetry thinks better of pleasing and lively than of a lion

valiant in every trial wiser

departs and dies a royal feast

stratagems; get it away merriment

I wonder grow bent and grow old

Poems on Mortality

Þat þei may not hemself awelde. And now þis beggers most principal, Þat good ne profyt may non ȝelde. To þis purpos onswere I schal, Whi God sent such men boote & belde: Crist þat made boþe flour & felde Let suche men lyve, for soþe to say; Whon a ȝong mon on hem bihelde, Scholde seo þe schap of ȝesterday. 10 Anoþur skile þer is forwhi Þat God let such men live so longe: For þei beþ treacle and remedi For synful men þat han do wronge. In hem þe seven dedes of merci A mon may fulfille amonge, And also þis proude men mai þerbi A feir mirour underfonge. For þer nis non so stif ne stronge, Ne no ladi stout ne gay— Bihold what over hor hed con honge, And sumtyme þenk on ȝusterday.

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control their bodies (“themselves”) especially provide relief and comfort truly he would see the shape

reason why salve

meanwhile receive a fair mirror there is no one so valiant vigorous what hangs over their heads

11 I have wist, sin I cuþe meen, known as long as I can (“could”) remember Þat children haþ bi candel liht seen their shadow Heor schadewe on þe wal isen And ronne þerafter al þe niht. run after it Bisy aboute þei han ben To cacchen hit with al heore miht, think most confidently And whon þei cacchen hit best wolde wene Sannest hit schet out of heor siht. most suddenly it vanishes Þe schadewe cacchen þei ne miht, snares For no lynes þat þei couþe lay. Þis schadewe I may likne ariht To þis world and ȝusterday.

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12 Into þis world whon we beþ brouȝt We schul be tempt to covetyse, And al þi wit schal be þorw souȝt To more good þen þou may suffyse. Whon þou þenkest best in þi þouȝt On richesse fo[r] te regne and ryse, Al þi travayle turneþ to nouȝt For sodeynly on deþ þou dyese. Þi lyf þou hast ilad wiþ lyȝes, So þis world gon þe betray. Þerfore I rede þou þis dispys, And sumtyme þenk on ȝusterday. 13 Mon, ȝif þi neiȝebor þe manas Oþur to culle or to bete, I knowe me siker in þe cas Þat þou wolt drede þi neiȝebores þrete, And never a day þi dore to pas Wiþoute siker defense and grete And ben purveyed in uche a plas, Of sikernes and help to gete. Þin enymy woltou not forȝete, But ay beo afert of his affray. Ensaumple herof I wol ȝou trete To make ȝou þenke of ȝusterday. 14 Wel þou wost wiþouten fayle Þat deþ haþ manast þe to dye, But whon þat he wol þe asayle Þat wost þou not, ne never may spye. Ȝif þou wolt don be my counsayle, Wiþ siker defence beo ay redye,

covetousness intelligence; thoroughly scanned to (acquire) more possessions than you need

labour you will die led your life with lies just as this world has betrayed you advise you despise this

threatens kill or beat know (for myself) certainly in that case never go outside your door reliable provided in every place security you will not forget always be afraid of his attack I will relate an example for you

you know threatened

sure

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Poems on Mortality

For siker defence in þis batayle Is clene lyf parfyt and trye. ***Put þi trust in Godes mercye; Hit is þe beste at al assay, And ever among þou þe ennuye Into þis world and ȝusterday.

perfect and excellent

constantly be weary (“weary yourself ”) with regard to this world

15 Sum men seiþ þat deþ is a þef, And al unwarned wol on him stele, And I sey nay and make a pref Þat deþ is studefast, trewe, and lele, And warneþ uche mon of his greef, Þat he wol o day wiþ him dele. Þe lyf þat is to ow so leof He wol ȝou reve and eke [ȝ]or hele. Þis poyntes may no mon him repele; He comeþ so baldely to pyke his pray. Whon men beoþ murgest at heor mele, I rede ȝe þenke on ȝusterday.

proof steadfast; loyal harsh misfortune (“grief ”) one day present to him so dear to you take away, and your well-being too no one can make him take back merriest at their meal

Bodl Eng poet a.1, f. 408ra–va 8.11 among] ms a mon; 15.8 ȝor] from Add, ms or *col. b; **col. c; ***f. 408va

16. Blind, deaf, and infirm, Audelay asks for courage to face his own death. Lade helpe, Jhesu merce, (John Audelay) Timor mortis conturbat me. 1 Dred of deþ, sorow of syn Trobils my hert ful grevysly. My soule hit nyþ with my lust þen. Passio Christi conforta me.

the fear of death disturbs me

afflicts in opposition to my desire Passion of Christ give me courage

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2 Fore blyndnes is a heve þyng, And to be def þerwith only, To lese my lyȝt & my heryng. Passio Christi conforta me. 3 & to lese my tast & my smellyng, & to be seke in my body. Here have I lost al my lykyng. Passio Christi conforta me. 4 Þus God he ȝeves & takys away, & as he wil so mot hit be. His name be blessid boþ nyȝt & daye. Passio Christi conforta me.

lose my sight

pleasure

gives so must it be

5 Here is a cause of gret mornyng. Of myselfe noþyng I se Save filþ, unclennes, vile stynkyng. Passio Christi conforta me. 6 Into þis word no more I broȝt, No more I gete with me trewly, Save good ded, word, wil, & þoȝt. Passio Christi conforta me. 7 The v wondis of Jhesu Crist, My midsyne now mot þai be, Þe fyndis pouere downe to cast. *Passio Christi conforta me.

world

five wounds medicine fiend’s (Devil’s) power

Poems on Mortality

8 As I lay seke in my langure, With sorow of hert & teere of ye, Þis caral I made with gret doloure. Passio Christi conforta me.

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sickness eye suffering

9 Oft with þese prayere I me blest: “In manus tuas, Domine, Þou take my soule into þi rest. Passio Christi conforta me.”

“into thy hands, Lord”

10 Mare moder, merceful may, Fore þe joys þou hadist, lady, To þi sun fore me þou pray. Passio Christi conforta me.

mother Mary, merciful maid

11 Lerne þis lesson of blynd Awdlay: When bale is hyest, þen bot may be. Ȝif þou be nyd, nyȝt or day, Say “Passio Christi conforta me.”

disaster is greatest; remedy is possible distressed

Bodl Douce 302, ff. 30v and 32r *f. 32r (the intervening f. 31 is misbound)

17. With its talking bird and matter-of-fact narrator, this poem handles the sombre timor mortis message much more lightly than Audelay’s lyric on the same theme. In what estate so ever I be, Timor mortis conturbat me.

the fear of death disturbs me

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1 As I went in a mery mornyng, I hard a byrd boþe wep & syng. Þys was the tenowr of her talkyng: “Timor etc.” 2 I asked þat byrd what sche ment. “I am a musket boþe fayer & gent; For dred of deth I am al schent. Timor etc.

substance

sparrowhawk; beautiful confounded

3 Whan I schal dey, I know no day, What countre or place I cannot sey, Wherfor þis song syng I may: Timor etc. 4 Jhesu Cryst whane he schuld dey, To hys fader he gan sey: ‘Fader,’ he seyd, ‘in Trinyte, Timor etc.’ 5 *Al Crysten pepull behold & se. Þis world is but a vanyte, & replet with necessyte. Timor etc. 6 Wak I or sclep, ete or drynke, Whan I on my last end do þynk, For grete fer my sowle do shrynke. Timor etc.”

an empty thing fraught with inescapable destiny

sleep

Poems on Mortality

7 God graunte us grace hym for to serve, & be at owr end whan we sterve, & frome þe fynd he us preserve. Timor etc.

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die fiend (Devil)

Bodl Eng poet e.1, ff. 38v–39r *f. 39r

18. The “I” of the poem speaks from the grave. His invincible antagonist Death is variously personified in stanza 2: a summoner bringing the speaker to justice, an opponent at chess, a cunning lawyer dissolving the compact between body and soul, a sexton disposing of the corpse. Farewell, this world! I take my leve forevere. I am arested to apere at Goddes face. O myghtyfull God, þu knowest that I had levere Than all this world to have oone houre space, To make asythe for all my grete trespace. My hert, alas, is brokyne for that sorowe. Sum are today shall not be tomorowe. 2 This lyfe I see is but a cheyre feyre. All thynges passene, and so most I algate. Today I sat full ryall in a cheyere, Tyll sotell deth knokyd at my gate, And onavysed he seyd to me chekmate. Lo, how sotell he maketh a devors, And wormys to fede he hath here leyd my cors. 3 Speke softe ye folk, for I am leyd aslepe. I have my dreme, in trust is moche treson. From dethes hold feyne wold I make a lepe, But my wysdom is turnyd into feble resoun.

I would rather to pay for

cherry fair absolutely royal; chair cunning unexpectedly a putting away (“divorce”)

deceitfulness leap feeble reason

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[I see this worldes joye lastith but a season.] Wold to God I had remembyrd me beforne. I sey no more but “Beware of ane horne!” 4 This febyll world so fals and so unstable Promoteth his lovers for a lytell while, But at the last he yeveth hem a bable, Whene his peynted [trowth is torned into gile. Experyence cawsith me þe trowth to compile, Thynkyng this, to late, alas, that I began, For foly and hope disseyveth many a man. 5 Farewell, my frendes! The tide abideth no man. I moste departe hanes, & so shall ye. But in this passage the beste song þat I can Is “Requiem Eternam”: I pray God grant it me. Whan I have endid all myn adversite, Graunte me in paradise to have a mancyon, That shede his blode for my redempcion. 6 Beati mortui qui in domino moriuntur. Humiliatus sum vermis.] tcc o .2.53, f. 67r

a horn

bauble truth; deceit

the appointed time waits for no one hence know “Eternal Rest” dwelling place

blessed are the dead which die in the Lord I am brought low for worms

Personal Devotion

Different from the grim or sombre poetry on mortality, the poems of personal devotion express an affective piety that seeks to move the heart by love, not fear. They often use language influenced by the poetry of sexual love. Sometimes in the voice of sinful mankind, sometimes in that of Christ, these lyrics stir the reader/listener – or the reciter/ performer – to turn away from the world and towards God. They offer an incentive based on love: contemplation of Christ’s love, suffering, and summons prompts a reciprocal love in the human heart. All the stanzas of Poem 21 begin with “Suete Jhesu,” and there is a similar emotional involvement in the “Ha Jesu” of 23, an emotion that would have been heightened by being sung, as we know this poem was. Christ is “my lemmon” (“my sweetheart,” Quanne hic se on rode, 20); mankind is “min owine swet hart” to Christ (Com home agayne, 35). Al oþer love is lych þe mone (26) explicitly contrasts secular love with the steadfast love of Mary and Christ. While such language has another ancestor in the Hebrew love poetry of the Song of Songs, allegorized as the love of Christ for his bride the Church, the contemporary, vernacular, influence is more noticeable. In Harley 2253 there are two consecutive poems beginning “Lutel wot

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hit any mon” (“Little does anyone know”), the first (22) telling of divine, the second (90) of sexual love. The two share an opening line and overall structure, use a similar refrain, and resemble each other in the vocabulary of the first stanza. External as well as internal evidence indicates that the religious poem borrowed from the erotic one, rather than the other way round (see Notes). The secular version speaks of “derne [secret] love”; the devotional version, of Christ the lover being “bound” by love – both courtly conventions. At the end of Love me brouthte (31), Christ is the lover-knight, who has sought his lady (here, the sinner) and won her “in fight.” The voices of these lyrics are, accordingly, somewhat different from those in the previous section. The “I” of sinful mankind, though still generic, is more intimate, and the humanity of Christ is emphasized. The autobiographical voice in Loverd, þu clepedest me (24), taken from the Confessions of St Augustine, seems to be specific, not generic. But the speaker’s affliction with sloth is a universal human weakness, and most readers will see themselves in it. On the ways in which the poem is personal, see Introduction, 32–3, above. Steddefast crosse (25), a translation from a sixth-century choral-voiced hymn, is less intimate and more public, but, with its focus on sweetness, clearly a poem of affective piety (on the dulcedo/suavitas trope in Latin authors, ancient and medieval, see Carruthers, “Sweetness”). The address to the Cross is imbued with love rather than awe or horror: the nails, the “tree,” and the tree’s burden (the body of Christ) are precious and sweet, because salvific. Frequently these poems invite the hearer/reader, identifying with the poetic voice, to a close visual contemplation of the crucifixion scene, focussing on specific details: face defiled by blood and spittle; wounded hands, feet, and side; scourged back; flowing blood. Gruesome in themselves, these marks of suffering are beautified by love. The re-enactment of the crucifixion constructed here is anticipated by the Old English Dream of the Rood (aspr 2.61–5), similar in its devotional purpose, its voice of a penitent sinner, and its emphasis on Jesus as human being, but very different in its methodology, which presents, within the framing narrative of a dream, the story of the personified Cross, who speaks of its relationship to the suffering Christ very much as retainer to lord in Old English heroic poetry. The first of the examples that follow, Nou goth sonne under wod (19), is also one of the most memorable. The speaker, seeing the sun setting behind the trees, thinks of the Son and the Tree. St Edmund (Rich), Archbishop of Canterbury from 1233 to 1240, quotes it in his Merure de Seinte Eglise, urging his listeners, or readers, to think of the grief-stricken face of Mary at

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the Cross. The background of the poem, attributed simply to “un Engleis” by Edmund, is unknown, but it is preserved in many manuscript versions of the Merure, some in Latin, some French, and a few in English. On its poetic technique see further 33, above. Quanne hic se on rode (20), also brief and narrowly focussed, is more rhetorical and dramatic. This lyric is based on a Latin meditation attributed to St Bernard of Clairvaux. With its simplicity, heightened feeling, and repeated closing line, a repetition only explicitly set out in the Royal text, the poem may well have been given sung performance, as Brown thought (XIII , 195), although, as Woolf points out, meditative religious lyric of an interior kind was not usually sung (3). Poem 21, Suete Jhesu, of which there are many versions, must have been a very popular poetic prayer. Each stanza tenderly appeals to Jesus as the beloved, the words “sweet,” “heart,” and “love” repeated again and again. The major themes of Christian prayer are covered, a little disconnectedly: Christ’s birth, his redemption of mankind on the Cross, requests for mercy on the speaker’s sin, Mary as mediator, the sacrament of the Eucharist. There are some fillers – most obviously “Wheþer y be souþ oþer west” (12.3) – and the poem is evidently constrained by its rhymes, one per four-line stanza. More diffuse and programmatic than the previous two poems, this lyric, if not inspirational, would still have provided a valuable exercise in contemplation. Similar in purpose, Poem 23, Worldes blisce have god day, though its opening suggests differently, is a much more sharply focussed meditation, startling in its graphic detail, on the crucified body of Christ. Equally intense, 27, Jhesu Crist, my lemmon swete, refers to the Five Wounds in Jesus’s body, especially that made by the spear after his death. The speaker, “with all his might,” strives to reproduce the depth and sureness of that thrust, transformed from callous violence to regenerating love “fast fixed” in his own heart. 29, Gold & al þis werdis wyn, expresses the longing not just to empathize with Christ’s suffering, but to be overwhelmed by it, clad in his bleeding skin and dwelling in his heart. The mysticism of the speaker can hardly be separated from that of the poet – whether Grimestone or another person. He – or she – seems to desire not just an annihilation of the world and its claims, but a total absorption of the self, as the metaphysical poet Henry Vaughan does, more abstractly: “O for that night! where I in him / Might live invisible and dim” (The Night, closing lines). Luveli ter of loveli eyȝe (28) is found, along with the similarly emotive 29, 31, 32, and 40, among the items in the Preaching Book of Friar John Grimestone, a collection of devotional lyrics, many translating Latin verses

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which accompany them. Grimestone is identified by a colophon and the date 1372, but nothing else is known for sure about him (see Notes). In Luveli ter Christ weeps for sinful humanity. The speaker imagines Christ’s suffering, beautified by love, and it inspires a love in his own heart that leads to grief, penitence, and salvation. Here, the carol, often associated with celebration, is the vehicle for meditation and reflection, as in Audelay’s Lade helpe, Jhesu merce (16). Poems 31 and 32 (Love me brouthte and Ȝe þat pasen be þe weyȝe) evoke the same feelings, but prompted by the voice of Christ reminding humanity of his struggle and sacrifice. The carol form is also used, dramatically, in James Ryman’s Revert, revert, revert, revert (34), and frames Christ’s call to mankind, his sweetheart who has gone astray, in Com home agayne (35). One of two dialogue poems in this section, Stond wel, moder, ounder rode (30), which voices the words of Jesus on the Cross and Mary standing close by, might equally well have been placed in the Marian section. The dialogue form is a little unusual; more commonly Jesus and Mary speak alone. As the poem’s heading, Chauncon de Noustre Dame, and its assignment of the final words to Mary suggest, it is she who is the focus of pathos here. In a general way, this lyric resembles laments of Mary in the Stabat mater tradition (see Notes). It is not the words of Christ, but those of his mother, that generate empathy. He offers her reassurance in the first half of each stanza, and she responds in the second half with helpless grief. Effectively, he gives her a doctrinal lecture on the necessity of the atonement accomplished by his death. For this reason, counterintuitively, she should be glad. How can she be! The emotional centre of the poem remains to the end her grief and her despair. Also in dialogue form, O man unkynde (33) consists of Querela divina (divine complaint) followed by responsio humana (human response). This poem, one of the later lyrics here, is unusual for another reason too: its visual appearance is important. A stark little short-lined summary of the salvation narrative, O man unkynde is interesting especially for its striking mise-enpage. In a manuscript of devotional and instructive material accompanied by many fairly unsophisticated line drawings enhanced with colour, this piece of verse is graphically presented as a dramatic meditation dominated by the illustration alongside. This, as Rosemary Woolf notes, constitutes an essential part of its effect. See Woolf (375), and, on the interrelationship between text and image in this Carthusian manuscript more generally, Jessica Brantley, Reading in the Wilderness. The poem is written down the left side of the

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page, beside a huge wounded heart and a standing Christ, covered with blood drops, showing his afflicted body to a man kneeling before him. This motif, known to modern iconography as the Man of Sorrows (with reference to Isaiah 53:3) or, medievally, the imago pietatis (image of pity), figures prominently, and often powerfully, in the European art of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance. The Revert poem (34) comes from the manuscript of sacred verse attributed in a colophon to the Franciscan James Ryman, who belonged to a convent in Canterbury in the later fifteenth century. Like Grimestone, little else is known about him. As in the other poems that adopt the voice of Christ, man(kind) is reminded of all Christ’s claims on him, with particular insistence in this the most rhetorical of these lyrics. The first line of the burden repeats its imperative four times. Stanzas 1 to 4 and 6 to 9 begin with an assertive “Have myende,” stanza 5 varying it with an evidentiary “Behold,” and stanza 10 with a conclusive “Bothe for my dethe and paynes smert.” The small return that Christ repeatedly asks from “synfull man” for all of this is his heart. For the manuscript contexts of these poems, found in miscellanies, instructive works, sermons, and preaching collections, see the introduction to “Poems on Mortality,” above. Samples of Middle English prose texts of a devotional nature written between 1350 and 1450 are to be found in Cultures of Piety, edited by Anne Bartlett and Thomas Bestul.

t h e voI ce o f m a n kI nd 19. Wordplay on the Cross/wood and the sun/Son gives imaginative richness to these lines in which the speaker is prompted by a sunset to reflect on and share Mary’s grief. Nou goth sonne under wod, Me reweth, Marie, þi faire rode. Nou goþ sonne under tre, Me reweþ, Marie, þi sone and þe. Bodl Arch Selden supra 74, f. 55v

I am grieved ... for your fair face

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20. Startling in its plainness and economy, Quanne hic se on rode contemplates the Crucifixion with empathy and love. Quanne hic se on rode Jhesu mi lemman, An besiden him stonden Marie an Johan, And his rig isuongen And his side istungen For þe luve of man, Wel ou hic to wepen And sinnes forleten, Yif hic of luve kan, Yif hic of luve kan, Yif hic of luve kan.

When I see on the cross my sweetheart

his back scourged pierced I ought abandon if I know about love

Bl Royal 12.e .I , f. 194v

21. Less concentrated in its effect than the previous two lyrics, this poem, with its insistent repetitions focussing on Jesus as the human heart’s desire, offers spiritual discipline as well as affectivity. Suete Jhesu king of blysse, Myn huerte love, min huerte lisse, Þou art suete myd ywisse; Wo is him þat þe shal misse. 2 Suete Jhesu min huerte lyht, Þou art day wiþoute nyht, Þou ȝeve me streinþe & eke myht For te lovien þe aryht.

my heart’s joy with certainty

give me strength and also might

Personal Devotion

3 Suete Jhesu min huerte bote, In myn huerte þou sete a rote Of þi love þat is so swote, And leve þat hit springe mote. 4 Suete Jhesu min huerte gleem, Bryhtore þen þe sonne beem, Ybore þou were in Bedleheem; Þou make me here þi suete dreem. 5 Suete Jhesu, þi love is suete; Wo is him þat þe shal lete. Þarefore me shulden ofte þe grete Wiþ salte teres & eȝe wete. 6 Suete Jhesu kyng of londe, Þou make me fer understonde, Þat min herte mote fonde Hou suete bueþ þi love-bonde. 7 *Swete Jhesu loverd myn, My lyf, myn huerte, al is þin; Undo myn herte & liht þeryn, Ant wite me from fendes engyn. 8 Suete Jhesu my soule fode, Þin werkes bueþ bo suete & gode; Þou bohtest me upon þe rode, For me þou sheddest þi blode.

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my heart’s cure set a root sweet grant that it may grow

your sweet music

let go I ought often to greet you wet eye

make me (to) understand so that my heart may find how sweet are the bonds of your love

my lord alight therein guard me from the wiles of the Devil

your works are both sweet and good

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9 Suete Jhesu, me reoweþ sore Gultes þat y ha wroht ȝore. Þarefore y bidde þin mylse & ore. Merci lord, y nul na more. 10 Suete Jhesu loverd god, Þou me bohtest wiþ þi blod; Out of þin huerte orn þe flod; Þi moder hit seh þat þe by stod. 11 Suete Jhesu bryht & shene, Y preye þe þou here my bene, Þourh erndyng of þe hevene quene, Þat my bone be nou sene.

I sorely regret sins that I have wrought before I ask your kindness and grace I wish no more

ran the flood your mother who stood by you saw it

shining I pray that you hear my request through mediation of the queen of heaven so that my request be now noticed

12 Suete Jhesu berne best, Wiþ [þe] ich hope habbe rest, Wheþer y be souþ oþer west, Þe help of þe be me nest.

may your help be very close to me

13 Suete Jhesu, wel may him be Þat þe may in blisse se; After mi soule let aungles te, For me ne gladieþ gome ne gle.

who can see you in bliss let angels come for my soul neither pleasure nor sport cheer me

14 Suete Jhesu hevene kyng, Feir & best of alle þyng, Þou bring me of þis longing & come to þe at myn endyng.

best son I hope to have

(may I) come to you

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15 Suete Jhesu al folkes reed, Graunte ous er we buen ded Þe underfonge in fourme of bred, Ant seþþe to heovene þou us led.

counsel grant us before we are dead to receive you in the form of bread afterwards lead us to heaven

Bl Harley 2253, f. 75rb–75va 5.4 wete] ms wepe; 9.2 wroht] ms wroþt; 12.2 þe] ms omits *f. 75va

22. Lutel wot hit any mon nicely illustrates the adaptation of conventions associated with secular love to the poetry of affective piety. Lutel wot hit any mon little does anyone know Hou love hym haveþ ybounde, on the cross ran with blood Þat for us o þe rode ron Ant bohte us wiþ is wounde. Þe love of him us haveþ ymaked sounde, the grim spirit (i.e., the Devil) Ant ycast þe grimly gost to grounde. Ever & oo, nyht & day, he haveþ us in is þohte. constantly and forever He nul nout leose þat he so deore bohte. does not wish to lose what he 2 He bohte us wiþ is holy blod— What shulde he don us more? He is so meoke, milde, & good, He na gulte nout þerfore. Þat we han ydon y rede we reowen sore, Ant crien ever to Jhesu, “Crist þyn ore.” Ever & oo, niht & day, etc. 3 He seh his fader so wonder wroht Wiþ mon þat wes yfalle.

bought so dear

he sinned not at all for it (his punishment) what we have done I counsel we repent Christ, (grant us) your grace

wroth (angry) fallen

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Wiþ herte sor he seide is oht Whe shulde abuggen alle. His suete sone to hym gon clepe & calle, & preiede he moste deye for us alle. Ever & oo, etc. 4 He brohte us alle from þe deþ, & dude us frendes dede. Suete Jhesu of Nazareth, Þou do us hevene mede. Upon þe rode why nulle we taken hede? His greve wounde so grimly conne blede. Ever & oo, etc. 5 His deope wounden bledeþ fast; Of hem we ohte munne. He haþ ous out of helle ycast, Ybroht us out of sunne. For love of us his wonges waxeþ þunne. His herte blod he ȝef for al monkunne. Ever & oo, etc.

said his oath we should all pay (the penalty) began to address him prayed he might (be permitted to) die

did the deed of a friend for us grant us reward in heaven why will we not take heed of the cross

we ought to think about them

his cheeks grow thin he gave for all mankind

Bl Harley 2253, f. 128r

23. The contemptus mundi introduction here suggests a meditation on transience like that in Worldes blis ne last no þrowe (10), but the present poem immediately shifts into a visual contemplation of the suffering of the crucified Christ, very similar to Quanne hic se on rode (20), and, similarly, ends with the love kindled in the sinner’s heart by that contemplation. Worldes blisce have god day! Nou fram min herte wand away. Him for to loven min hert his went

farewell worldly bliss turn away is turned

Personal Devotion

Þat þurȝ his side spere rent; His herte blod ssadde for me, Nayled to þe harde tre. Þat swete bodi was ytend, Prened wit nayles þre.

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tore shed afflicted pierced

2 Ha Jesu, þin holi hefd Wit ssarpe þornes was byweved, Þi feyre neb was al bispet, Wit spot and blod meynd al bywet; Fro þe crune to þe to Þi body was ful of pine and wo, And wan and red.

holy head entwined your fair face was all spat upon all wet with mingled spit and blood from the crown to the toe pale and red

3 Ha Jesu, þi smarte ded Be my sseld and my red Fram develes lore. Ha suete Jesu, þin hore For þine pines sore, Thech min herte riȝt love þe, Ȝwas herte blod was ssed for me.

your painful death shield; counsel (grant me) your grace severe torments teach my heart to love you aright whose heart’s blood was shed for me

cccc 8, f. 270r

24. Translated from St Augustine, Confessions 8.5.12, this is a very human anecdote of procrastination, the ordinariness of the speaker brought out by the homely language of drowsy protest in which he asks to be left in peace for a bit. Loverd, þu clepedest me, An ich naȝt ne ansuarede þe, Bute wordes scloe and sclepie: “Þole yet, þole a litel.”

lord, you called me and I answered you nothing slow and sleepy be patient for now

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Bute yiet and yiet was endelis, and þole a litel a long wey is. New College Oxf 88, f. 181v

25. These lines translate stanza 8, Crux fidelis, of the hymn Pange lingua (“Compose, my tongue”) by Venantius Fortunatus, which was conventionally sung at the Adoration of the Cross on Good Friday. The Pange lingua was written by Venantius in 569 for the procession bringing a fragment of the True Cross to St Radegund at her monastery in Poitiers. Steddefast crosse inmong alle oþer, of great worth Þow art a tre mykel of pryse. In braw[n]che and flore swyl[k] anoþer such another I ne wot non in wode no rys. I know none in wood or thicket Swete be þe nalys, and swete be þe tre, And sweter be þe birdyn þat hangis uppon the. Merton Oxf 248, f. 167r

26. The speaker turns from the transient and changing loves of this world to the only steadfast love, found in Christ and Mary, and wishes that love to prompt a similar love in him. Stanzas 6 and 7 are rather obscure. They seem to indicate former persecution but also sin, which can be redeemed by trust in Christ more surely than by penitential pilgrimage to Rome. Al oþer love is lych þe mone, Þat wext and wanet as flour in plein, As flour þat fayret and fawyt sone, As day [þat a]dd[au]t and [en]dt in rein. 2 Al [oþer] l[ove] bigint bi blisse, In wep and wo mak is hendyng.

grows fair and fades brightens

in weeping and woe makes its ending

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No love þer nis þat oure halle lysse [Bot] wat areste in evene kyng. 3 Wos love ys … [and] evre grene And evre ful wythoute wanyng. Is love suetyth wythoute tene; Is love is hendles and aring.

that gives us all joy rests in the king of heaven

his love makes sweetness without pain endless and everywhere

4 Al oþer love y flo for þe. Tel me, tel me wer þou lyst. “In Marie mylde an fre I schal be founde, ak mor [in] Crist.” 5 Crist me founde, nouht y þe, hast. Hald me to þe wiht al [þi] meyn. Help geld þat mi love be st[ed]fa[st] Lest þus sone it turne a[geyn].

fly from

but more

(you) have found me, not I you with all your might grant help (so) that

6 Wan nou hy[e]t myn hert is sor— Ywis hie spilt myn h[er]te blod. God canne mi lef, y [care na mor]; Hyet y hoppe hys wil be god.

still (“yet”) indeed; they spilled knows my life yet; I hope

7 Allas what wole y a Rome? Seye y may in lore of love, “Undo y am by manne dome, Bot he me help þat syt [a]bo[ve].”

doctrine the judgment of men who sits above

Eton College 36, Part II , f. 103r 1.4 addaut] ms unclear; 2.4 bot] not in ms ; 3.1 no gap in ms ; 6.1 hyet] ms hyt

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27. A succinct meditation on the Five Wounds (in Jesus’s crucified body), notable for its image of the spear thrust into the dead Christ’s side. Jhesu Crist my lemmon swete Þat diȝedest on þe rode tre, Wiþ al my miht I þe beseche, For þi woundes two and þre, Þat also faste mot þi love Into myn herte ficched be, As was þe spere into þin herte Whon þou soffredest deþ for me.

sweetheart died on the cross tree

fixed

Bodl Eng poet a.1, f. 114vb

28. Although the poem moves a little glibly through the standard motifs of the crucifixion scene, a deeper feeling is sustained through the touching image of the lovely tear, repeated after every stanza, and forming the poem’s close. Lu[v]eli ter of loveli eyȝe, Qui dostu me so wo? Sorful ter of sorful eyȝe, Þu brekst myn herte a-to. 1 Þu sikest sore, Þi sorwe is more Þan mannis muth may telle; Þu singest of sorwe, Manken to borwe, Out of þe pit of helle. Luveli …

eye

you sigh

buy back

Personal Devotion

2 I prud & kene, Þu meke an clene, Withouten wo or wile. Þu art ded for me, & I live þoru þe, So blissed be þat wile. Luveli …

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proud and fierce pure guile

time

3 *Þi moder seet Hou wo þe beet, & þerfore ȝerne sche ȝerte. To hire þu speke, Hire sorwe to sleke; Suet suet wan þin herte. Luveli …

sees how woeful it is for you she cried aloud without restraint abate a gentle appeal

4 Þin herte is rent, Þi bodi is bent, Upon þe rode tre; Þe weder is went, Þe devel is schent, Crist þoru þe mith of þe. Luveli …

the storm has gone vanquished might

nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 124vab 1.1 luveli] ms lueli; 4.3 ȝerte] ms ȝepte *col. b

29. Christ as refuge is a familiar theme, but this poem conceptualizes it in a striking, and to a modern sensibility rather disconcerting, conceit: actually entering Christ’s bleeding crucified body.

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Gold & al þis werdis wyn Is nouth but Cristis rode. I wolde ben clad in Cristis skyn, Þat ran so longe on blode, & gon t’is herte & taken myn in: Þer is a fulsum fode. Þan ȝef I litel of kith or kyn, For þer is alle gode. Amen.

this world’s joy nothing without Christ’s cross

go to his heart; take my dwelling ample (would) give little for

nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 124vb

th e voIce o f c hr I s t 30. With its terse and simple wording, this lyric stages a dramatic scene: accepting son and devastated mother, unable to rise above her personal anguish to Christ’s transcendental view. Chauncoun de Noustre Dame “Stond wel, moder, ounder rode, Bihold þi child wiþ glade mode. Moder, bliþe miȝt þou be.” “Sone, hou may ich bliþe stonde? Ich se þine fet and þine honde Inayled to þe harde tre.” 2 “Moder, do wey þi wepinge. *Ich þolie deþ for monnes kuinde. Wor mine gultes ne þolie I non.” “Sone, ich fele þe deþes stounde. Þat swerd is at min herte grounde, Þat me byheyte Simeon.”

Song of Our Lady [rubric] under the cross mind you can be happy

nailed

cease endure; mankind for my guilt the pangs of death the sword is in the depth of my heart promised

Personal Devotion

3 “Moder, do wei þine teres, Þou wip awey þe blodi teres. Hy doþ me worse þene mi deþ.” “Sone, hou miȝtte ich teres werne? I se þine blodi woundes herne From þin herte to þi fot.” 4 “Moder, nou I may þe seye, Betere is þat ich one deye Þen alle monkun to helle go.” “Sone, I se þi bodi iswonge, Þine honde, þine fet, þi bodi istounge. Hit nis no wonder þey me be wo.” 5 “Moder, if ich þe dourste telle, If ich ne deye þou gost to helle; I þolie deþ for monnes sake.” “Sone, þou me bihest so milde. Icomen hit is of monnes kuinde Þat ich sike and serewe make.” 6 “Moder, merci, let me deye, And Adam out of helle beye, And monkun þat is forlore.” “Sone, wat sal me þe stounde? Þine pinen me bringeþ to þe grounde. Let me dey þe bifore.” 7 “Swete moder, nou þou fondest Of mi pine, þer þou stondest. Wiþhoute mi pine nere no mon.”

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they do me worse how could I prevent run (with blood)

I alone die all mankind scourged pierced it is (not) no wonder if (lit. “though”)

dared endure you are so kind to me it comes from man’s nature sigh and make sorrow

have pity ransom mankind; lost what (use) shall be to me your sufferings

you are experiencing (“tasting of ”) my suffering no one would be without my suffering

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“Sone, I wot I may þe telle, **Bote hit be þe pine of helle, Of more pine ne wot I non.”

I know except I know none

8 “Moder, of moder þus I fare. Nou þou wost wimmanes kare, Þou art clene mayden on.” “Sone, þou helpest alle nede, Alle þo þat to þe wille grede, May and wif and fowel wimmon.”

because of my mother? you know women’s trouble (labour pangs) you only all those who will cry to you maiden; sinful

9 “Moder, I ne may no lengore dwelle. Þe time is comen I go to helle. I þolie þis for þine sake.” “Sone, iwis I wille founde. I deye almest, I falle to grounde. So serwful deþ nes never non.”

remain endure indeed; collapse sorrowful; was never any

Bodl Digby 86, f. 127ra–va *col. b; **f. 127va

31. Like Com hom agayne (35), as well as some of the poems in the voice of mankind, Love me brouthte is charged with a particularly intimate affective piety that sublimates markedly sexual feelings. Here the lover is not sinful man but Christ, who has won the human soul in a duel with the Devil, almost as a knight-errant might win his lady from her captor. Love me brouthte, & love me wrouthte, Man, to be þi fere. Love me fedde, & love me ledde, & love me lettet here.

brought wrought companion

makes me stay

Personal Devotion

2 Love me slou, & love me drou, & love me leyde on bere. Love is my pes, For love I ches Man to byȝen dere.

111

slew drew peace chose to ransom at a high price

3 Ne dred þe nouth, I have þe south, Boþen day & nith. To haven þe, Wel is me; I have þe wonnen in fith.

do not fear (for yourself) at all sought night

fight

nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 121ra

32. In a briefly outlined but resonant scene, Christ appeals to humanity, his “fellows,” to stop as they go uncaringly on their way, and to think about the cruelty inflicted upon him. The first four lines are based on a typological interpretation of Lamentations 1:12, where the prophet Jeremiah laments for the desolation of Jerusalem, personified as a disgraced and weeping woman. The rest of the poem focusses on the crucified body and its wounds, culminating in the heart – the seat of love. Ȝe þat pasen be þe weyȝe, Abidet a litel stounde. Beholdet, al mi felawes, Ȝef ani me lik is founde. To þe tre with nailes þre Wol faste I hange bounde. With a spere al þoru mi side To min herte is mad a wounde. nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 125v

you; way wait a short time if well (very) through

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33. Christ’s reproach to man, and penitent man’s reply. The poem is less prominent on the manuscript page than the illustration that accompanies it: a blood-spattered Christ showing his wounds. Querela divina O man unkynde, Hafe in mynde My paynes smert. Beholde & see, Þat is for þe Percyd my hert. 2 And ȝitt I wolde, Or þan þu schuld Þi saule forsak, On cros with payne Scharp deth agayne For þi luf take. 3 For whilk I aske None oþer taske Bot luf agayne. Me þan to luf Al thyng abofe Þow aght be fayne. Responsio humana 4 O lord right dere, Þi wordes I here With hert ful sore.

divine complaint

sharp

yet before you should give up your soul

love

which in return then you should be glad human reply

Personal Devotion

Þerfore fro synne I hope to blynne And grefe no more.

113

cease cause (you) grief

5 Bot in þis case Now helpe þi grace My frelnes, Þat I may ever Do þi pleser With lastyngnes.

frailty pleasure constancy

6 Þis grace to gytt Þi moder eeke Ever be prone, Þat we may alle Into þi halle With joy cum sone. Amen.

get also let ... be (optative)

come quickly

Bl Add 37049, f. 20r

34. With insistent repetitions, Revert makes an emotional appeal to the sinner’s heart – the only thing Christ asks. The poem may be related to two stanzas (here printed immediately after) found in another part of the manuscript. Revert, revert, revert, revert. (James Ryman) O synfull man, geve me thyn hert. 1 *Have myende howe I mankyende have take Of a pure mayde, man, for thy sake, That were moost bonde moost fre to make. O sinfull man, &c.

come back

captive

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2 Have myende, thou synfull creature, I toke baptyme in thy nature Fro filthe of synne to make the pure. O synfull man, geve &c. 3 Have myende, man, how I toke the felde, Upon my bak bering my shelde, For payne ne dethe I wolde not yelde. O synfull man, yeve me &c. 4 Have myende I was put on the rode, And for thy sake shedde my hert blode. Beholde my payne, beholde my moode. O synfull &c. 5 Beholde me, hede, hande, foote, and side; Beholde my woundes fyve so wyde; Beholde the payne that I abyde. O synfull man, yeve me thyn hert.

nor

cross courage

endure

6 Have myende, man, how fast I was bounde For thy sake to a pilloure rounde, Scorged till my bloode fell to grounde. O synfull &c. 7 Have myende how I in fourme of bred Have left my flesshe and blode to wedde To make the quyk whenne thou art dedde. O synfull man, &c.

as a pledge alive

Personal Devotion

115

8 **Have myende, man, how I have the wrought, How with my bloode I have the bought, And how to blis I have the brought. O synfull man, &c. 9 O synfull man, beholde and see What I have done and do for the. Yf thou wilte be in blis with me, O synfull man, yeve me thyn hert. 10 Bothe for my dethe and paynes smert, That I suffred for thy desert, I aske no more, man, but thyne hert. Revert, revert, revert, revert.

come back

cul Ee.1.12, ff. 47v–48v *f. 48r; **f. 48v

34a. Possibly part of the preceding poem. Have mynd atte xxxti wynter old, To the Jewys hou I was sold By false Judas wyckyd and bold. O synfull man, &c. Have mynd, thou man thatt were forlorn, Hou my hede was crownyd wyth thorn. And hou the Juys did me schorn. O synfull man, &c. cul Ee.1.12, f. 3r

scorn

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35. In the burden, Christ addresses humanity with words of tender concern that sound like those of love between the sexes. There may be a hint of proto-Protestantism in the condemnation of straying mankind for seeking God in idols. Com home agayne, Com home agayne, Min owine swet hart, com home agayne. Ye are gone astray Owt of youer way; Ther[fore] com h[o]me agayne. 1 Mankend I cale, wich lyith in thrale, For love I mad the fre. To pay the det the prise was gret, From hell that I ranssomed the. 2 Mi blod so red for the was shed; The prise it ys not smale. Remembre welle what I the tell, & com whan I the kale.

lies price

call

3 Mi prophetes all, they ded the cale, For love I mad the free. ................. ................. 4 & I miselfe & mi postels twelfe, To prech was all mi thouth Mi faders kyngedom both hole & sound, Which that I so derly bouth.

apostles thought whole bought

Personal Devotion

5 Therefore refreyne, & torne agayne, & leve thyne owene intent, The which it is contrare, iwos, Onto mi commaundment. 6 Thow standest in dout & sekest about Where that thow mayst me se. Idoules be set, mony for to gyt, *Wich ys made of stone & tre. 7 I am no stoke nor no payncted bloke, Nor mad by no mannes hand. Bot I am he that shall los the From Satan the phinnes bonde. Bl Royal 17.B .XlIII , f. 184rv 1.1 thrale] ms frale; 1.2 mad] ms nad

*f. 184v 3.3–4. The MS contains no indication of anything missing here.

117

leave your own plan certainly

idols; to get money wood

stock; painted block release fiend’s

Marian Poems and Lullabies

Some of the most captivating and intriguing Middle English lyrics are found in the poem clusters associated with the Virgin Mary. All of the pieces selected here are imaginatively affective; most were intended to be sung. Like the poems in the previous section, but more implicitly, most of the lyrics here are characterized by a duality of perspective, a reciprocity (desirable, if not actual), and a deeply responsive relationship, in this case between humanity and Mary. Often the sentiments are expressed by a generic human voice, at once personal and communal. The lyric may adopt the elevated, emotional language of hymnody, as in 36 and 48 – and also, in a very distinctive, more grandiose style, Dunbar’s Hale, sterne superne (129), in the Scottish section. More simply, Mary is approached with humble gratitude in 38. She is contemplated as rose(-tree) in 45 and 48, as sweetheart in 46. In 41 and 49, she herself speaks, pleading and seeking to win over the human heart. She is presented in her roles as the mother of Christ and the epitome of loving womanhood, the sinner’s intercessor with her son, the counterpart of Eve, as Christ is of Adam. The key moments of her life, the Nativity and the Crucifixion, become

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the subject of type scenes staged as youthful mother tending her infant child in songs beginning “Lullay,” and mourning mother weeping her lament at the Cross. The mystery of her miraculous role in the Christian story is dwelt upon, especially in 43. This section also includes “lullay” poems in the same mode as the Marian ones but not voiced by Mary nor focussed on the Christ child – 39 and 47, the “Coventry Carol,” as well as poems that are only suggestive of Mary – 42, and, most mysterious of all, Poem 50, the “Corpus Christi Carol.” One of the earliest of the Marian lyrics, On hire is al mi lif ilong (37), is as much penitential prayer as praise for the Virgin Mary. The speaker has loved this world’s pleasures too much and resolves to amend. He admits his sinfulness, calls himself a wretch, and asks for punishment. In doing so, he seems to seek Mary’s direct agency in saving him from Hell, rather than, as more usually, her intercession on his behalf. He contrasts her with Eve, who brought night, woe, and sin, whereas Mary has brought day, renewal, and compassion. And he ends his catalogue of pleading and confession with a summary “Levedi, merci!” In the manuscript, this poem immediately follows the powerful Man mei longe him lives wene, or “Death’s Witherclench” (8). The two hymnic poems, Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt (36) and Ther is no rose of swych vertu (48), both combine devotion with celebration, in macaronic form, alternating English and Latin. The apostrophizing style and Latin interjections of the former suggest that it was probably intended to be sung, as the latter undoubtedly was, being preserved with music on the Trinity Carol Roll. The poem has been set to music more recently by Benjamin Britten in his 1942 Ceremony of Carols. Both songs are syntactically simple, their tone heightened by the Latin words and phrases that recall the liturgy. Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt, the more expansive of the two, appeals in each stanza to Mary as intercessor, addressing her with reverential epithets, Latin and English. The voice of devout but not unconfident supplication begins as individual and personal, but shifts to communal, a movement that is common in the poems in this section. Conventionally, and eloquently, Mary’s special qualities are invoked: she is rose without thorn; the instrument of redemption, symbolized by the “Ave” of the angel Gabriel’s salutation that reverses and supersedes “Eva.” The other poem, Ther is no rose, explains in its tiny narrative the uniqueness of the rose that contained heaven and earth in little space – when Mary carried Jesus in her womb. Humbler in technique,

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Levedie, ic þonke þe (38), which applies the word “suete” to Mary or her child in each of four stanzas, also combines praise and prayer. The image central to Poem 48 is also the starting point for Poem 45, Of a rose, a lovely rose. These words form the first line of a two-line burden in this carol. But the flower merges into a tree, and the song turns into a poem on the Five Joys of Mary, here the Annunciation, Nativity, Epiphany, Harrowing of Hell, and Resurrection/Ascension – as the lyric enumerates the marvellous five branches “springing” from Mary. The geographical application of this strange conceit is, perhaps inevitably, rather forced. Poem 46, Upon a lady my love ys lente, centres on another image: Mary as the sweetheart. At first, the hearer or reader will think this is a poem of earthly love. Studiously avoiding any mention of Mary by name, the poet, in the voice of a lover, describes her qualities, using the language of refined love. Significantly there is no mention of physical beauty, apart from “lovely” (1.3). From stanza 4 on, the voice is communal. The lyric’s communal closing words “Amen … for charyte” are conventional, but significant here. The “Amen” of prayer and the final word “charyte” point to the greater, transcendental, love – not erōs, but agapē. Poem 43, I syng of a myden, must be the most famous of the Marian lyrics. This lyric celebrates the conception of Christ with a quiet wonder like the unobtrusive miracle that forms the theme. Refrain-like treatment of the three key elements – the hush of stylle, the mystery of dew, the freshness of April – underlines the miracle with an understated incremental repetition, conveying a gradual burgeoning, from grass to flower to spray, all framed by the opening and closing assertions of the uniqueness of the maiden-mother. Although the symbolism is different, the poet’s fascination with dew and its otherworldly purity is very like Marvell’s in On a Drop of Dew, where the sky-reflecting dewdrop becomes an image of the heaven-remembering soul. The two most dramatic pieces in this section are Poem 41, In a tabernacle of a toure, and Poem 49, Sodenly afraide, in both of which the Virgin Mary appears in a night-time vision. In a tabernacle focusses on Mary’s role as intercessor, Sodenly afraide on Mary as devoted mourning mother. The former is constructed in eight-line stanzas with Latin refrain – the keynote of the poem; the latter is an elaborately structured carol, containing a fourline burden and five-line refrain with variants. Both make an intensely emotive appeal to be moved and respond. Both paint a sharply visualized setting. The narrator of In a tabernacle stands by a niche of a tower, looking out of

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the window; within that frame Mary appears in her beatified state as Queen of Heaven and urges mankind to seek her help, quia amore langueo, “because I languish with love,” an allusion to the Song of Songs (see Notes), these words forming the refrain. In the other poem, the narrator is startled out of a half-waking state by the appearance of a seated weeping woman with the abused dead body of her son on her lap. The scene is the Pietà, its tenderness and pathos often movingly conveyed in the visual arts; Michelangelo’s sculpture in St Peter’s, Rome, is probably the most famous example. Dramatically entering into the dynamics of the vision, the two poems hold back Mary’s identity. Only when she begins to speak – of her love for mankind in the one poem, for her son in the other – does the narrator realize who she is, although the audience/reader would know immediately. Prompted by a more intimate and private scene, and simpler in their appeal to the emotions, the lullabies form a distinct and important group among the Marian lyrics. Most of the preserved Middle English lullabies are marked by the word “lullay” and focus on the Christ child. Not all the “lullay” songs are carols, but many of them are. There are at least twelve with a lullay burden or refrain (see Greene, Nos. 112 and most of 142–55). The Nativity lullabies, especially the carols, combine intimacy and communality, devotion and festivity. Frequently, however, there is a dark side, and the speaker thinks ahead to the sorrows to come. In the non-Marian lullay songs too, the lullaby burden can lead into pain and tragedy. Indeed, this appears to have been one of its standard associations. Lollai lollai, litil child, whi wepistou so sore? (39) is the earliest of the extant lullay lyrics, and unusual in being addressed to an ordinary child rather than the infant Christ; although cast in the mould of a lullaby, this poem is principally a meditation on mortality, and shares many of its sentiments with the poems above on that theme. The pathos of the human condition is accentuated by the lyric’s focus on innocent infancy, already shadowed by the sorrow that comes with sin. Poem 44, Lullay myn lyking, my dere sone, myn swytyng is regarded by Greene as “[t]he masterpiece of the lullaby carols” (385). Here, the joy of the Nativity is unalloyed, and there is no penitential reflection or looming suffering. The Virgin Mary sings the burden, but the main voice is that of the representative Christian, reporting as an observer. The radiant joy that informs the whole poem is generated at the outset by Mary’s words, filled with a young mother’s delight in her child. The carol ends with devotion to the Christ child and the Virgin, who are asked to

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bless the Christmas-celebrating company. Poem 40 is addressed to the infant Jesus not by Mary but by the emblematic Christian, who contemplates Jesus both as crying baby and as suffering Saviour. Tender compassion for the tiny child, expressed in epithets of endearment, evokes thoughts of the Fall and the Atonement. These disparate elements are eloquently unified by the reiteration of Christ’s weeping, by the single rhyme that binds together the burden- and stanza-endings, and by the assertive repetitions of the close, where the poem’s “I” becomes an explicitly communal “we.” The well-known “Coventry Carol,” Lully lulla, þow littell tine child (47), is a dramatic lullay song in the context of a mystery cycle. This lyric, composed for the Pageant of the Shearmen and Tailors in late medieval Coventry, represents the lament of one of the mothers at the Massacre of the Innocents, when Herod attempted to eliminate the new King by slaughtering all the male infants in Bethlehem. However, the Holy Family, warned by an angel, escaped into Egypt (Matthew 2:12–16). The lulling words of the burden, which would normally be sung as a woman rocked her child to sleep, contrast poignantly with the bloody scene about to be enacted. Included here because it gestures towards lullaby and hints at Marian lyric, the “Corpus Christi Carol” (50), versions of which have survived into modern times, eludes classification. In some ways it resembles riddling songs in an oral tradition. The mysterious narrative is suggestive of myth and ritual. The ever-bleeding knight evokes Christ and his sacrifice, ever present in the bread and wine of the Eucharist; the weeping woman, the Virgin Mary. But other associations are present. The wounded knight, the richly hung hall, and the “orchard brown” have parallels in some of the Grail legends that feature the perpetually wounded Fisher King, whose land is ailing because of his affliction. Greene has argued for a contemporary political implication involving Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. If such an allusion is present, it is far from clear – as it is in Wyatt’s Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind. The burden’s curious second line may be related to a folk tradition in which the falcon/hawk that flies away is the lost lover. Like the Corpus Christi Carol, At a sprynge-wel under a þorn (42) is only tenuously connected with Mary. There is no overt mention of her in this mysterious little poem, but the images in it point in that direction: the spring providing life-giving water, contrasting with the thorn-tree suggestive of wounding and Christ’s crown of thorns; the alliterative phrase in line 2 suggestive of Mary’s role in salvation; the virgin maiden; her love as the truest, resembling but transcending the love of a girl for her sweetheart. All

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these motifs have parallels in explicitly Marian poems. At a sprynge-wel is rather like Maiden in the mor lay (53) in the next section. Dating from the early thirteenth to the early sixteenth century, these poems are preserved in collections for preaching and devotions, and in miscellanies, the latter mingling the sacred and profane. For an overview of the manuscripts involved, see 71–2, above. On the late medieval and Tudor songbooks and personal collections, see 170–1, below. Karen Saupe has edited most of the poems in this section (not including 39, 40, 45, and 47) in her substantial collection, Middle English Marian Lyrics.

36. This macaronic lyric appeals to and celebrates Mary. While the English is both more courtly and more intimate than the typical hymn, the rather formal and stately Latin lines constantly evoke the liturgy. Woolf notes the close resemblance between poems like this and their Latin models (126–7, 130). Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt, Velud maris stella, Briȝter þan þe dayis liȝt, Parens & puella, Ic crie to þe, þou se to me, Levedy, preye þi sone for me, Tam pia, Þat ic mote come to þe, Maria. 2 Levedi, flour of alle þing, Rosa sine spina, Þu bere Jhesu, hevene king, Gratia divina. Of alle þu berst þe pris, Levedi, quene of parays, Electa, Mayde milde, moder es Effecta.

like a star of the sea parent and maiden look lady so devout may

rose without thorn bore (by) divine grace prize paradise chosen you are made

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3 Of kare consell þou ert best, Felix fecundata. Of alle wery þou ert rest, Mater honorata. Bisek him wit milde mod Þat for ous alle sad is blod In cruce, Þat we moten komen til him, In luce.

honoured mother appeal to him with gentle spirit shed on the cross may come to in light

4 Al þis world was forlore, Eva peccatrice, Tyl our lord was ybore, De te genitrice. With “Ave” it went away, Þuster nyth and comþ þe day Salutis. Þe welle springet hut of þe, Virtutis.

lost (because of ) Eva sinning born from you who engendered (him) “Hail” dark night of salvation the fountain springs out of excellence

5 Wel he wot he is þi sone, Ventre quem portasti. He wyl nout werne þe þi bone, Parvum quem lactasti. So hende and so god he his, He havet brout ous to blis Superni, Þat haves hidut þe foule put Inferni. Explicit cantus iste. Bl Egerton 613, f. 2r 3.5 wit] ms wiz; 4.6 comþ] ms comȝ

in trouble; counsel blessed(ly) made fertile

knows whom you carried in your womb refuse you your request whom as a tiny one you suckled gracious brought us of heaven covered up the foul pit of hell this song is finished

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37. Although the opening lines speak of singing, this poem is more penitential prayer than song, like the previous lyric. On hire is al mi lif ilong, Of hƿam ich wule singe, And herien hire þer among. Heo gon us bote bringe Of helle pine þat is strong. Heo brohte us blisse þat is long Al þurht hire chilðinge. Ich bidde hire one mi song; Heo ȝeove us god endinge Þah ƿe don wrong. 2 Þu art hele and lif and liht, And helpest al monkunne. Þu us havest ful ƿel idiȝt, Þu ȝeve us weole and ƿunne. Þu brohtest dai and Eve niȝt; Heo broȝte woht, þu broȝtest riȝt; Þu almesse and heo sunne. Bisih to me, lavedi briȝt, Hƿenne ich schal wende heonne, So ƿel þu miht. 3 Al þis ƿorld schal ago Wið seorhe and wið sore, And al þis lif ƿe schule forgo, Ne ofþunche hit us so sore. Þis ƿorld nis butent ure ifo. Þarfore ich þenche hirne atgo And do be Godes lore. *Þis lives blisse nis ƿurð a slo.

dependent whom praise her at the same time she has brought the remedy torment child-bearing I appeal to her in my song (that) she give us though we do

healing mankind provided for us very well give us prosperity and joy woe; setting right generous mercy; sin take care of; lady go hence as you are well able

sorrow; pain we must relinquish however sorely we grudge it is nothing but our foe plan to let it go teaching is not worth a sloe berry

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Ich bidde, God, þin ore, Nu and everemo.

I beseech thy mercy

4 To longe ich habbe sot ibeo. Wel sore ich me adrede. Iluved ich habbe gomen and gleo, And prude and feire wede. Al þat is dƿeole, wel I seo. Þarfore ich þenche sunne fleo And alle mine sot dede. Ich bidde hire to me biseo, And helpe me and rede, Þat is so freo.

I have been a fool am fearful for myself sport and (musical) entertainment pride and fine clothing delusion plan to flee from sin foolish deeds take care of me counsel (me) noble

5 Agult ich habbe, weilaƿei! Sunful ich am, an wrecche. Aƿrec þe nu on me, levedi, Er deþ me honne fecche. Do nim þe wreche, ich am redi. Oþer let me liven and amendi, Þat no feond me ne drecche. For mine sunnes ich am sori, Of þis ƿorld ich ne recche. Levedi, merci! Amen.

sinned; alas exact your punishment before death fetches me hence take the wretch amend (my life) so that no fiend destroy me care nothing for

Bl Cot Cal A .IX , f. 246vab

Wynn here is distinguished from thorn only by a superscript dot (omitted in 1.10, 2.4, 3.3, 5.3). *col. b

38. The speaker appeals to Mary with gratitude and tender affection. Levedie, ic þonke þe Wid herte suiþe milde

lady with very gentle heart

Marian Poems and Lullabies

Þat gohid þat þu havest idon me Wid þine suete childe.

127

(for) the good sweet

2 Þu ard god ⁊ suete ⁊ brit, Of alle oþeir icorinne. Of þe was þat suete wist Þat was Jesus iboren.

bright excellent above all others creature

3 Maide milde, bidd I þe Wid þine suete childe Þat þu herdie me To habben Godis milce.

I pray watch over, guide so that I may have God’s mercy

4 Moder, loke one me Wid þine suete eyen; Reste ⁊ blisse gef þu me, Mi levedi, þen ic deyen.

give when

tcc B .14.39, f. 42v

4.2 eyen, 4.4 deyen] ms y resembles þ

39. A lament for the Fall in the form of a lullaby. Lollai l[ollai], litil child, whi wepistou so sore? Nedis mostou wepe, hit was iȝarkid þe ȝore Ever to lib in sorow, and sich and mourne ever, As þin eldren did er þis, whil hi alives were. Lollai [lollai], litil child, child, lolai lullow. Into uncuþ world icommen so ertow.

why do you weep you must; arranged for you long ago sigh predecessors; while they were alive

you are come into an alien world

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2 Bestis and þos foules, þe fisses in þe flode, And euch schef alives, imakid of bone and blode, Whan hi commiþ to þe world hi doþ hamsilf sum gode, Al bot þe wrech brol þat is of Adamis blode. Lollai l[ollai], litil child, to kar ertou bemette. Þou nost noȝt þis worldis wild bifor þe is isette.

these birds creature they do themselves some good wretched brat you are destined to sorrow you know not; wilderness

3 prosper Child, if betidith þat þou ssalt þrive and þe, Þench þou wer ifostred up þi moder kne; think; upon Ever hab mund in þi hert of þos þinges þre: have in mind Whan þou commist, whan þou art, and what ssal com of þe. whence Lollai l[ollai], litil child, child, lollai lollai. depart Wiþ sorow þou com into þis world, wiþ sorow ssalt wend awai. 4 do not trust; entirely your foe *Ne tristou to þis world; hit is þi ful vo. Þe rich he makiþ pouer, þe pore rich also. well-being Hit turneþ wo to wel and ek wel to wo. Ne trist no man to þis world whil hit turniþ so. wheel Lollai l[ollai], litil child, þe fote is in þe whele. Þou nost whoder turne, to wo oþer wele. you know not which way to turn 5 Child, þou ert a pilgrim in wikidnis ibor. Þou wandrest in þis fals world; þou loke þe bifor. Deth ssal com wiþ a blast ute of a wel dim horre, Adamis kin dun to cast, himsilf haþ ido befor. Lollai l[ollai], litil child, so wo þe worp Adam, In þe lond of paradis, þroȝ wikidnes of Satan.

dark corner? (Adam) himself has done wove woe for you

6 Child, þou nert a pilgrim, bot an uncuþe gist. you are not; foreign visitor Þi dawes beþ itold, þi jurneis beþ icast. days counted; day’s travels decided Whoder þou salt wend, norþ oþer est,

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Deþ þe sal betide wiþ bitter bale in brest. Lolla[i] l[ollai], litil chil[d], þis wo Adam þe wroȝt, Whan he of þe appil ete, and Eve hit him betacht. Bl Harley 913, f. 32rv 5.5 worp] ms worþ *f. 32v

shall befall you; distress gave

40.

The Christ child weeps because babies cry, but his infant weeping also foreshadows his suffering and atonement for humanity’s sin. Lullay lullay, litel child, Qui wepest þu so sore? 1 Lullay lullay, litel child, Þu þat were so sterne & wild, Nou art become meke & mild, To saven þat was forlore. 2 But for my senne I wot it is Þat Godis sone suffret þis. Merci, lord. I have do mis; Iwis I wile no more. 3 Aȝenis my fadris wille I ches An appel with a reuful res; Werfore myn hertage I les, & nou þu wepist þerfore. 4 An appel I tok of a tre. God it hadde forboden me; Werfore I sulde dampned be, Ȝef þi weping ne wore.

I know

certainly

against; chose in a dreadful madness lost

if your weeping had not been

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5 Lullay for wo, þu litel þing, Þu litel barun, þu litel king. Mankindde is cause of þi murning, Þat þu hast loved so ȝore.

baron so long

6 For man þat þu hast ay loved so Ȝet saltu suffren peines mo, In heved, in feet, in hondis to, & ȝet wepen wel more.

you shall suffer more pains

7 Þat peine us make of senne fre, Þat peine us bringge, Jhesu, to þe, Þat peine us helpe ay to fle Þe wikkede fendes lore. Amen.

may that pain make us

fiend’s (Devil’s)

nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 6r

41. The narrator describes not exactly the usual dream vision, but a night-time revelation while he is in a contemplative mood. In his vision, the beatified Mary urges mankind to appeal for her advocacy with her Son. Her rhetoric constructs the addressee not just as child but as lover and potential spouse, in an affective, if a little contorted, representation of the relationships between Mary, humanity, and Christ. Canticus Amoris In a tabernacle of a toure, As I stode musyng on the mone, A crouned quene, most of honoure, Apered in gostly syght ful sone. She made compleynt thus by hyr one, For mannes soule was wrapped in wo:

Song of Love niche; tower

spiritual, inner by herself (alone)

Marian Poems and Lullabies

“I may nat leve mankynde allone, Quia amore langueo. 2 I longe for love of man my brother, I am hys vokete to voyde hys vyce. I am hys moder, I can none other. Why shuld I my dere chylde dispyce? Yef he me wrathe in diverse wyse, *Through flesshes freelte fall me fro, Yet must we rewe hym tyll he ryse, Quia amore langueo.

131

because I languish with love

advocate; cancel out

if; various ways pity

3 I byd, I byde in grete longyng, ask; wait I love, I loke when man woll crave, look (i.e., anticipate); appeal (to me) I pleyne for pyte of peynyng: lament out of pity for suffering Wolde he aske mercy, he shuld hit have. speak Say to me, soule, and I shall save. Byd me, my chylde, and I shall go. without (my son’s forgiveness) Thow prayde me never but my son forgave, Quia amore langueo. 4 O wreche in the worlde, I loke on the, I se thy trespas day by day, With lechery ageyns my chastite, With pryde agene my pore aray. My love abydeth, thyne ys away. My love the calleth, thow stelest me fro. Sewe to me, synner, I the pray, Quia amore langueo. 5 Moder of mercy I was for the made. Who nedeth hit but thow allone? To gete the grace I am more glade

petition me

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Than thow to aske hit. Why wylt thou noon? When seyd I nay, tel me, tyll oon? Forsoth never yet, to frende ne foo. When þou askest nought, þan make I moone, Quia amore langueo. 6 I seke the in wele and wrechednesse. I seke the in ryches and poverte. Thow man beholde where þy moder ys. Why lovest þou me nat, syth I love the? Synful or sory how evere thow be, So welcome to me there ar no mo. I am thy suster, ryght trust on me, **Quia amore langueo. 7 My childe ys outlawed for thy synne. Mankynde ys bette for hys trespasse. Yet prykketh myne hert þat so ny my kynne Shuld be dysseased, o sone, allasse! Thow art hys broþer, hys moder I was. Thow sokyd my pappe, thow lovyd man so. Thow dyed for hym. Myne hert he has, Quia amore langueo. 8 Man, leve thy synne þan for my sake. Why shulde I gyf þe þat þou nat wolde? And yet yef thow synne, som prayere take, Or trust in me, as I have tolde. Am nat I thy moder called? Why shulde I flee the, I love the, loo? I am thy frende, I helpe, beholde, Quia amore langueo.”

to anyone then I lament

prosperity

the better for his (Christ’s) wrongs so close kin to me in distress sucked my breast

what you do not want if

lo!

Marian Poems and Lullabies

9 “Now, sone,” she sayde, “wylt þou sey nay, Whan man wolde mende hym of hys mys? Thow lete me never in veyne yet pray. Than, synfull man, see thow to thys. What day þou comest, welcome thow ys, Thys hundreth yere yef thow were [me] fro, I take the ful fayne, I clyppe, I kysse, Quia amore langueo. 10 Now wol I syt and sey no more, Leve and loke with grete longyng, When man woll calle I wol restore. I love to save hym, he ys myne hosprynge. No wonder yef myne hert on hym hynge. He was my neyghbore, what may I doo? For hym had I thys worshippyng, And therefore amore langueo.

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reform himself from his error

whatever (even) if you were away from me very gladly; embrace

cease and wait (in expectation)

11 Why was I crouned and made a quene? ***Why was I called of mercy the welle? Why shuld an erþly woman bene So hygh in heven above aungelle? For þe, mankynde, þe truþe I telle. Þou aske me helpe and I shall do Þat I was ordeyned, kepe þe fro helle, Quia amore langueo. 12 Nowe, man, have mynde on me forever, Loke on þy love þus languysshyng. Late us never fro other dissevere. Myne helpe ys þyne oune, crepe under my wynge.

offspring hang(s) honour

source, fountain

part your own

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Thy syster ys a quene, þy broþer a kynge. Thys heritage ys tayled, sone come þerto. Take me for þy wyfe and lerne to synge, ‘Quia amore langueo.’ ”

entailed (restricted); come quickly

Bodl Douce 322, ff. 8vb–9va 2.6 through] ms though; 4.7 sewe] ms shewe; 9.6 me fro] from Add, ms fro; 12.2 þus] ms þys *f. 9ra; **col.b; ***f. 9va

42. These mysterious lines obliquely evoke the Virgin Mary, who, as the mother of the Saviour, brought “bote of bale,” and whose love for sinful mankind makes her the perfect intercessor. At a sprynge-wel under a þorn Þer was bote of bale, a lytel here aforn. Þer bysyde stant a mayde, Fulle of love ybounde. Hoso wol seche trwe love Yn hyr hyt schal be founde.

a spring under a thorn-tree remedy for evil; before now completely subject to love whoever wishes to seek

Magdalen Oxf, Lat 60, f. 214r

43. On the moment of Christ’s conception, mysterious and still as the formation of dew. I syng of a myden þat is makeles, Kyng of alle kynges to her sone che ches. 2 He cam also stylle þer his moder was As dew in Aprylle þat fallyt on þe gras.

maiden; matchless she chose

as silently; where

Marian Poems and Lullabies

135

3 He cam also stylle to his moderes bowr As dew in Aprille þat fallyt on þe flour. 4 He cam also stylle þer his moder lay As dew in Aprille þat fallyt on þe spray. 5 Moder & maydyn was never non but che. Wel may swych a lady Godes moder be.

branch

such

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 10v

44. The tenderest and most joyful of the Marian lullabies. Lullay myn lykyng, my dere sone, myn swetyng, Lullay my dere herte, myn owyn dere derlyng.

delight; sweet one

1 I saw a fayr maydyn syttyn & synge; Sche lullyd a lytyl chyld, a swete lordyng. Lull[ay] myn … 2 Þat eche lord is þat, þat made alle þinge. Of alle lordis he is lord, of alle kynges kyng. Lullay … 3 *Þer was mekyl melody at þat chyldes berthe; Alle þo wern in hevene blys, þei made mekyl merþ.

eternal

much all those who were in heaven’s bliss

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4 Aungele bryȝt, þei song þat nyȝt, & seydyn to þat chyld, “Blyssid be þou, & so be sche, þat is boþe mek & myld.” 5 Prey we now to þat chyld & to his moder dere, Grawnt hem his blyssyng þat now makyn chere.

them; make merry

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 32rv *f. 32v

45. The beautiful simplicity of the rose, a familiar image for Mary, is elaborated, perhaps at some detriment to the poetic effect, into an account of her Five Joys, represented as five branches of a rose tree. Of a rose, a lovely rose, Of a rose I syng a song. 1 Lyth & lystyn, both old & ȝyng, How þe rose begane to spryng. A fayyrer rose to owr lekyng Sprong þer never in kynges lond. 2 V branchis of þat rose þer ben, Þe wyche ben both feyer & chene. Of a maydyn, Mary, hevyn quene, Ouȝt of hyr bo[s]um þe branch sprong. 3 *Þe [first] branch was of gret honour, Þat blyssed Mary shuld ber þe flour, Þer cam an angell ouȝt hevyn toure To breke þe develes bond.

be attentive; young to our liking

five; there are fair and bright

out of the tower of heaven

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4 The secund branch was gret of myȝt, Þat sprong upon Cristmes nyȝt. Þe sterre shone & lemeȝd bryȝt, Þat man schuld se it both day & þe nyȝt

might star; gleamed so that one could see it

5 Þe iii branch gan spryng & spred; III kynges than the branch gan led, Tho to owr Lady in hure chyldbed. Into Bethlem þat branch sprong ryȝt.

third; began to proceeded to lead then; her exactly

6 The iiii branch, it sprong to hell, Þe develes powr for to fell, Þat no soule þerin shuld dwell, Þe braunch so blessedfully sprong.

fourth

7 The v branch, it was so swote, Yt sprong to hevyn, both croppe & rote, In every ball to ben owr bott, So blessedly yt sprong.

fifth; sweet top and root evil; be our remedy

Bodl Eng poet e.1, f. 21rv 2.4 branch] ms braich; 5.2 the] ms to; 5.3 chyldbed] ms chyld bred *f. 21v

46. The listener/reader gradually becomes aware that the lady whom these lines describe, in courtly style, is not the object of secular love. Upon a lady my love ys lente, Withowtene change of any chere, That ys lovely & contynent And most at my desyre.

has come to rest upon without any change of mind chaste

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2 Thys lady ys yn my herte pyght, Her to love y have gret haste; With all my power & my myȝth To her y make myne herte stedfast.

fixed impatience might

3 Therfor wyll y non oþur spowse, Ner none oþur loves for to take. But only to her y make my vowes, And all oþur to forsake. 4 Thys lady ys gentyll & meke; Moder she ys & well of all. She ys nevur for to seke, Noþur to grete ner to small. 5 Redy she ys nyght & day To man & wommon & chylde ynfere, Ȝyf þat þey wyll awȝt to her say, Our prayeres mekely for to here.

source far neither ... nor

together if; anything (“aught”)

6 To serve þys lady we all be bownde Both nyȝth & day yn every place, Where evur we be, yn felde or towne Or elles yn any oþur place. 7 Pray we to þys lady bryȝth, In þe worshyp of þe Trinite, To brynge us alle to heven lyȝth. Amen, say we for charyte. Bl Cot Cal A .II , f. 91r 3.3 vowes] ms vowe; 5.1 nyght] ms nygh

bright light

Marian Poems and Lullabies

139

47. A poignant lullaby, sung by the unfortunate mothers, in the mystery play depiction of the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents. Lully lulla, þow littell tine child, By by, lully lullay, þow littell tyne child, By by, lully lullay. 1 O sisters too, How may we do For to preserve þis day This pore yongling For whom we do singe “By by, lully lullay”? 2 Herod the king, In his raging, Chargid he hath this day His men of might In his owne sight All yonge children to slay. 3 That wo is me, Pore child for thee, And ever morne and may For thi parting Nether say nor singe “By by, lully lullay.” Sharp, Dissertation on the Pageants ... at Coventry, 113–14 (ms destroyed) 3.3 may] Sharp say

commanded

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48. Reverence, wonder, and joy mingle in an encapsulation of the Christmas miracle, focussing on Mary. The tone is heightened by Latin phrases that echo a sequence in the Mass. [Ther is no] rose of swych vertu As is the rose that bare Jhesu.

special power

1 [Ther is no rose of ] swych vertu As is the rose that bar Jhesu. Alleluya! 2 For in this rose conteynyd was [Heven and erthe in] lytyl [space]. Res miranda! 3 Be that rose we may weel see Þat he is God in personys thre, [Pari] forma. 4 The aungelys sungyn the shepherdes to, “Gloria in excelcis Deo.” Gaudeamus! 5 [L]eve we all this wordly merthe, And folwe we this joyful berthe. Transeamus. tcc o .3.58

a thing to be marvelled at

in like form

glory to God in the highest let us rejoice

pleasure of this world let us go over

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49. In a vision, the Virgin Mary, seated with her dead son on her lap, addresses humanity and asks for sympathetic weeping. Sodenly afraide, Half wakyng half slepyng, And gretly dismayed: A wooman sate weepyng. 1 With favoure in hir face ferr passyng my reason, And of hir sore weepyng this was the enchesone: Hir soon in hir lap lay, she seid, slayne by treason. Yif wepyng myght ripe bee, it seemyd þan in season. “Jhesu!” so she sobbid, So hir soon was bobbid, And of his lif robbid, Saying þies wordes as I say þee: “Who cannot wepe, come lerne at me.”

beauty reason timely made cruel sport of say to you learn from me

2 I said I cowd not wepe, I was so harde hartid. Shee answerd me with wordys shortly þat smarted: “Lo, nature shall move þe, thou must be converted. Thyne owne fader þis nyght is deed.” Lo, þus she thwarted. “So my soon is bobbid, & of his lif robbid.” Forsooth þan I sobbid, Veryfying þe wordes she seid to me: “Who cannot wepe may lern at þe.” 3 “Now breke, hert, I the pray. This cors lith so rulye, So betyn, so wowndid, entreted so Jewlye. What wiȝt may me behold & wepe nat? Noon truly!

retorted

corpse; piteously dealt with so Jewishly person

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To see my deed dere soon lygh bleedyng, lo this newlye.” Evuer stil she sobbid, So hir soon was bobbed, & of his lif robbid, Newyng þe wordes, as I say thee: “Who cannot wepe, com lern at me.” 4 *On me she caste hir ey, said, “See, man, thy brothir.” She kissid hym & said, “Swete, am I not thy modir?” In sownyng she fill there; it wolde be noon othir. I not which more deedly, the toon or the tothir. Yit she revived & sobbid, So hir soon was bobbid, & of his lif robbid. “Who cannot wepe,” this was the laye. & with þat word she vanysht away.

lie

renewing

in a swoon; fell know not; deathly; one; other

story

Manchester, Rylands Lat. 395, f. 120rv *f. 120v

50. Enigmatic and suggestive, the Corpus Christi Carol’s images of devotion and loss linger in the mind but resist explanation. The haunting burden, present only in this version, resonates strangely with the rest of the poem. Lully lulley, lully lulley, Þe fawcon hath born my mak away. 1 He bare hym up, he bare hym down, He bare hym into an orchard brown. Lully lulley, lully lulley, Þe fawcon hath born my mak away.

falcon; mate

Marian Poems and Lullabies

2 In þat orchard þer was an hall, Þat was hangid with purpill & pall. Lully lulley … 3 And in þat hall þer was a bede, Hit was hangid with gold so rede. Lully lulley … 4 And yn þat bed þer lythe a knyght, His wowndis bledyng day & nyght. Lully lulley … 5 By þat bedis side þer kneleth a may, & she wepeth both nyght & day. Lully lulley … 6 & by þat beddis side þer stondith a ston, “Corpus Christi” wretyn þeron. Lully lulley &c.   Explicit. Balliol 354, f. 165v (p. 352)

143

purple; rich cloth

bed red

lies

maiden

there stands a stone the body of Christ; written the end

Anonymous Snatches: The Rawlinson Lyrics

B od l r aw lI nson d 91 3 , f . 1 rv The poems below are presented as a separate section because they provide a unique example of a collection of “popular” poetry. The lyrics here, dating from the early fourteenth century or before and taken from an assembly of diverse little anonymous pieces casually written on a single leaf, stand in sharp contrast to the more formally collected poems in later sections, especially the courtly lyrics by Charles d’Orléans. The Rawlinson verses, like the longer lyrics in the section immediately following, can be characterized as popular, but the word needs to be used with caution. They are, more or less, voiced in that register, but they are not necessarily uninfluenced by courtly conventions. These poems and fragments are twelve in number – two of them in French, all written as prose on a leaf bound in at the beginning of the manuscript, itself a collection of fragments bound together in modern times. The seven English items that consist of more than a single sentence are included here. Those omitted, too short to make much sense, could, as John Burrow suggests, have been “jotted down as a reminder or cue by whoever compiled the collection” (“Poems without Con-

Anonymous Snatches: The Rawlinson Lyrics

145

texts,” 3). In fact, all of these pieces look like songs transmitted and performed orally, and very likely danced to. All contain repetitions, as is typical of songs for collective singing; two (52 and 57) specifically speak of dancing. John Hirsh infers that they were written down by a performer for his/her own use (“The Rawlinson Lyrics,” 115). Because of their brevity and, often, uncertain text, they can be puzzling. Burrow, in his important article “Poems without Contexts,” in which he edited all of them including those in French, makes the point that when one doesn’t know what genre a poem’s creator intended, one cannot really understand it, genre being “an internal substitute for context” (23). These lyrics, then – elliptical, fragmentary, and in damaged condition – can be hard to interpret. Often readings, restorations, and supplementations are conjectural. Still, their very uncertainty makes them intriguing; even the less problematic ones invite speculation about what is left out. When encountering Of everykune tre (51), for example, most modern readers, particularly those who have seen the hawthorn in bloom, will know that its heavy white and intensely sweet blossom symbolizes the effect on the lover of his sweetheart’s beauty – and would like to know more. Poem 55, Al nist by þe rose, rose, also focusses on a familiar image. Plucking a rose is a ready symbol for violating virginity; the motif is perhaps best known in Goethe’s Heidenröslein (“Little Rose on the Heath”), which Schubert set to music. The lover in the medieval poem is more tender and tentative than Goethe’s boy who broke off the rose, but his “defloration” is explicit. One wonders how the maiden felt. 56, Al gold, Jonet, is þin her, leaves situation and sentiment undeveloped – perhaps these are just refrain lines. We ask whether this really is an earnest plea from a desperately unhappy lover. Poem 52, “The Irish Dancer,” is decidedly enigmatic. The female dancer’s invitation seems to be to something more mysterious and more significant than a dance. Why is Ireland holy, and how is the speaker going to take her partner there? The poem, which must be fragmentary, suggests an invitation to a kind of Celtic otherworld. Each of the pieces mentioned so far assumes a distinct voice: the male lover in three, the alluring woman in the other. Maiden in the mor lay (53) is different; there is voicing, but no real speaker. This is a haunting lyric, especially so when expanded with the incantatory repetitions that have been condensed in the manuscript version. The song has been very variously explained, sometimes allegorically. D.W. Robertson, Jr, the doyen of exeget-

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ical criticism, saw the maiden as the Virgin Mary (“Historical Criticism,” 26–7), and Karen Saupe includes the poem in her Middle English Marian Lyrics (No. 81). However, as Burrow observes, the appearance of the first line among the secular song-openings in the Red Book of Ossory, where the intent was to use the tunes of these popular songs for sacred lyrics, militates against readings that find a Christian religious message in Maiden (“Poems without Contexts,” 18–19). On the Red Book connection, see Notes on Poem 53. Peter Dronke proposed that the maiden was a water sprite, implying an ultimately pagan origin (Medieval Lyric, 195–6). And post-Romantic readers might see her as a little like Wordsworth’s Lucy. A maiden who lives on spring water and flowers cannot be taken very literally, but there is probably no particular key to unlock the poem. Much of its charm lies in its elusiveness. In the end, Maiden in the mor’s musical qualities and its picturesque assimilation of the human figure into the natural world are more than enough to commend it. We have no need to strip the poem of its mystery by latching onto a consistent rational interpretation, naturalistic or symbolic. The two remaining lyrics, Wer þer ouþer in þis toun (54) and ... dronken, / Dronken, dronken (57), are far from clear as to their content, but very clear in being voiced by a definite persona, in a situation conceived much more dramatically than the lyrics already described. Wer þer ouþer gives the loser’s perspective on a violent rivalry over a woman; Dronken, a drunkard’s impression of an animated party. The former, unlike the other pieces on the Rawlinson leaf, seems to reflect a dark, even tragic, episode. The speaker laments the loss of his sweetheart, who seems to have been snatched away from him by a brutal rival who has made her “al blody.” The first stanza, which must have prompted Rossell Hope Robbins to call the poem “A Toast to His Lost Mistress” (Robbins Sec, No. 9), seems ill-suited to the rest, and the underlying situation is very unclear, at least partly because the text is so uncertain at some points. Reading stanza 5, line 2 as “Ne no more in can,” “Nothing left in the beer mug,” as Robbins would, changes the whole scenario and eliminates any tragedy. Dronken is a jovial song about drinking and dancing, and apparently spoken by one of the revellers. In this case, the incoherence created by damaged text is fortuitously appropriate to the situation.

Anonymous Snatches: The Rawlinson Lyrics

147

51. The hawthorn encrusted with white blossom, which is indeed overpoweringly sweet, brings to the speaker’s mind a vision of the lovely girl he desires and a confidence that he will possess her. Of everykune tre, Of everyk[u]ne tre, Þe haweþorn blowet suotes, Of everykune tre.

every kind blooms the sweetest

2 My lemmon sse ssal boe, My lemmon sshe ssal boe. Þe fairest of ev[ery] kinne. My lemmon sse ssal boe.

my sweetheart she shall be

Item 1(a), f. 1r 1.2 everykune] ms euerykne; 2.3 every kinne] ms eu … kinne?

52. This piece seems to be a fragment of an early carol that would have accompanied a dance. The first three lines would form the burden. Icham of Irlaunde, Ant of the holy londe Of Irlande. 1 Gode sire, pray ich þe, For of saynte charite, Come ant daunce wyt me In Irlaunde. Item 1(g), f. 1v 1.1 þe] ms ȝe

I am

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53. This hauntingly mysterious poem has prompted a variety of interpretations, including some allegorical ones. Maiden in the mor lay, In the mor lay, Sevenyst fulle, Sevenist fulle— Maiden in the mor lay, In the mor lay, Sevenistes fulle ant a day. 2 Welle was hire mete. Wat was hire mete? Þe primerole ant the, Þe primerole ant the— Welle was hire mete. Wat was hire mete? The primerole ant the violet. 3 Welle [was hire dryng]. Wat was hire dryng? [Þe chelde water of þe, Þe chelde water of þe— Welle was hire dryng. Wat was hire dryng?] Þe chelde water of þe welle-spring. 4 Welle was hire bour. Wat was hire bour? [Þe rede rose an te, Þe rede rose an te—

full seven nights

good; food primrose

drink cold

chamber and the

Anonymous Snatches: The Rawlinson Lyrics

149

Welle was hire bour. Wat was hire bour?] Þe rede rose an te lilie flour. Item 1(h), f. 1v 2.2 was] ms wat; 3.1–2 Welle etc.] ms welle wat was hire dryng

54. A strange poem that seems to be about a sad and violent episode, but the story is far from clear. Wer þer ouþer in þis toun Ale or wyn, Ych hit wolde bugge To lemmon myn.

I would buy it for my sweetheart

2 Welle wo was so hardy Forte make my lef al blody.

most disastrous; (the man) so bold as to; dear one

3 Þaut he were þe kynges sone Of Normaundy, Ȝet icholde awreke boe For lemman myn. 4 Welle wo was me tho, Wo was me tho, Þe man that leset þat he lovit Hym is al so. 5 S[o sse] me lerde. Ne no more I n[e] can.

were there either

though yet I would be avenged

(it) was (for) me then loses what he loves altogether like that for him

thus she told (i.e., taught) me I can do no more

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But Crist ich hire biteche Þat was my lemman.

I commend her to Christ

Item 1(i), f. 1v

55. The girl here is not simply identified with the rose; instead, a distinction between the girl as rose and her maidenhood as flower creates the paradox with which the last two lines play, in a mingling of triumph and regret. Al nist by þe rose, rose, Al nist bi the rose I lay. Darst ich noust þe rose stele, Ant ȝet I bar þe flour away.

night I did not dare yet; bore; flower

Item 1(j), f. 1v

56. The pining lover who will die if his lady won’t take pity on him sounds like a figure from poetry of a more courtly kind than that produced by these simple words and homely names. Al gold, Jonet, is þin her, [Al gold], Jonet, is þin her. [Save þi]n Jank[yn, lemman dere], Save Jankyn, lemman [dere, Save] þin onlie [dere]. Item 1(k), f. 1v

hair dear sweetheart your only dear

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Anonymous Snatches: The Rawlinson Lyrics

57. Damaged text makes the drunkard’s story even more disconnected. … dronken, Dronken, dronken, [Ydro]nken is Tabart, [Ydronken] atte wyne. 2 Hay … Malkin, Suster, Walter, Peter. Ȝe dronke al depe [Ant] ichulle eke. 3 Stondet alle stille, Stille, stille, stille. [Ston]det alle stille, Stille as any ston. 4 [Tri]ppe a l[itte]l wit þi fot Ant let þi body go[n]. Item 1(l), f. 1v 1.4 ydronken] not in ms ; 2.3 ȝe] ms þe; 4.2 gon] ms go

at the wine

you all drank deep I will too

stand still!

Popular Tradition and Humble Life

Like the little pieces in the previous section, these engaging lyrics reflect a world of song and oral tradition. By calling them “popular,” I refer to their register and their broad currency; they are in the style of oral folk poetry, but we cannot know how these particular texts were composed and transmitted. In several of the examples below, conspicuous repetition and refrain suggest sung performance. Poems 58 to 60 and 62 resemble ballads in their four-line stanzas and alternating rhymes, 62 most closely. The first three, found next or close to each other in Bl Sloane 2593, share exactly the same jaunty stanza structure and rhyme scheme. All the poems focus on the external and the concrete; their voices and figures are generic – but can be vivid. The “gentil cook,” the garden that invites sexual activity, and the flirtatious girl are, variously, reminiscent of some of the uncourtly tales in Chaucer. The first few poems, from the Sloane manuscript, seem to be using a standard formula: “I have … [something curious].” The “I” in two of them, 58 and 59, is little more than a jumping-off point, but in Poem 60 it is specific, named, and identified as the central character in a little drama. In lyrics of the “I have” type, what the speaker claims to pos-

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sess often has sexual implications, or they may be paradoxical. The similarity of these three poems, in their opening formula, their verse form with its short lines and alternating rhymes, and their riddling content, points to a distinct folk tradition. Very possibly an isolated line preserved among the Rawlinson Lyrics (but not included here) also opens a poem of this type: Ichave a mantel imaket of cloth (dimev 2171). Cloth is what one would expect a mantle to be made of, but presumably this one has an intriguing feature. Poem 58, I have a gentil cook, calls to mind the lively rooster in the Nun’s Priest’s Tale (B 2 *4049–54), but this anonymous poem’s ultimate source probably lies in oral tradition. The speaker’s pride in his handsome specimen of a pretty ordinary creature is humorously expressed through the imagery of jewellery, in a catalogue rather like a blazon of the physique of a fair lady. The last line of the poem forms the conclusion to Goosey, goosey gander (see Opie, Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, 191–2), where Goosey also ends up in my lady’s chamber. Although “cock” as “penis” (oed , sense 20) appears to be post-medieval, there is certainly a sexual suggestion – as in Catullus 2, on Lesbia’s sparrow, the pet that his mistress takes in her lap. I have a newe gardyn (60) has much more developed sexual implications. The fecundity of the garden parallels the enthusiastic sexuality of the young couple. In the course of the poem it becomes clear that the pear tree implies the sexual equipment of the young man. There is another Chaucerian parallel here, with the Merchant’s Tale, where old January’s young wife May makes out with her lover in a pear tree (e 2328–86); the act is described as frankly there as it is in I have a newe gardyn. In the present poem, too, someone is fooled. Starting out with the speaker’s boastful proclamation of his own desirability and prowess, the little story becomes a joke that he tells at his own expense. The humour, full of sexual double entendres, turns especially on wordplay: “John,” diminutive “Jonet,” is the name both of the young man and of a variety of pear. The other poem in this trio, I have a ȝong suster, is less salacious. A riddle in the form of a folksong, this lyric has existed in many variants, and is still sung today. The Appalachian I Gave My Love a Cherry is probably the bestknown version. Here, the opening formula serves not to introduce the wonderful object but to create an exotic source, the remote sister beyond the sea, for the paradoxical gifts and apparently unanswerable questions that will follow. The poems’s sexuality is not courtly, but as compared with 58 and 60 it is refined and subtle. The gifts the sister sends are “druries,” i.e., love-tokens.

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The puzzles created by these druries involve, as Karin Boklund-Lagopoulou observes, “nature imagery of a profoundly traditional kind: fruits, berries, flowers, birds as the setting for a young couple in love” (“Popular Song and the Middle English Lyric,” 575). Unusually, the gender of the speaker in this poem is unspecified. The sentiments could be voiced by a young person of either sex – but the poem veers towards a girl’s point of view at its ending, and it is a sister who is the source of the gifts and the questions. Poem 61, “Bess Bunting,” a lively description of a pretty girl on the lookout for “dalyaunce,” is quite possibly the beginning of a narrative; the conventional spring opening would also fit in with that hypothesis. In her charming person and flirtatious demeanour, Bess resembles the less innocent Alisoun of the Miller’s Tale, whose sexiness is brilliantly captured in a vivid verse paragraph (A 3233–70). As pointed out by P.J. Frankis, the present little poem resembles a thirteenth-century French genre of Bele Aelis songs, always in the form of a rondet de carole, about a young girl who makes herself attractive and goes out in the morning to meet her lover (“Two Minor French Lyric Forms in English,” 70–1). On the Bele Aelis poems as folksongs, see Reichl, “Plotting the Map of Medieval Oral Literature,” 43–5. The two remaining poems are related to the beast fable, in which particular species of animal are given voices and human thoughts. “The Mourning of the Hunted Hare” (62) begins with the chanson d’aventure opening that often introduces a sexual encounter, but here leads to the overhearing of the hare’s monologue. Harried, persecuted, and always running for its life, the hare is a strangely touching figure. The poet seems uncertain what sex to assign. In stanza 1, perhaps under the influence of women’s laments, she is female. In stanza 7 and subsequently, the hare becomes Wat (the familiar version of Walter) and “he,” sadly characterizing himself as “the sylly Wat.” Yet, there is a touch of humour in the hare’s being beholden to “gentyllmen” (gentry), who wouldn’t stoop to taking a sitting duck – or sitting hare. The ending may upset modern readers, especially if they happen to be vegetarians, but it anchors this little monologue in the realities of medieval rural life. There is no empathy for persecuted animals in The fals fox (63), a jolly song, heavy on repetition and refrain, that must have been given enthusiastic performance on occasions of merry-making. The fox’s administration of penance and absolution to the assembled geese is probably a humorous jab at foxy priests and preaching friars. His cheeky defiance of the goodman’s and goodwife’s missiles makes him a likeable rogue. At the end it’s unclear who

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wins the day: the fox or the witty goose he is carrying off. This poem is in the Ryman Manuscript (see Notes on Poem 34), but so unlike everything else of Friar James Ryman’s that his authorship of it is unlikely. Three of the lyrics in this section come from a song book, Sloane 2593, described in “Festive Songs.” Two are found in miscellanies. And one is casually added at the end of a manuscript devoted to a much more substantial work. Although all six of them are preserved in fifteenth-century manuscripts, songs and verse stories like them must have flourished earlier. On Middle English poems in an oral tradition, see Boklund-Lagopolou, “I have a Yong Suster.” For a wider survey, see Reichl, Medieval Oral Literature.

58. A cheery little song with a light sexual innuendo in its close, rather like a nursery rhyme, and also resembling Chaucer’s ironical depiction of Chauntecleer. I have a gentil cook, Crowyt me day. He doþ me rysyn erly, My matyins for to say. 2 I have a gentil cook, Comyn he is of gret. His comb is of reed corel, His tayil is of get. 3 I have a gentyl cook, Comyn he is of kynde. His comb is of red corel, His tayl is of inde. 4 His legges ben of asor, So gentil & so smale.

noble; cock, rooster

morning prayers

high birth jet

good breeding indigo

azure beautiful; slender

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His spores arn of sylver qwyt, Into þe wortewale.

his spurs are of white silver root

5 His eynyn arn of cristal Lokyn al in aumbyr, & every nyȝt he perchit hym In myn ladyis chaumbyr.

eyes

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 10v 3.3 corel] ms scorel

59. The poem plays with impossibilia, one of the characteristic devices of riddle. I have a ȝong suster Fer beȝondyn þe se. Many be þe drowryis Þat che sente me. 2 Che sente me þe cherye Withoutyn ony ston, & so che ded [þe] dowe Withoutyn ony bon. 3 Sche sente me þe brer Withoutyn ony rynde, Sche bad me love my lemman Withoute longgyng. 4 How xuld ony cherye Be withoute ston? & how xuld ony dowe Ben withoute bon?

far beyond the sea love-tokens she

any stone dove

briar bark sweetheart

should

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5 How xuld ony brer Ben withoute rynde? How xuld y love myn lemman Without longyng? 6 *Quan þe cherye was a flour, Þan hadde it non ston, Quan þe dowe was an ey, Þan hadde it non bon.

when egg

7 Quan þe brer was onbred, Þan hadde it non rynd. Quan þe maydyn haȝt þat che lovit, Che is without longing.

not yet grown has what she loves

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 11rv 7.4 longing] final ng no longer visible *f. 11v

60. The first two stanzas are innocent enough, but in stanza 3 it becomes clear that the young speaker is not really thinking about a pear-tree in his garden. I have a newe gardyn, & newe is begunne. Swych another gardyn Know I not under sunne. 2 In the myddis of my gardyn Is a peryr set, & it wele non per bern But a per Jenet.

recently started such

midst pear tree will bear no pear a St John’s Day pear

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3 Þe fairest mayde of this toun Preyid me For to gryffyn her a gryf Of myn pery tre.

requested me to graft her a graft

4 Quan I hadde hem gryffid Alle at her wille, Þe wyn & the ale Che dede in fille.

when I had grafted them as she desired she did pour in

5 & I gryffid her Ryȝt up in her home, & be that day xx wowkes It was qwyk in her womb.

20 weeks from that day alive (quickened)

6 Þat day twelfus month Þat mayde I mette. Che seyd it was a per Robert, But non per Jon[et].

12 months from that day a Robert’s pear a John’s pear

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 11v 5.2 home] ms honde

61. While this little sketch of a pretty girl belongs more to the popular than the courtly tradition, the latter does surface in the sometimes elaborate language. Very likely these lines form the beginning of a narrative. In Aprell and in May, When hartys be all mery, Besse Buntyng, the myllaris may, Wythe lyppys so red as chery, She cast in hyr remembrance

hearts miller’s daughter

Popular Tradition and Humble Life

To passe hyr tyme in dalyaunce And to leve hyr thowth driery. Rygth womanly arayd In a petycote of whytt, She was nothyng dysmayd, Hyr cowntenance was ful lygth.

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playing at love melancholy thoughts right, very skirt light, happy

Bodl Laud misc 609, f. 170v

62. “The Mourning of the Hunted Hare” offers a strangely touching monologue from the imagined perspective of the unfortunate animal. Nevertheless, the poem’s slightly ironical tone avoids sentimentality and ends with the practical inevitability of the creature’s demise, providing food for humans and play for puppies. Bi a forrest as I gan fare, Walkyng al myselven alone, I hard a mornyng of an haar, Rouffully schew mad her mone. 2 Dereworth God, how schal I leve, And leyd my lyve in lond? *Frou dale to doune I am idreufe; I not where I may syte or stond! 3 I may noþer rest nor slepe, By no wallay þat is so derne, Nor no covert may me kepe, But ever I rene fro herne to herne. 4 Hontteris wyll not heyr þer mase In hope of hunttyng for to wend;

was going (lit. “began to go”) heard; mourning sadly she uttered her lament

honoured lead my life from valley to hill; driven do not know; sit

neither valley; secret run; corner

hunters; hear their mass go

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They cowpullyȝt þer howndis, more & lase, And bryngyth theme to þe feldys ende. 5 Rochis rennyn on every syde In forrous þat hoppe me to fynd; Honteris takythe þer horse and ryde, And cast the conttray by þe wynd. 6 Anone as þey commyth me behynde, I loke and syt ful style and loue. The furst mane þat me doth fynde, Anon he cryit, “So howe, so hoowe!” 7 “Lo,” he sayth, “where syttyt an haare! **Aryse upe, Watte, & go forthe blyve!” With sorroe and with mych care I schape away with my lyve. 8 Att wyntter in þe depe snoue, Men wyl me seche for to trace, And by my steyppis I ame iknowe, And followyȝt me fro place to place. 9 And yf I to þe toune come or torne, Be hit in worttis or in leyke, Then wyl þe wyffys, also ȝeorne, Fere me with her dogis heyke. 10 And yf I syt and crope þe koule, And þe wyfe be in þe waye,

couple their hounds, large and small

hunting dogs run furrows; hope search the country

low immediately

quickly escape

try to track me footprints

turn vegetables; leeks wives, just as eagerly frighten; also (eke)

kale

Popular Tradition and Humble Life

Anone schowe wyll swere, “By cokkis sou[le], There is an haar in my haye!” 11 Anone sche wyle clepe forth hur knave, And loke ryȝt well wer I syte. Byhynd sche wyl with a stave Ful wel porpos me to hette. 12 ***“Go forthe, Wate, wit Crystus curse, And yf I leve, þu schalt be take. I have an hare-pype in my purce; Hit schal be set al for þi sauke!” 13 Ten hath þis wyffys ii doggis grete; On me sche byddyt heme goe. And as a scrowe sche wyll me þret, And ever sche cryit, “Go, dooge, gooe!” 14 But allway þis most I goo, By no banke I may abyde. Lord God, þat me is woo, Many a hape hath me bytyde! 15 There is no best in þe word, I wene, Hert, hynd, buke, ne dowe, That suffuris halfe so myche tene As doth þe sylly Wat, go where he go. 16 Ȝeyfe a genttylmane wyl have any game, And fynd me in forme where I syte, For dred of lossynge of his name ****I wot wele he wyle not me hyte.

161

she; God’s soul yard

call forth her boy very well; where intend to hit me

Christ’s if I live hare-trap it; put out just for your sake

then; wife; two great dogs bids shrew (scolding woman); threaten

in any case; thus distressing to me misfortune; befallen me

no beast in the world, I believe hart, hind, buck, nor doe distress poor foolish Wat

if; sport in (my) shape

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17 For an acuris bred he wyll me le[ve], Or he wyll let his hondis rene. Of all þe men þat beth alyve I am most behold to genttylmen. 18 As sone as I can ren to þe laye, Anon þe greyhondys wyl me have; My bowels beth iþroue awaye, And I ame bore home on a staufe.

width of an acre; leave alone before; let his hounds run obliged

(do) run into the open field

pole

19 Als sone as I am come home, I ame ihonge hye upon a pyne, With lekeworttis I ame eette anone, And whelpis play with my skyne.

peg leeks; eaten shortly puppies

nlW Brogyntyn ii.1, ff. 81v–83v 1.4 her] ms heher; 6.2 loke] ms loke alowe; 8.2 seche] ms sche; 9.3 ȝeorne] ms ȝewyne; 10.3 soule] ms sou edge of page damaged; 16.1 game] ms gam; 17.1 leve] ms  le *f. 82r; **f. 82v; ***f. 83r; ****f. 83v

63. A jovial song in a communal voice. The fox, proverbially a trickster, is here accosted as a thief, but also admired for his audacity and determination. The fals fox came unto our croft, And so our gese ful fast he sought. With how fox how, with hey fox hey! Come no more unto our howse to bere our gese aweye! 2 The fals fox came unto our stye, And toke our gese ther by and by. With how fox &c.

Popular Tradition and Humble Life

3 The fals fox cam into our yerde, And ther he made the gese aferde. With how fox &c.

163

afraid

4 The fals fox cam unto our gate, And toke our gese ther wher they sate. With how fox &c. 5 The fals fox came [un]to our halle-dore, And shrove our gese ther in the flore. With how fox &c. 6 The fals fox came into our halle, And assoyled our gese both grete & small. With how fox &c.

administered penance to

granted absolution to

7 The fals fox came unto our cowpe, And ther he made our gese to stowpe. With how fox &c. 8 He toke a gose fast by the nek, And the goose tho began to quek. With how fox &c. 9 The goodwyfe came out in her smok, And at the fox she threw hir rok. With how fox &c.

then

distaff

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10 The goodman came out with his flayle, And smote the fox upon the tayle. With how fox &c. 11 He threw a gose upon his back, And furth he went thoo with his pak. With how fox &c. 12 The goodman swore yf that he myght, He wolde hym slee or it wer nyght. With how fox &c.

slay before it was night

13 The fals fox went into his denne, And ther he was full mery thenne. With how fox &c. 14 He came ayene yet the next weke, And toke awey both henne & cheke. With how fox &c.

again chick

15 The goodman saide unto his wyfe, “This fals fox lyveth a mery lyfe.” With how fox &c. 16 The fals fox came upon a day, And with our gese he made affray. With how fox &c.

attack

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17 He toke a goose fast by the nek, And made her to sey “Wheccumquek!” With how fox &c. 18 “I pray the, fox,” seid the goose thoo, “Take of my feders but not of my to.” With how fox &c. cul Ee.1.12, f. 80v

then a bit of my feathers but not of my toe

Festive Songs

The lyrics in this section share a spirit of exuberant celebration. All except the first one, Adam lay ibowndyn (64), are carols, and that, in its energetic repetitions, is rather carol-like. Along with the Marian Poem 48, it is included by Britten in his Ceremony of Carols. Frequently lyrics of this kind are linked to a particular occasion, especially Christmas. The dramatic element in them is strong, and some have affinities with mumming and masque. Often, particularly for the seasonal carols, the setting is a convivial and well-heeled gathering in a large hall, with typical food (the boar’s head is the pièce de résistance), entertainment, formalities, and personnel. Poems voiced by a communal “we” are clearly intended to be sung by a group, as those in the “I” voice may often have been. They could also be delivered by a role-playing individual: a master of ceremonies, or Christmas personified, for example. Only Adam lay ibowndyn has a significantly religious subject. Interestingly, its final line, “Deo gracias” (thanks be to God), also forms part of the burden in the Agincourt Carol (65): “Deo gracias, Anglia, / Redde pro victoria” (“Give thanks to God for the victory, England”), where, in spite of these repeated words, the poem is more a tribute to the King than to God. While

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both Adam and the Agincourt Carol are serious-minded, in contrast to the light-heartedness of the other poems, these two songs are equally festive; they convey their message not with the quiet reflection of the meditative lyrics gathered earlier in this book, but with loud proclamation and joyful enthusiasm. Adam lay ibowndyn is uttered in the voice of simple layfolk and the style of popular song or ballad, with short lines, minimalist narrative, and vigorous repetitions. The poem celebrates the “Fortunate Fall,” treating the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden as a felix culpa (“happy fault”) in that it led to Christ’s redemption of humanity. The poet imagines Adam fettered for aeons in the underworld, until Jesus descended and released all those not condemned to eternal suffering. The Harrowing of Hell is elided here, and the poem smoothly makes an imaginative leap from the fatal apple to the Virgin Mary: her glory is the consequence of the Fall that the poet chooses to focus on – implicitly alluding to the view of Mary as replacing Eve. The poem is regarded as a Marian lyric by Karen Saupe, and included in her collection (ME Marian Lyrics, No. 84). Deo gracias, Anglia, the Agincourt Carol, is a patriotic, not to say jingoistic, poem in ballad style. At Agincourt, 130 miles south of Calais, on 25 October 1415, the English army under Henry V won a massive and surprising victory over the numerically much superior French forces; muddy terrain and cramped fighting space gave the English longbows the advantage over the French cavalry. Robbins provides a good account of the historical background (Robbins Hist, 285–6). Deo gracias, Anglia attributes the victory to God, as did Henry, who, according to contemporary sources, forbade the composition or performance of panegyrics focussed on himself alone (see Greene, 474–5, and Deeming, “Sources and Origin of the ‘Agincourt Carol,’” 23, 35n7). Many members of the French aristocracy were killed or taken captive. Henry’s triumph was celebrated by an extravagantly spectacular pageant in London on 23 November. (See Robbins Hist, 296–7.) It is possible, but by no means certain, that an early version of Deo gratias, Anglia was performed on that occasion (Deeming, “Sources,” 30). The story of Agincourt is, of course, known especially as told in Shakespeare’s Henry V. With Shakespeare’s eloquent speeches by Henry to the troops besieging Harfleur (Henry V, 3.1.1–34), and to the Earl of Westmorland immediately before the great battle on St Crispin’s Day (Henry V, 4.3.18–67), compare the Agincourt Carol’s equally triumphalist but much plainer narrative.

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With Poem 66, Hey, hey, hey, hey, we come to the carols of fun and feasting, most of them seasonal. In the all-purpose, definitely uncourtly drinking song Bryng us in good ale (67), rather like “Roll out the Barrel” but wittier, the carousing company want only their ale, and reject one food item after another with humorously disparaging comments. The invocation of the Virgin Mary in a demand for ale is no more incongruous than “For God’s sake” would be. Poems 66 and 71, Caput apri refero, are both “boar’s head” carols. Brought into the hall in procession, with singing, fanfare, and splendid decoration, the boar’s head would start off grand feasts, at the Christmas season in the later period, but also on other occasions earlier on. Since the boar seems to have been extirpated in England by the end of the thirteenth century (see Albarella, “The Wild Boar”), it would subsequently have to be imported or a substitute used: an ordinary pig, or a head made of brawn ( jellied pig’s brains). Depictions of boar hunts in the romances continued – in a lively passage of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, for instance, the animal puts up a ferocious resistance (1437ff ). For an engaging assembly of materials on this set of carols and their background, see Douglas Anderson’s thirtyeight-page entry on “The Boar’s Head Carols” on his (now defunct) website. Among the several surviving examples of carols on this theme, dating from the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, Poem 66 is the earliest, and 71 perhaps the most interesting. There are close parallels between the two in describing the ceremonious entry of the boar’s head and its leave-taking after the Twelfth Day (stanzas 1 and 3), which probably once formed the close of 66, or a carol like it, as well as of 71. This more learned version of the song, with its use of Latin for the burden and the final line of each stanza, resembles the famous version still performed in the hall of Queen’s College, Oxford, at Christmas. A picturesque story attaches to the Queen’s Carol. Tradition holds that the feast and the carol began around the time of the college’s founding (in 1341), after a student attacked by a boar choked it to death with a volume of Aristotle. The tale is amusingly told by J.R. Magrath in his book on the history and customs of the college (The Queen’s College, 2, Appendix F, 240–2). Poems 68 to 70 are carols associated with the entertainments attached to the Christmas season. In the Western liturgical year, Advent ends and Christmas begins on the night of 24 December and continues until the night of 5 January, followed by the Epiphany (Revelation of Christ to the Gentiles) on 6 January. Advent, traditionally a season of fasting, is dismissed

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with enthusiasm in the first of these carols, and Christmas regretfully bids farewell in the third. Both imply a dramatic performance, with an actor impersonating Advent and Christmas, respectively. Farewele Advent, Cristemas is cum evokes with humorous disgust the privations the assembled company have had to endure, living on stinking fish not worth a louse, mussels gone bad, watered-down ale, and mouldy bread. All ordinary people, high and low, hate Advent and his sire Lent, the major fasting season. It’s bad enough having to fast then. Let Advent confine his regime to those in the religious orders. Perhaps “Advent” was driven out with abuse and mock violence at the end of the song. Totally taken for granted, the Christian observance of Advent could be loudly vilified without offence. In the oeuvre of Friar James Ryman, this lyric may seem out of place. Greene suspects he is not the author (342). But its comic relief could have struck his fancy, and, focussing as it does on the Christian calendar, it is not as completely anomalous in the Ryman collection as The fals fox (63). Now have gud day, now have gud day (70) is, more clearly than Farewele Advent, intended as a dramatic performance. Christmas bids “Good day” (a parting salutation) to the assembled company, who seem to be formally gathered in their hall. Like a guest who doesn’t want to leave, he prolongs his goodbyes. He also seems to have arrived earlier and stayed later than he should, since he has been around from Hallowtide (All Souls’ Day) on 1 November until Candlemas (the feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple) on 2 February, rather than simply for the Twelve Days of Christmas. A lively impression of Christmas sports is contained in Make we mery, bothe more & lasse (69). The burden is voiced by the assembled company, the stanzas by the Lord of Misrule, who is in charge of the entertainment and insists that everybody provide some, on pain of being put in the stocks. His title is not given in the poem, but his presence is clear. There would also be other officials, mentioned here and in Poem 70, such as the marshal, who took charge of seating, and the more minor groom, panter, and butler. In late medieval and early Tudor times, a Lord of Misrule was appointed annually to arrange extravagant comic entertainments at the royal court during the Christmas season. The custom also flourished more widely: in municipal contexts, the Oxford and Cambridge colleges and their legal counterparts the Inns of Court, as well as in the houses of well-to-do private individuals. The Lord of Misrule’s powers included the authority to exact forfeits, and in fact stocks are among his stage props in a sixteenth-century record (see Notes).

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For the customs associated with the Lord of Misrule, see Greene, English Carols, 189; and, for a fuller account, E.K. Chambers, The Mediaeval Stage, 1: 403–19. The custom ceased at court after the death of Edward VI in 1553, but continued longer elsewhere, in some places into the seventeenth century. These lyrics of a celebratory kind are preserved in song collections, such as Bl Sloane 2593, from the first half, and Bodleian Eng poet e.1, from the second half of the fifteenth century, and in miscellanies of various kinds, including cul Ee.1.12 (Friar James Ryman’s Manuscript), at the end of the fifteenth century, and Balliol College, Oxford, 354 (the Commonplace Book of the London grocer Richard Hill), in the first third of the sixteenth. The songbooks are directed towards performance, even when the material is unaccompanied by music (but see Wakelin, “The Carol in Writing”), and they tend to be created in religious establishments that would maintain and train a choir. Sloane has been linked to the abbey of Bury St Edmunds; Eng poet e.1 is likely to be a church-choir repertory. The more secular items in these books would have provided entertainment on convivial occasions. See Julia Boffey, Manuscripts of English Courtly Love Lyrics, 95–6. Richard Hill’s book is important, not just as a repository of texts, but as a reflection of its compiler and his milieu. The volume is a personal collection compiled over a period of about thirty years, more or less between 1503 and 1536. Its content, mainly in English but including Latin and French, is eclectic: variously devotional, practical, instructive, and entertaining. At the head of his Table of Contents he describes it as “a boke of dyveris tales & balettis & dyveris reconyngis &c” (f. 3r [p. 6]). The book’s many lyrics, like its records of events and procedures, reflect a deeply engrained Catholicism that is taken for granted. But there are glimpses of the momentous rift with Rome that took place in the 1530s. “The Order of Goyng or Sittyng” begins with the words “A pope hath no pere,” heavily crossed out (f. 203v [p. 426]); notes on the events of 1534 include a tense comment on Henry VIII’s Act of Supremacy, whereby “the power & auctoryte of the pope was utterly made frustrat and of non effecte within this realme” (f. 240r [p. 501]). The Balliol 354 version of the Corpus Christi Carol (Poem 50) has been (speculatively) interpreted by Greene as a covert expression of sympathy for the cast-off Queen Catherine. The commonplace book as a type is carefully defined by A.G. Rigg: a miscellaneous collection “assembled simply for the interest and amusement of the compiler,” excluding songbooks, sermon source-books, personal

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devotional collections, and books created in scriptoria or planned in advance, but including books in diverse hands, providing the volume is regarded as “a depository for miscellaneous items” (A Glastonbury Miscellany, 24–5). See also Parker, The Commonplace Book in Tudor London (37–88 on Balliol 354), who notes that this type of book, which provided a mini household reference library, serves as an indicator of middle-class taste (12–14, 52–3). Among the manuscripts described as commonplace books by Boffey are those of Hill, John Colyns (Bl Harley 2252), and Canon John Gysborn (Bl Sloane 1584), along with nlW Porkington 10 (now Brogyntyn ii.1) and a student’s collection, Caius College, Cambridge 383 (Manuscripts of English Courtly Love Lyrics, 22–5, 129). All of these are represented in the present book. Most of the items that could be considered lyric in Balliol 354, including all the poems selected here, are found in Dyboski’s 1908 edition.

64. In this dynamic poem, the melancholy consequences of Adam’s sin are overwhelmed by jubilation at the triumph over it – here reflected in the enthronement not of Christ but of Mary. Adam lay ibowndyn, Bowndyn in a bond, Fowre þowsand wynter Þowt he not to long. 2 And al was for an appil, An appil þat he tok, As clerkis fyndyn Wretyn in her book. 3 Ne hadde þe appil take ben, Þe appil taken ben, Ne hadde never our lady A ben hevene qwen.

bound fast shackles, chains thought

scholars

have been the queen of heaven

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4 Blyssid be þe tyme þat appil take was. Þerfore we mown syngyn “Deo gracias.”

have good cause to sing thanks (be) to God

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 11r

65. Stirring and nationalistic, the Agincourt Carol both addresses and speaks for England as a unity. No sadness here for the violence and waste of war. Deo gracias, Anglia, Redde pro victoria. 1 Owre kynge went forth to Normandy With grace & myȝt of chyvalry, Ther God for hym wrouȝt mervelusly, Wherfore Englonde may calle & cry, Deo gracias!

to God (give) thanks, England give (thanks) for the victory

worked (“wrought”)

Deo gracias, Anglia, Redde pro victoria. 2 *He sette a sege, þe sothe for to say, To Harflu toune with ryal aray. Þat toune he wan & made afray Þat Fraunce shal rywe tyl Domesday. Deo gracias! 3 Than went our kynge with alle his oste Thorwe Fraunce for alle þe Frenshe boste. He spared no drede of lest ne moste Tyl he come to Agincourt coste. Deo gracias!

laid a siege; truth Harfleur; royal assault regret (“rue”)

host, army through neither the lowest nor the greatest region

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4 Than for soth þat knyȝt comely In Agincourt feld he fauȝt manly. Thorw grace of God most myȝty He had bothe þe felde & þe victory. Deo gracias! 5 There dukys & erlys, lorde & barone Were take & slayne & þat wel sone, And summe were ladde into Lundone With joye and merthe & grete renone. Deo gracias! 6 Now gracious God, he save oure kynge, His peple, & alle his wel-wyllynge, Ȝef hem gode lyfe & gode endynge, Þat we with merth mowe savely synge, Deo gracias!

earls soon acclaim

all those who wish him well give them with joy may say confidently

Bodl Arch Seld B .26, ff. 17v–18r *f. 18r

66. Bringing in the boar’s head marks the grand opening of a splendid dinner, here itemized in elaborate detail. The first three stanzas, evidently traditional, are echoed in Poem 71. Hey, hey, hey, hey! Þe borrys hede is armyd gay. 1 The boris hede in hond I bryng Witt garlond gay in porttoryng. *I pray yow all witt me to synge. Witt hay!

gaily decked out, presented

decoration? with

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2 Lordys, knyȝttis, and skyers, Persons, prystis, and wycars, The boris hede ys þe fur[s]t mes. Witt hay!

knights and squires parsons, priests, and vicars course

3 The boris hede, as I yow say, He takis his leyfe, & gothe his way Son after þe tweylffyt day. Witt hay!

leave

4 Then commys in þe secund kowrs witt mykyll pryd, Þe crannis & þe heyrrons, þe bytteris by þer syde, Þe pertrychys & þe plowers, þe wodcokis & þe snyt. Witt hay! 5 Larkys in hoot schow, ladys for to pyk, Good drynk þerto, lycyus and fyne, Blwet of allmayne, romnay, and wyin. Witt hay!

course; much pride cranes; herons; bitterns partridges; plovers; woodcocks; snipe

broth; for ladies to pick delicious almond broth; rumney (a Greek sweet wine)

6 Gud bred, alle, & wyin, dare I well say, Þe boris hede witt musterd armyd soo gay. 7 Furmante to potdtage, witt wennissun fyne, & þe hombuls of þe dow, & all þat ever commis in.

set off with mustard

frumenty porridge as soup; venison doe’s numbles (edible inner parts)

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8 Cappons ibake, witt þe pesys of þe roow, Reysons of corrans, witt odyr spysis moo.

baked capons; pieces of roe-deer? Corinthian raisins (currants); other spices

nlW Brogyntyn ii.1, f. 202rv 3.3 tweylffyt] ms xii theylffyt

*f. 202v

67. Clamouring to be served their ale, this group of carousers evidently don’t care about other comestibles, which, one after another, they roundly dismiss. Bryng us in good ale, & bryng us in good ale; Fore owr blyssyd Lady sak, bryng us in good ale. 1 *Bryng us in no browne bred, fore þat is mad of brane, Nore bryng us in no whyt bred, fore þerin is no game. But bryng us in good ale. 2 Bryng us in no befe, fore þer is many bonys, But bryng us in good ale, for þat goth downe at onys. & bryng us in good ale.

amusement

at once

3 Bryng us in no bacon, for þat is passyng fate, But bryng us in god ale, & gyfe us inought of þat. & bryng us in good ale.

extremely greasy enough

4 Bryng us in no mutton, for þat is often lene, Nor bryng us in no trypys, for þei be syldom clene. But bryng us in good ale.

lean tripe(s); clean

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5 Bryng us in no eggys, for þer ar many schelles, But bryng us in good ale, and gyfe us no[þ]yng ellys. & bryng us in good ale. 6 Bryng us in no butter, for þerin ar many herys, Nor bryng us in no pygges flesch, for þat wyl mak us borys. But bryng us in good ale. 7 Bryng us in no podynges, for þerin is al Godes good, Nor bryng us in no veneson, for þat is not for owr blod. But bryng us in good ale. 8 Bryng us in no capons flesch, for þat is often der, Nor bryng us in no dokes flesch, for þei slober in þe mer. But bryng us in good ale.

hairs boars

puddings not good for

expensive ducks’ meat; pond

Bodl Eng poet e.1, ff. 41v–42r *f. 42r

68. This carol may have accompanied a dramatic enactment in which Advent was personified, like Christmas in 70. The jocular tone here is very different from the earnest piety one expects of Ryman – as seen in 34 and 34a. Farewele Advent, Cristemas is cum, (James Ryman) everybody (the sum total) Farewele fro us both alle and sume. 1 With paciens thou hast us fedde And made us go hungrie to bedde, For lak of mete we were nyghe dedde. Farewele fro &c.

food; nearly dead

Festive Songs

2 While thou haste be within oure howse We ete no puddynges ne no sowce, But stynking fisshe not worthe a lowce. Farewele &c. 3 There was no fresshe fisshe ferre ne nere, Salt fisshe & samon was to dere, And thus we have had hevy chere. Farewele &c.

177

pickled pork

far nor near depressing fare

4 Thou hast us fedde with plaices thynne, Nothing on them but bone and skynne, Therefore oure love thou shalt not wynne. Farewele &c. 5 With muskilles gaping afture the mone Thou hast us fedde at nyght & none, But ones a wyke, and that to sone. Farewele &c. 6 Oure brede was browne, oure ale was thynne, Oure brede was musty in the bynne, Oure ale soure or we did begynne. Fare &c. 7 Thou art of grete ingratitude *Good mete fro us for to exclude, Thou art not kyende but verey reude. Farewele &c.

mussels; at the moon week

before

kind; boorish

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8 Thou dwellest with us ayenst oure wille, And yet thou gevest us not oure fille, For lak of mete thou woldest us spille. Farewele &c.

kill

9 Above alle thinge thou art a meane To make oure chekes bothe bare & leane, I wolde thou were at Boughton Bleane! Farewele &c.

means

10 Come thou no more here nor in Kent, For yf thou doo thou shallt be shent, It is ynough to faste in Lent. Farewele &c.

destroyed

11 Thou maist not dwelle with none eastate,

cannnot be endured by people of any rank

Therfore with us thou playest chekmate. Go hens, or we will breke thy pate! Farewele. 12 Thou maist not dwell with knyght nor squier, For them thou maiste lye in the myre, They love not the nor Lent thy sire. Farewele &c. 13 Thou maist not dwell with labouring man, For on thy fare no skille he can, For he must ete both now & than. Fare &c.

live with, get along with

he can perceive no sense in your diet then

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14 Though thou shalt dwell with monke & frere, Chanon & nonne ones every yere, Yet thou shuldest make us better chere. Fare. 15 This tyme of Cristes feest natall, We will be mery, grete and small, And thou shalt goo oute of this halle. Farewele &c. 16 Advent is gone, Cristemas is cume. Be we mery now, alle & sume. He is not wise that wille be dume In ortu Regis Omnium.

friar canon; nun; once give us better fare

feast of Christ’s nativity

silent in the court of the King of All

cul Ee.1.12, ff. 58v–59r *f. 59r

69. The Lord of Misrule humorously lays down the law, and threatens punishment for offenders. Make we mery, bothe more & lasse, For now ys þe tyme of Crystymas. 1 Lett no man cum into this hall, Grome, page, nor yet marshall, But þat sum sport he bryng withall, For now ys the tyme of Crystmas. 2 Yff that he say he cannot syng, Sum oder sport then lett hym bryng,

groom (minor officer under marshal)

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Þat yt may please at thys festyng, For now ys the tyme of Crystmas. 3 Yff he say he can nowght do, Then for my love aske hym no mo, But to the stokkis then lett hym go, For now ys þe tyme of Crystmas. Explicit.

do nothing more stocks the end

Balliol 354, f. 223v (p. 468)

70. Christmas, who seems to have stayed much longer than his assigned season, bids farewell and leaves the gathering in the hall. Now have gud day, now have gud day! I am Crystmas & now I go my way. 1 Here have I dwellyd with more & lasse from Halowtyde till Candylmas, And now must I from you hens passe. Now have gud day! 2 I take my leve of kyng & knyght, & erle, baron & lady bryght, To wildernes I must me dyght. Now have gud day! 3 & at þe gud lord of this hall I take my leve & of gestis all, Me thynke I here, Lent doth call. Now have gud day!

good day to you (i.e., goodbye)

All Souls’ Day (1 Nov.); 2 Feb.

prepare myself

guests It seems to me that I hear

Festive Songs

4 And at every worthy offycer, Marchall, panter & butler, I take my leve as for this yere. Now have gud day!

181

feast director; controller of food supplies

5 Anoder yere I trust I shall Make mery in this hall, Yf rest & pease in Ynglond may fall. Now have gud day!

if; peace; take place; occur, exist

6 But oftyn tymys I have hard say Þat he ys loth to part away, Þat oftyn byddyth “have gud day!” Now have gud day!

reluctant to depart who often says goodbye

7 Now fare ye well, all in fere. Now fare ye well for all this yere. Yet for my sake make ye gud cher. Now hav gud day!   Explicit.

all together feast and make merry the end

Balliol 354, f. 224v (p. 470)

71. A macaronic “boar’s head” carol, the English lines very similar to the first part of Poem 66. Caput apri refero Resonens laudes Domino. 1 The boris hed in hondis I brynge With garlondis gay & byrdis syngynge.

I’m bringing in the boar’s head singing aloud praises to the Lord

hands birds singing

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I pray you all, helpe me to synge Qui estis in convivio.

who are taking part in this festivity

2 The boris hede, I understond Ys cheff servyce in all this londe. Whersoever it may be fonde, Servitur cum sinapio.

it is served with mustard

3 The boris hede, I dare well say, Anon after the XIIth day, He taketh his leve & goth away. Exivit tunc de patria.

immediately leave then he’s gone out of the land

Balliol 354, f. 228r (p. 477)

is the finest dish

Humour and Satire

This section focusses on poems, mainly songs, that take delight in the absurdities of the human condition, with its selfishness, incapacity, and constant frustrations. All the examples here are uttered in a male voice, but a similar irreverence can be found in some of the woman’s-voice poems included below. Most of these humorous lyrics, like the “Festive Songs” above, were probably intended for group entertainment. Poem 72, “The Blacksmiths,” which sounds like a bit of private venting, may be an exception in this as in other respects. Poem 73, on the speaker’s devotion to his purse, is cynical about friendship in a world where what counts is money. Reality falls far short of the ideal in relations between men and women too. Poem 75, a mock lover’s-complaint, parodies the genre. Other poems, appealing to male camaraderie, depict unruly women who subvert the proper order of male dominance and female submission. The battle of the sexes, presented from the male perspective, also involves a good deal of mockery aimed at men. Its misogyny has, however, been taken very seriously by many critics in recent times. See, for example, Joanna Kazic, who believes it is their “good-natured humour” that

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makes poems like this “vitriolic” (“Of all creatures women be best,” 87). Certainly, misogynist satire has been around for a long time – since the poet Semonides in Archaic Greece unflatteringly categorized the different types of women by animal species, the only good one being the industrious and serviceable bee. One of the poems selected below stands apart from the rest. Poem 72, Swarte smekyd smeþes, smateryd wyth smoke, composed in alliterative long lines and non-stanzaic, has more in common metrically with narrative and discursive poetry going back to Anglo-Saxon traditions than with most Middle English lyrics. With a vividly onomatopoeic range of alliterative sound effects, the poem voices a fuming neighbour’s indignation at being kept awake by blacksmiths’ banging and crashing as they work at night. The anonymous author comes up with some colourful epithets too: the blacksmith’s job, making horseshoes among other things, prompts “mare-clothers”; the steam produced in tempering the iron suggests “water-burners” – a term recorded elsewhere that must have been a humorous nickname for blacksmiths. This highly unusual piece, both a torrent of verbal abuse and a celebration of the smiths’ mighty skill, is a tour de force. On its virtuosity and distinctiveness, see also Introduction, 40, above. How, hey, it is non les (74) and Care away, away, away (76) dramatize the sufferings of men with dominating wives in a series of slapstick scenes of verbal and physical aggression – undoubtedly inverting a more common situation. If he speaks up, she bashes him about the head, in 74 with a staff or a dish. Kazik sees these objects as sexual symbols implying “female desire to control men” (83). The wife is a negligent housekeeper and in 76 bibulous too. In 74 the husband runs under the bed to get away from her; in 76 he trots meekly beside her as she rides to the tavern. Both poems seem to call for a dramatic live performance, with a solo interpreter impersonating the unfortunate husband and a mocking chorus singing the burden. The woes energetically inflicted on the hapless young man by his older wife in How, hey call to mind the more complex figure of the Wife of Bath, who, like “our dame” here, reverses the acceptable pattern of spousal abuse. Her triumphalist narrative of her marital career in her Prologue culminates in the achievement of maistrie over her youthful fifth husband. In contrast, neither husband nor wife here is drawn with any subtlety. The voice in How, hey’s warning to prospective husbands is simple, and scarcely interiorized; it invites laughter and no sympathy for the gumptionless speaker. Care away is a

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song in much the same vein, but ironized by the burden, which suggests the assembled company’s cheerful rejection of the plight painted in the stanzas. Thus, the poem is something different from “A Henpecked Husband’s Complaint,” as Robbins called both this and 74. More sophisticated than these two, 77 and 78 form an absurdist pair of merrily misogynist songs. Whane thes thynges foloyng be done to owr intent (77) recommends placing one’s trust in women only when impossibilities have taken place. This kind of trope, “adynaton” in the technical terminology of rhetoric, must be universal. It is by no means limited to the comic. A postulated impossibility implying “never” can also be used seriously – in a lover’s pledge, for instance, such as Burns’s “till a’ the seas gang dry” in O my luve’s like a red, red rose. Often these impossibilia are traditional and proverbial. In Whane thes thynges foloyng, a hilarious series of incongruities has animals behaving like intelligent humans (with the implicit suggestion that the reverse is more likely), fish migrating to the land, tiny creatures performing feats of strength, and, of course, as another fantasy, women showing discretion. On this poem as compared with the truly virulent satire that amounts to hate literature, see Introduction, 42, above. In Of all creatures women be best (78), the humour turns on contradiction of the first line of the burden by the second. The poem’s ironical posture assumes that women won’t pick up the Latin negation of their virtues – avoiding their supposedly typical faults of indescretion, shrewishness, cheating, bad temper, gossiping, drinking, and extravagance, which are itemized at some length. One suspects that female listeners, or readers, didn’t miss the point. Also cheerfully satirical, Lord, how shall I me complayn (75) is a rather heavy-handed spoof of the woebegone lover. Beginning with language typical of the courtly complaint, the poem works by thwarting conventional expectations, as all the lover’s woes are either denied or attributed to some trivial cause. Sleeplessness is the typical affliction, but here sleepiness deflates each stanza in an anticlimactic refrain. The lover’s pain turns out to be caused by a tight shoe or a foreign object under his heel; he fasts – but only through the night or by substituting good wine for ale; his torments are the result of singing too much; he is putting on weight; he refuses to alter his apparel in token of his love; and he does not travel very far to see his lady. The parody is a little clumsy, but its humorous take on the extravagant postures of courtly convention is refreshing. One cannot help wondering if some of the Harley love lyrics are also, more subtly, tongue-in-cheek.

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Less parodic, but similarly scoffing at more earnest themes, Poem 73 belongs to an established genre of cynical songs in praise of money, often personified. See Brown Sec, Nos. 57–60, and Greene, Nos. 390–3. The most sophisticated example must be Chaucer’s mock-courtly Complaint to His Purse, which, like Poem 75, is a parodic love-poem. Syng we alle and sey we thus is terse and trenchant. The collective voice of the burden, cheerfully thanking the purse as special friend, contrasts with the disillusioned speaker of the stanzas, who finds that the purse which brought him friends and the means of existence is now tattered and empty. He is, somewhat mystifyingly, compelled to play with horn and bow, and seems to be stunned by what has happened to him. The humour of the final poem in this section, Hogyn cam to bowers dore (79), turns on a fairly crudely drawn erotic encounter, in which a foolish and undesirable lover is humiliated by being tricked into a misplaced kiss. The same fabliau motif is used by Chaucer in the Miller’s Tale, where Alisoun mocks Absolon in this way. However, unlike the young and fashionable, though foolish, Absolon, who never actually gets a chance, Hogyn here is dismissed as low-class, old, and impotent: “Whan thei were to bed browght, / The old chorle he cowld do nowght” (3.2–3). Rather implausibly after being granted full access, Hogyn is sent outside in order to come to the window to give his kiss, so that the song can end with the rude trick, made particularly distasteful by Hogyn’s comment. On the appeal of this coarse but lively poem, see Introduction, 39–40, above. These poems, except for the first, date from the late fourteenth century on, and are preserved in fifteenth- and early-sixteenth-century songbooks and commonplace books. See above, under “Festive Songs.”

72. The sleepless speaker explodes at the blacksmiths’ deafening din. Swarte smekyd smeþes smateryd wyth smoke, Dryve me to deth wyth den of here dyntes. Swech noys on nyghtes ne herd men never.

black-smoky smiths; begrimed din of their blows such noise; never heard

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187

What knavene cry & clateryng of knockes! Þe cammede kongons cryen after “Col, col!”

workmen’s shouting; banging pug-nosed idiots; cry for charcoal & blowen here bellewys þat al here brayn brestes. their bellows; so that; bursts “Huf, puf!” seyth þat on. “Haf, paf!” þat oþer. says one; another Þei spyttyn & spraulyn & spellyn many spelles, spit; spring about; curse; curses Þei gnauen & gnacchen, þei gronys togydere, gnash their teeth; together And holdyn hem hote wyth here hard hamers. keep themselves hot; their hammers Of a bole-hyde ben here barm-fellys, their aprons are made of bull’s hide Here schankes ben schakeled for þe legs have shin-guards; fire sparks

fere flunderys. Hevy hamerys þei han þat hard ben handled, Stark strokes þei stryken on a stelyd stokke. “Lus, bus! Las, das!” rowtyn be rowe. Swech dolful a dreme þe devyl it todryve. Þe mayster longith a lityl & lascheth a lesse, Twyneth hem tweyn and towchith a treble. “Tik, tak! Hic, hac! Tiket, tacket! Tyk, tak! Lus, bus! Lus, das!” Swych lyf þei ledyn. Alle cloþe merys, Cryst hem gyve sorwe! May no man for brenwaterys on nyght han hys rest!

they have; hard to wield strong; strike; steel anvil (they) crash in turn devil take such a terrible noise extends a piece; hammers a smaller one twists the two; strikes a treble (note) such a life they lead mare-clothers; give them sorrow water-burners; no one can have ...

Bl Arundel 292, f. 71v

73. As the opening line proclaims, this jovially cynical little piece is evidently intended for group singing. Syng we alle and sey we thus, “Gramersy myn owyn purs.”

thank you

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1 Quan I have in myn purs inow, I may have bothe hors & plow, & also fryndis inow, Throw the vertu of myn purs.

when; enough enough friends power

2 Quan my purs gynnyȝt to slak & þer is nowt in my pak, They wil seyn, “Go farwil, Jak; Þu xalt non more drynke with us.”

begins to diminish nothing say; farewell you shall

3 Thus is al myn good ilorn & myn purs al totorn. I may pley me with an horn In the stede al of myn purs.

all my money is lost torn to pieces amuse myself instead of

4 Farwil hors & farwil cow, Farwil carte & farwil plow. As I pleyid me with a bow, I seyd, “God! Quat is al this?”

what

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 6r

74. Nothing subtle in this knockabout farce, narrated by the tyrannized husband, but also voicing a wife who doesn’t mince her words. How, hey, it is non les, I dar not seyn quan che seyȝ “pes!”

no lie say (anything) when she says “be silent”

1 Ȝyng men, I warne ȝou everychon, Elde wywys tak ȝe non,

young; every one of you wives

Humour and Satire

189

For I myself have on at hom. I dar not seyn quan che seyȝt “pes!” 2 *Quan I cum fro þe plow at non, In a reven dych myn mete is don, I dar not askyn our dame a spon. I dar not &c.

my food is put in a broken dish ask our mistress (i.e., his wife); spoon

3 If I aske our dame bred, che takyt a staf & brekit myn hed, & doþ me rennyn under þe bed. I dar not &c.

takes; breaks makes me run

4 If I aske our dame fleych, Che brekit myn hed with a dych: “Boy, þou art not worȝt a reych.” I dar &c.

meat worth a rush

5 If I aske our dame chese, “Boy,” che seyȝt, al at ese, “Þou art not worȝt half a pese.” I dar not sey quan che seyȝt “pes!”

cheese pea

Bl Sloane 2593, ff. 24v–25r burden 1: non] erased in ms ; 3.3 bed] ms led *f. 25r

75. An amusing but rather heavy-handed spoof of the courtly lover’s lament. This kind of parody is handled more deftly in Merciles Beaute, Chaucerian, if not actually by Chaucer. See Introduction, 34–5, above.

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Lord, how shall I me complayn Unto myn own lady dere, For to tell her of all my payn That I fele this tyme of the yere? My love, yf þat ye will here, Thowgh I can no songis make, So þis love changith my chere That [whan] I slepe I cannot wake. 2 Thowgh love do me so mykyll wo, I love you best; I make a vowe That my shoo byndith my litill too & all my smarte it is for you. *Forsothe me thynkith it will me slo, But ye sumwhat my sorow slake. But barefot to my bedde I goo, & whan I slepe I cannot wak. 3 Whosoever wyst what lyff I lede In myn abservance in dyversiteis. From tyme that I go to my bedde I ete no mete tyll that I rise. Ye myght tell it for a gret enprise That men thus morneth for your sak. So mykyll I thynk on your service That whan I slepe I cannot wak. 4 In the mornyng whan I shall rise, Me lyst right well for to dyne, But comonly I drynk non ale ywis, Yf I may get any good wyne. To mak your hart to me enclyne Suche tormentis to me I take.

express my love-longing

hear cheer (i.e., sense of well-being)

makes me so much distress my shoe squeezes my little toe truly it seems to me it will kill me unless you somewhat lighten

knows; life; lead performance of duties; adverse circumstances food great exploit mourn much; about serving you

I am very eager to eat to be sure turn to me

Humour and Satire

Syngyng dothe me so myche pyne That whan I slepe I cannot wak. 5 I may unneth boton my slevis, So myn armes wexith more. Under my hele is þat me grevis, For at my hart I fele no sore. Every day my girdyll goth owt a bare. I clynge as doth a wheton cake. & for your love I sigh so sore That whan I slepe I cannot wake. 6 Þerfor but ye quyt me well my hire Forsoth I not what I shall done. & for your love, lady, by this fire Old glovis will I were non. I lawgh & syng & mak no mone. I wex as lene as any rake. Thus in langowr I leve alone & whan I slepe I cannot wak. 7 My dublet ys narrowar than it was To love you first whan I began; Hit must be wyder, by my lace, In eche a stede by a spanne. My love, sith I becam your man, I have riden thorow many a lake, On myle way mornyng I cam. Yet whan I slepe I cannot wak 8 Thus in langowr I am lent, Longe or you do so for me. Take good hed to myn entent,

191

creates so much suffering for me

can hardly button my sleeves my arms get so much bigger heel; something bothering me pain my belt expands by the length of a bar shrivel, dry up; wheat bun

recompense me for my hired service truly I don’t know wear no old gloves laugh; lament become; thin languishing

doublet (tight jacket) cord (to draw his doublet tight?) every place; hand span since an area covered by (shallow) water one mile; this morning (mourning?)

I have remained for a long time before you do the same opinion

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For this shall my conclusion be: Me thynkith I love as well as ye, Never so quaynt thowgh ye it mak. By this ensample ye may se That whan I slepe I cannot wak.   Finis.

it seems to me subtle, sophistical example end

Balliol 354, f. 252rv (pp. 511–12) *f. 252v

76. When sung, the effect would surely be a boisterous repudiation of the subjection described. Care away, away, away, Care away for evermore. 1 All þat I may swynk or swet, My wyfe it wyll boþ drynk & ete, & I sey ouȝt she wyl me bete. Carfull ys my hart þerfor. 2 If I sey ouȝt of hyr but good, She loke on me as she war wod, & wyll me clouȝt abouȝt þe hod. Carfull &c. 3 If she wyll to þe gud ale ryd, Me must trot all be hyr syd, & whan she drynk I must abyd. Carfull &c. 4 If I say it shal be thus, She sey, “Þou lyyst, charll, iwous.

however much; toil if I say anything; beat

as if she were crazy give me a blow on the hood (i.e., head)

good; ride I have to trot right beside her abstain

you’re lying, churl, for sure

Humour and Satire

Wenest þou to overcome me þus?” Carfull &c.

193

do you expect

5 *Yf ony man have such a wyfe to lede, He schal know how “judicare” cam in þe Cred;

any; to take care of “to judge,” with sharp punishment; Creed for his penance; give him recompense

Of hys penans God do hym med. Carfull &c. Bodl Eng poet e.1, f. 23rv *f. 23v

77. This litany of fantastical impossibilia seems more inspired by its own inventiveness than by any seriously misogynist purpose. Whane þes thynges foloyng be done to owr intent, Þan put women in trust & confydent.

following; as you desire in a position of trust; confidence

1 *When nettuls in wynter bryng forth rosys red, thorn trees bear figs & al maner of thorn trys ber fygys naturally, & ges ber perles in every med, geese; pearls; meadow & laurell ber cherys abundantly, laurel trees; cherries & okes ber dates very plentuosly, oaks & kyskys gyfe of hony superfluens, kecks (dry stalks) give a superfluity Þan put women in trust and confydens. 2 Whan box ber papur in every lond & towne, & thystuls ber berys in every place, & pykes have naturally fethers in þer crowne, & bulles of þe see syng a good bace, & men be þe schypes fyschys do trace,

of honey

box shrubs; paper thistles; berries pike (fish) sea-bulls, i.e., seals; bass fishes follow men on the ships?

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& in women be fownd no incypyens, Þan put hem in trust and confydens.

foolishness

3 Whan whytynges do walke forestes to chase hertys, & herynges þer hornnys in forestes boldly blow, & marmsattes morn in mores & in lakys, & gurnardes schot rokes owt of a crosebow, & goslynges hunt, þe wolfe to overthrow, & sprates ber sperys in armys of defens, Þan put women in trust & confydens.

whiting (fish); stags herrings; horns marmosets (monkeys) mourn; moors gurnets (fish) shoot rooks sprats (small fish); spears

4 **Whan swyn be conyng in al poyntes of musyke, swine; skilful & asses be docturs of every scyens, science & kattes do hel men be practysyng of fysyke, cats; heal; physic (medicine) & boserds to Scryptur gyfe ony credens, buzzards; give any credence & marchans by with horne insted of grotes merchants buy; groats (coins); & pens, pence & pyys be mad poetes for þer eloquens, magpies Þan put women in trust & confydens. 5 Whan spawrus byld chyrchys on a hyth, & wrenys cary sekkes onto þe myll, & curlews cary tymber howsys to dyth, & semaus ber butter to market to sell, & wodkokes wer wodk[n]yfys, cranis to kyll, & gren fynchys to goslynges do obedyens, Þan put women in trust & confydens. 6 Whan crowbes tak samon in wodes & parkes, & be tak with swyftes & snaylys,

sparrows; churches; height wrens; sacks to fix up houses sea-mews (gulls) woodcocks; cranes (birds) green finches

ravens (or carrion crows); salmon are caught by (using) swifts (birds); snails

Humour and Satire

& cammels in þe ayer tak swalows & larkes, & myse move mountans with wagyng of þer tayles, & schypmen tak a ryd insted of saylles, & whan wyfvys to þer husbondes do no offens, Þan put women in trust & confydens. 7 ***Whan hantlopes sermountes eglys in flyght, & swans be swyfter þan haukes of þe tower, & wrennys ses goshaukes be fors & myght, & musketes mak vergese of crabbes sower, & schyppes seyl on dry lond, sylt gyfe flower, & apes in Westmynster gyfe jugment & sentens, Than put women in trust & confydens.

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air mice; wagging ride wives

antelopes surmount eagles hawks; Tower of London? wrens seize goshawks by force sparrowhawks; verjuice; sour crabapples sand produces flour

Bodl Eng poet e.1, ff. 43v–45r *f. 44r; **f. 44v; ***f. 45r

78. Another merrily misogynist carol, this one inviting an audience of longsuffering husbands to congratulate themselves on understanding a bit of Latin. Of all creatures women be best. Cuius contrarium verum est. 1 In every place ye may well se Þat women be trew as tyrtyll on tre, Not liberall in langage, but ever in secrete, & gret joy among them is fore to be. 2 The stedfastnesse of women will never be don, So gentyll, so curtes thei be everuchon,

the opposite of this is true

turtle-dove discreet

courteous; every one

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Mek as a lambe, styll as a stone, Crockyd ne crabbyd fynd ye none.

crooked; sour-tempered

3 Men be more combres a thowsandfold, & I mervill who thei dare be so bold Ageynst women fore to hold, Seing them so pascient, soft, & cold.

troublesome how persist patient; cool-tempered

4 Fore tell a woman all yowr cownsayle, & she cane kepe it wonder weyll; She had lever go qwyck to hell Þan to her neyboure she wold it tell.

would rather go alive neighbours

5 Fore by women men be reconsyled, Fore by women was never man begiled, Fore by women was never man betraied, Fore by women was never man bewreyed.

betrayed (by her talk)

6 *Now sey well by women ore elles be styll, Fore they never displeasid man by þer will. To be angry ore wroth þei cannot skyll, Fore I dare sey they thynk no ill. 7 Trow ye þat they lyst to smatter, Ore ageynst þer husbondes to clatter? Nay, thei had lever fast bred & water Then fore to presse in suche a matter. 8 Thowe all þe pacience in þe world wer drownd, & nonne were left here on the grownd, Ageyn in women it myght be fownd, Such vertu in them doth abownd.

counsel

silent wrathful; lack the ability

do you think they like to chatter tell secrets would rather; fast on

efficacity

Humour and Satire

9 To the taverne þei will not goo, Nore to þe alehowse none þe moo, Fore, God wott, þer hartes shul be woo To spend þer husbondes money soo. 10 If here were a woman ore a mayd That list for to go freshly arayd, Ore with fyne kerchefs to go displaid, Ye wold saie þei be proud; it is evil said.

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more God knows

if who desired to go brightly dressed kerchiefs (coverings for head or neck)

Bodl Eng poet e.1, ff. 55v–56r *f. 56r

79. The action turns on a rude joke, which readers of the Miller’s Tale will recognize. Hogyn cam to bowers dore, Hogyn cam to bowers dore, He tryld upon þe pyn for love. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. He tryld upon þe pyn for love. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. 2 Up she rose & lett hym yn, Up she rose & let hym yn, She had awent she had worshipped all her kyn. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. She had awent she had worshipped all her kyn. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. 3 When þei were to bed browght, Whan thei were to bed browght,

the cottage door jiggled; latch ring the bell

thought she would be doing honour to

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The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

The old chorle he cowld do nowght. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. The old chorle he cowld do nowght. Hum, ha, trill go bell. 4 “Go ye furth to yonder wyndow, Go ye furth to yonder wyndow, And I will cum to you within a throw.” Hum, ha, trill, go bell. “& I will cum to you withyn a throw.” Hum, ha, trill, go bell. 5 Whan she hym at þe wyndow wyst, Whan she hym at þe wyndow wyst, She torned owt her ars & þat he kyst. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. She torned owt her ars & þat he kyst. Hum, ha, trill, go bell. 6 “Ywys, leman, ye do me wrong, Ywis, leman, ye do me wrong, Or elles your breth ys wonder strong.” Hum, ha, trill, go bell. “Or elles your breth ys wonder strong.” Hum, ha, trill, go bell.   Explicit. Balliol 354, f. 249v (p. 506) 2.5 her] ms he

in a moment

realized he was at the window

for sure; sweetheart remarkably

the end

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

The set of poems included under “Refined Love” (the phrase translates the Occitan fin’amor) forms by far the largest contingent among the groups of texts assembled here. Considering the ratio of secular lyrics to sacred ones, the selection is wildly disproportionate. But in the history of ideas the concept of refined or courtly love has been hugely important – as distinct from the actual term “courtly love,” which, apart from one recorded usage by a troubadour (cortez amors, in a twelfth-century lyric by Peire d’Alvernha), was essentially coined in the late nineteenth century. Of course, erotic passion has always been around, but it has not always been venerated, nor has a man’s love for a woman been universally seen as the kind most capable of embodying the ideal. Among the Greeks (at least the ones who wrote about it), a man’s feeling for a male was more likely to be of the ennobling kind. For a lively take on the subject, see James Davidson’s The Greeks and Greek Love. In ancient Rome, Catullus didn’t pride himself on his love for Lesbia. Quite the reverse. “I hate and love,” he says, famously, “and I’m crucified” (Odi et amo ... et excrucior, Catullus 85). The extant poetry of the Anglo-Saxons includes a couple of passionate passages – spoken by women – but nothing re-

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motely resembling the mode that began with the troubadours. Its influence is seen in English poetry of the fourteenth century, more extensively in the fifteenth, and through the sixteenth up to and including Shakespeare. If C.S. Lewis is right in the now dated but still valuable Allegory of Love, the whole notion of romantic love is based on the “courtly love” of the Middle Ages. Nearly all the English poetry of refined love is in a male voice – a couple of exceptions are included in the next section. A more direct and openly sensual poetry, popular rather than courtly in style, is to be found in woman’svoice lyrics. The two contrasting types present, in their very different ways, a constructed masculinity and femininity; the feminine side of this construction is more developed in some of the literatures of Continental Europe, where the French and Occitan chanson de femme, the German Frauenlied, and the Galician-Portuguese cantiga de amigo (“song about a lover”) are prolific genres, often practised by known male poets. But some of the troubadours were women, and adapted the conventions of fin’amor to their own position, that of the proud lady, the aristocratic domna whom their male counterparts courted (on the troubadours, including the women, see Simon Gaunt and Sarah Kay’s Introduction). Same-sex erotic love, being anathematized for men and largely unacknowledged for women, scarcely enters serious medieval love-poetry, but one poem, by the woman troubadour Bietris de Romans, addressed to another woman, may be an expression of lesbian desire. Courtly lyric is limited in its scope, and seeks artistic effects, not realism. Whether its codes, which belong to a game with rules, are also rooted in reality is an open question. Sociological explanations typically relate to the context of a feudal society in which young males might find it advantageous to please and flatter their liege-lord’s wife. It may be that fin’amor is a strictly literary phenomenon. As it emerged in the songs of the troubadours, the courtly love-lyric presented a very specific set of themes and motifs: loyalty and secrecy in love, moral improvement through love service, delight in noble joy (joi) and youth (joven), contempt for the boorish (vilan), the jealous (gilos), and the tattletales (lauzengiers). The defining features of this complex of ideas, as found in Chrétien de Troyes’s Lancelot, were very precisely listed by Gaston Paris, and summed up as “amour courtois” (“Études sur les romans de la Table Ronde,” 459–534 at 518–19, 534). Probably “amour courtois” appears in the exact form described by Paris only in Chrétien’s Lancelot, where the courtly code is particularly exacting, and the absolute subjection of the lover to his lady’s demands is indeed

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extreme. The love relationship in that poem involves adultery, often regarded as a key component of courtly love, but one of the great romances, Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, features a high-courtly devotion between two married lovers, Parzival and Condwiramurs. This is unusual, but not unparalleled – although pronounced impossible in Andreas Capellanus’s treatment of the subject (De amore, 1.6, Dialogue 7 [Latin, §§ 367–72; Parry’s translation, 100–1]). While the most famous medieval literary lovers, Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristan and Iseult, are adulterous, many, and in English poetry most, are not. Only in one of the Harley lyrics, for example, is it at all likely that the lover desires another person’s wife (Poem 86). In larger and smaller points, the English lyrics of refined love draw on its conventions without being constrained by them. In the first two little poems below (80 and 81), both preserved with music and intended to be sung, the persona of the pining lover, which already seems to be conventional, belongs to the courtly tradition, but is not elaborately developed. Both lyrics are evocative; Foweles in þe frith is particularly well known and widely anthologized. In both, the courtly strain is blended with elements that seem more popular than courtly, notably the speaker’s engagement with the natural world. The motif of revealing a love secret in confidence to a bird, in Bryd one brere, also appears in the lyric poetry of medieval Germany. In Unter der linden (“Under the Lime Tree,” early thirteenth century), Walther von der Vogelweide’s well-known Mädchenlied, a young girl trusts that her love-making will be kept secret by the little bird who witnessed it (text and translation in Klinck, 104–5). The artistry of Foweles and Bryd is explored in the Introduction, 35–6, above. Bl Manuscript Harley 2253, though a miscellany containing religious and secular materials in prose and verse, English, French, and Latin, is best known for the poems referred to as “the Harley lyrics,” many of them on sexual love (including two in the “Love Debate” section below). Were it not for the Harley manuscript, the corpus of Middle English love lyrics would be far smaller. For that reason alone, the Harley lyrics are precious. They are also highly sophisticated and testify to a vibrant courtly culture in the English vernacular as well as in French. The English poems share some characteristic features. Most are composed in the native alliterative tradition, which, in combination with the rhyme scheme, imposes quite a strain on the vocabulary, a challenge that can make for a kind of playful virtuosity, but can also seem heavy-handed and confining. Typically, these lyrics adopt the voice

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of an abjectly pining lover praising an impossibly beautiful and elegant beloved, her charms itemized one by one, and often compared to flowers, birds, or precious stones, all prized for their beauty, and sometimes also for special powers. Poetry of this kind eschews realism, and values skill in song-making above profundity of thought. Comparisons to lily and rose, for instance, crop up in one poem after another (82, 84, 85), but conventionality is not necessarily banal – witness Guillaume de Machaut’s haunting chiasmus Blanche com lis, plus que rose vermeille, in a well-known rondeau (Loanges des Dames, No. 82). Perhaps none of the Harley lyrics lingers in the mind quite like that. But witty details enliven the poems with gentle humour and erotic suggestion: the word-play that by implication names the two sweethearts (82); the breasts, glimpsed under clothing, that are like twin apples of Paradise (85); the businesslike proposal to swap three sweethearts for a particularly good one, and the risqué wish to be a little bird hiding between her kirtle and her smock (86). The effect of the poems depends as much as anything on aural effects: the graceful handling of metre, rhythm, and echoic sound – rhyme and alliteration. It should be remembered that this poetry was created for oral delivery. Although the scribe and a few other people would have actually read through the Harley manuscript, most of the intended audience would not. Notwithstanding the conscious artifice of these love poems, the spoken voice, which brings with it the implication of direct contact and spontaneity, is an important element. The lover and the poet – who may or may not be the same person – wish to be heard. The first of the Harley Lyrics, Ichot a burde in a bour ase beryl so bryht (82), is an extravaganza of compliments in which the poet takes delight in his capacities for sound play and allusion. The lady’s superlative qualities are itemized by stanzas, in five categories of comparison: precious stones, flowers, birds, spices and medicinal plants, figures from romance. But the poem’s most distinctive feature must be the play on words by which the persona, very likely the poet himself, indicates his awareness of the rule of secrecy and provides a key to break it. Actually identifying the woman’s name, “Annot,” and whispering it to John, who must be the speaker and her lover, is a nicely humorous moment that brings the panegyric down to earth. Poems 83 and 84 immediately follow in the manuscript. Bytuene Mersh & Averil (83), often called “Alisoun,” is one of the most famous of the Harley lyrics. Like Ichot a burde, it identifies the lady – more straightforwardly. Her name, which caps the refrain of each stanza, seems to have been a popular

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one. For modern readers it will particularly call to mind Chaucer’s Wife of Bath and the sprightly young wife in the Miller’s Tale. Possibly the speaker in Poem 100, in the next section, also has this name. The spring opening, the birds, the graceful lady, the sleepless lover threatening to die, all are sweepingly conventional, and at the same time lightly playful and self-mocking, thanks to metrical variety and protestations of suffering undercut by a cheery refrain. Wiþ longyng y am lad (84) is equally conventional in sentiment, but less supple in technique, and evidently labouring under the demands of a very constricting form. In Mosti ryden by Rybbesdale (85), the speaker itemizes the appearance of an ideally beautiful lady in a catalogue of perfections, beginning with her head and facial features, and moving down – as far as her waist; what he doesn’t mention must be excellent too. The fragmentation of beauty into an anatomical list of components does not produce a coherent picture, nor conjure up anything resembling a real woman, but it does conform to a rhetorical convention, which the poet studiously follows, with a dash of irony. Assuming the voice of an ecstatic and credulous admirer, he takes his portrait way over the top, and his scenario is outrageously improbable: wild Ribblesdale is an odd location to find such elegance and sophistication, and some details of the lady’s figure come perilously close to caricature, while the miracle-working gem in her belt buckle brings the poem into the realm of pure fantasy. Curious religious allusions also raise suspicions about the poet’s attitude: the speaker would rather wait for this lady’s arrival than enjoy the pomp of being Pope; breasts like apples of Paradise suggest not just charm but temptation; and the magic gem that turns water into wine is reminiscent of the miracle at Cana of Galilee. The poem is probably not a full-blown parody, as T.L. Burton thinks (“‘The Fair Maid …’ and the Problem of Parody”), but its self-conscious excess raises questions about the author’s intention. In its combination of compliment with a certain amount of irony, A wayle whyt ase whalles bon (86) is somewhat similar to “The Fair Maid of Ribblesdale,” but more light-heartedly playful. Here the speaker suffers torment because, typically, he dare not tell his love; he identifies himself as a composer of songs, and, in a classic paradox, proclaims his inability to compose them. He’d be glad to do a favourable exchange with his beloved’s lover/husband. And the poem ends with a saucy wish to insinuate himself under her skirt. Lenten ys come wiþ love to toune (87), like “Alisoun” one of the best-known of the Harley lyrics, is a melodious and winning reverdie or spring song. The poem’s lilting opening immediately engages the listener with pleasure in its

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seductive impressions. Alliteration is skilfully handled here, at first delicately pointing out the key words, later with humorous effect, as we hear how every creature, even the lowly worm, is moved by love – and the speaker driven to distraction. Opposite this lyric, in the b column of folio 71v, appears a contrasting poem: In May hit murgeþ when hit dawes (“Advice to Women,” dimev 2537), which begins with similar delight in spring but turns into a disillusioned warning about infidelity. There is only one genuine carol in Harley 2253, Poem 88, Blow, northerne wynd, significantly earlier than most of the extant Middle English carols. Differing both metrically and stylistically from the stanzas, the burden may well come from another source. The speaker seems to be eager for the wind to bring a ship carrying a loved one. Although the present context calls for a male speaker, one would expect a woman and a different kind of poem, since the expression of love-longing in a woman’s voice belongs to a different tradition. Very possibly the burden was attached to a “sea-song” (similar to the marinha of medieval Portugal), uttered by a girl waiting for her lover’s ship. The folksong Blow the Wind Southerly would be an example. While a simple longing informs the burden, and, in contrast, the elaborate apparatus of courtly love occupies the rest of the poem, its two constituent parts are harmonized by a similar songlike repetition. When þe nyhtegale singes þe wodes waxen grene (89) is less preoccupied with the courtly conventions than the preceding poems, and uses direct address rather than third-person eulogy. Like the nightingale, the bird that pours its heart out in song, the poet/speaker makes his own song of appeal to his “suete lemmon.” The last of the Harley lyrics in this section, Lutel wot hit any mon (90) presents a devoted lover whose lady’s affections have been alienated by malicious gossips and who pleads to be taken back into her favour. The poem is in a different part of the manuscript from the other love lyrics, and immediately preceded by a religious piece (22) that opens in the same way and is similarly structured. Probably the secular poem was composed first, and adapted to a devotional purpose. The relationship between the two is discussed in connection with Poem 22. Very different from the Harley lyrics, and contrasting sharply with their elaborate development though dominated by the same conventions, Poems 91 and 92 are short, simple, and eloquent. Me þingkit þou art so loveli (91) is a graceful and tender expression of romantic love, but in the context of the

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manuscript, a preaching book, devotion to a sweetheart may represent the human counterpart of divine love. My lefe ys faren in a lond (92) is found at the end of a longer poem, where it is voiced by a man whose beloved has departed far away. This little song of lament and longing could well, with small pronoun changes, have been uttered by a woman left behind. Poem 98 and the burden of 88 are comparable. The present lines, more in a popular than a courtly style, probably correspond to those comically assigned by Chaucer to the rooster Chauntecleer, who sings expressively “My lief is faren in londe,” evidently the opening of a love lyric. In the same manuscript as 92, Alone walkyng (93) is an ill-treated lover’s lament that turns into a complaint with legal implications. The author rises to the challenge of the very demanding virelai, with its rhymes carried from one stanza to the next. Insistently repeating the same sounds in very short two-stress lines, the verse form lends itself to a relentless itemization of the speaker’s woes. Most of these fifteenth-century love lyrics in the courtly register are veritable “complaints”: the lover either longing for what he can’t get or mourning because he has lost it, often in extravagant terms balanced by smooth, controlled verse. Now wolde y fayne sum merthis mak (94) is more optimistic. The poem, with its simple diction and supply varying linelengths, is accompanied by music and made for singing. Rather than moping, this courtly lover insists on his devoted love service, and hopes that sometime he may be able to see and please his lady – probably by his music and song. The five-line Go, hert hurt with adversite (95), another song, adroitly dramatizes the lover’s woeful state until he can see his lady again. Speaking of wounds, bidding joy farewell and welcoming pain, the poem plays with the literary conceit of object as messenger, in this case the personified heart. Charles d’Orléans’s Go forth myn hert wyth my lady (123) is similar. I must go walke þe woed so wyld (96) is extravagantly despairing. The lover has been banished by his lady, apparently because of slander spoken against him, and will have to live as an outcast in the woods, a common topos, which produces some picturesque scenes, as here. The speaker in Lenten ys come with love to toune (87) fairly light-heartedly envisages the same fate for himself if his lady witholds her favour. O mestres, whye (97) has a different take on the courtly love complaint. Here, the lover maintains his decorous politeness as he smoothly moves from victim to victor position, from disconsolate outcast in stanza 1 to freeranging Lothario in stanza 4, the turn beginning in stanza 3, with the lady

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behaving as if she were the Duchess of Savoy. Who does she think she is? The poem’s sentiments are put more robustly at the level of popular song, in Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd: “I’ve lost my love and I care not; / I shall soon find another / That’s better than t’other!” (ch. 23). Finally, we come to the tiny but wonderfully suggestive Westron wynde (98). Probably earlier than the manuscript in which it is found, this lyric may be a fragment of a longer song. Although included here among the malevoice poems of refined love, it could as well be in the female voice, and its concentrated directness transcends any distinction between popular and courtly. Fine rain suggests the solace of quiet weeping, but the speaker’s yearning for his (or perhaps her) absent beloved cannot be assuaged in this way; instead, it erupts in a passionate exclamation that accomplishes in the imagination the longed-for release. On wide-ranging parallels to the poem’s motifs, see Introduction, 36–7, above. Poems of refined love span the greater part of the Middle English and persist into the Tudor period. A few, including the two earliest ones selected here, are preserved in rather anomalous contexts: Foweles in a composite manuscript of legal and miscellaneous pieces (Bodl Douce 139), Bryd on the back of a papal bull (King’s Camb sjP /50), while, among the later poems, I must go walke (96) appears in a manuscript of a legal treatise, along with Poem 110 (San Marino, Huntington el 34.B .60). The rest are found in miscellanies with some principle of selection, and in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century songbooks. Me þingkit (91) is in a preacher’s notebook (Bl Harley 7322); My lefe and Alone walkyng (92 and 93) in a fifteenth-century manuscript of Chaucer, Lydgate, and others (tcc r .3.19); Now wolde I fayne and Go, hert in a manuscript containing songs with music (Bodl Ashmole 191, Part Iv ); and Westron wynde in a Tudor songbook, accompanied by music (Bl Royal Appendix 58). Only rarely are courtly lyrics found in the commonplace books, as is 97, O mestres, whye, in John Colyns’s collection (Bl Harley 2252). The best-known manuscript for Middle English lyrics is of course Bl Harley 2253. The greater part of it was copied in the 1330s and 1340s by a single scribe, working around Ludlow, in the West Midlands (see Carter Revard, “Scribe and Provenance,” 21, 62–4). Except for Lutel wot hit any mon (90), all the lyrics of secular love are found, interspersed with other material, mainly poems of various kinds in English or French, on folios 63–81, in quires 7–9. The entire Harley manuscript has been edited by Susanna Fein, and is available in both print and digitized versions.

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80. A justly celebrated little lyric, in a generic male voice, that captures the desperation of love. Foweles in þe frith, þe fisses in þe flod, and I mon waxe wod. Sulch sorw I walke with for beste of bon and blood.

wood river must go mad

Bodl Douce 139, f. 5r

81. The speaker confides to a bird his love for a “bird” (maiden). Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere, Kynd is come of love, love to crave. Blidful biryd on me þu rewe, Or greyd, lef, greid þu me my grave. 2 Hic am so bliþe, so bryhit, brid on brere, Quan I se þat hende in halle. He is quit of lime, loveli, trewe, He is fayr and flur of alle. 3 Mikte hic hire at wille haven, Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe, Of mi sorwe he may me saven, Joye and blisse were me newe. King’s Camb sjP /50, verso 2.3,4; 3.3 he] ms yhe; 3.4 were] ms were were

bird on briar Nature (natural inclination) has come from Love blissful; have pity on prepare; dear one

I; happy; bright when; see; gracious one she; white; limb flower

might I; at my desire

would be renewed for me

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lo v e ly rI cs of h a rley 2 25 3 ( P o e m s 82 – 90 ) 82. Often called “Annot and John” from the two proper names in stanza 3, this highly allusive and ornate, yet lightly humorous, love poem draws on English topography as well as Norse and Celtic lore and legend. Ichot a burde in a bour ase beryl so bryht, Ase saphyr in selver semly on syht, As jaspe þe gentil þat lemeþ wiþ lyht, Ase gernet in golde & ruby wel ryht, Ase onycle he ys on yholden on hyht, Ase diamaund þe dere in day when he is dyht. He is coral ycud wiþ cayser ant knyht, Ase emeraude amorewen þis may haveþ myht. Þe myht of þe margarite haveþ þis mai mere; For charbocle ich hire ches bi chyn & by chere. 2 Hire rode is ase rose þat red is on rys, Wiþ lilye-white leres lossum he is. Þe primerole he passeþ, þe peruenke of pris, Wiþ alisaundre þareto ache & anys. Coynte ase columbine, such hire cunde ys, Glad under gore in gro & in grys. He is blosme opon bleo brihtest under bis, Wiþ celydoyne ant sauge, ase þou þiself sys. Þat syht upon þat semly to blis he is broht; He is solsecle to sauve ys forsoht. 3 He is papejai in pyn þat beteþ me my bale,

I know a lady attractive to see jasper; shines garnet like onyx she is one regarded highly precious; dressed well known to emperor in the morning; this maiden pearl; illustrious maiden carbuncle; I choose; countenance

complexion; stem cheeks; lovely surpasses the primrose; prized periwinkle alexanders (a herb); parsley pretty; kind skirt; gray fur (both gro and grys) in colour; fine linen celandine; can see he who looks upon that lovely one marigold sought out to save (i.e. for healing) parrot that in suffering cures my distress

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

To trewe tortle in a tour y telle þe mi tale. He is þrustle þryven in þro þat singeþ in sale, Þe wilde laveroc ant wolc & þe wodewale. He is faucoun in friht, dernest in dale, Ant wiþ everuch a gome gladest in gale. From Weye he is wisist into Wyrhale. Hire nome is in a note of þe nyhtegale. In annote is hire nome. Nempneþ hit non? Whose ryht redeþ, roune to Johon.

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turtle-dove in a tower thrush excelling in contest; hall lark; hawk [W gwalch]; oriole wood; most hidden for everyone most delightful in singing the Wye (river) to the Wirral (peninsula)

Can no one name it? Whoever interprets it right, whisper

4 Muge he is ant mondrake þourh miht of þe mone, Trewe triacle ytold wiþ tonges in trone,

musk and mandrake considered a miracle medicine in talk at court licorice; heal; Lyn to Such licoris mai leche from Lyne to Lone, Lune (rivers) Such sucre mon secheþ þat saneþ men sone, people seek; heals Bliþe yblessed of Crist þat bayþeþ me mi bone, grants my request When derne dede is in dayne, derne are done. secret deeds in day time; done secretly Ase gromyl in greve grene is þe grone, as seeds of gromwell in a grove are green Ase quibibe & comyn cud is in crone, cubeb (pungent spice); known for its crown Cud comyn in court, canel in cofre, cumin known at court; cinnamon in coffer Wiþ gyngyure & sedewale & þe gylofre. valerian (sedative); gillyflower (wallflower)

5 powerful remedy; generous rewarder He is medicyne of miht, mercie of mede. Rekene ase Regnas resoun to rede, quick as Ragna to give reasoned counsel Trewe ase Tegeu in tour, ase Wyrwein Tegeu Eurvron; Garwen? in wede, in apparel Baldore þen Byrne þat oft þe bor bede. Bjorn?; offered battle to the boar *Ase Wylcadoun he is wys, dohty of dede, doughty Feyrore þen Floyres folkes to fede, Floris; feed (the eyes of ?)

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Cud ase Cradoc in court carf þe brede, Hendore þen Hilde þat haveþ me to hede. He haveþ me to hede, þis hendy, anon, Gentil ase Jonas, heo joyeþ wiþ Jon.

celebrated as Caradoc; carved the roast more courteous has me in her keeping noble as Jonaans?; is happy

Harley 2253, f. 63rv 4.1 þourh] ms þouh; 4.5 bayþeþ] ms bayeth; 5.1 medicyne] ms medierne; 5.4 oft] ms of *f. 63v

83. One of the most appealing of the Harley lyrics. The voice here manages to be jaunty and woefully lovesick at the same time. Bytuene Mersh & Averil, When spray biginneþ to springe, Þe lutel foul haþ hire wyl On hyre lud to synge. Ich libbe in love-longinge For semlokest of alle þynge, He may me blisse bringe. Icham in hire baundoun. An hendy hap ichabbe yhent, Ichot from hevene it is me sent. From alle wymmen mi love is lent, & lyht on Alysoun. 2 On heu hire her is fayr ynoh, Hire browe broune, hire eȝe blake. Wiþ lossum chere he on me loh; Wiþ middel smal & wel ymake. Bote he me wolle to hire take, For te buen hire owen make, Longe to lyven ichulle forsake & feye fallen adoun. An hendy hap &c.

(budding) shoot small birds language I live loveliest she I am under her dominion I have found a gracious fortune I know moved away alighted on

hue; hair; enough eye(s) lovely aspect; she smiled slender waist to be; mate I will fated to die

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

3 Nihtes when y wende & wake, Forþi myn wonges waxeþ won. Levedi, al for þine sake Longinge is ylent me on. In world nis non so wyter mon Þat al hire bounte telle con. Hire swyre is whittore þen þe swon, & feyrest may in toune. An hend- &c. 4 Icham for wowyng al forwake, Wery so water in wore, Lest eny reve me my make Ychabbe yȝyrned ȝore. Betere is þolien whyle sore Þen mournen evermore. Geynest under gore, Herkne to my roun. An hendi &c.

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at night; turn for this reason my cheeks grow pale lady love-longing has fallen upon me there is no man so wise good qualities neck maid

I am all sleepless with wooing as worn out as waves on the shore anyone; take my lady-love from me I have long yearned for suffer sorely for a time kindest (lady); skirt words

Bl Harley 2253, f. 63v

84. In content very similar to “Alisoun,” but a little awkward in handling the demands of a narrow line combined with alliteration and refrain. Wiþ longyng y am lad, On molde y waxe mad, A maide marreþ me. Y grede, y grone unglad, For selden y am sad Þat semly for te se. Levedi, þou rewe me!

led on the earth I grow mad makes me ill cry out attractive (woman); to see lady, have pity on me

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To rouþe þou havest me rad, Be bote of þat y bad, My lyf is long on þe. 2 Levedy of alle londe, Les me out of bonde. Broht icham in wo. Have resting on honde, & sent þou me þi sonde, Sone, er þou me slo. My reste is wiþ þe ro. Þah men to me han onde, To love nul y noht wonde, Ne lete for non of þo.

distress; guided be the remedy for what I have suffered dependent

release me I am brought a place at hand for rest message quickly; slay roe-deer have malice I will not turn away from loving desist; those (people)

3 Levedi, wiþ al my miht My love is on þe liht, To menske when y may. Þou rew & red me ryht. To deþe þou havest me diht; Y deȝe longe er my day. Þou leve upon mi lay. Treuþe ichave þe plyht, To don þat ich have hyht Whil mi lif leste may.

alighted to honour have pity on me and counsel me condemned I am dying believe; song I have sworn fidelity to you to do what I have promised last

4 Lylie-whyt hue is, Hire rode so rose on rys, Þat reveþ me mi rest. Wymmon war & wys, Of prude hue bereþ þe pris, Burde on of þe best. Þis wommon woneþ by west,

she complexion like a rose on a stem deprives me of a woman sagacious and wise of excellence she takes the prize a lady; one of lives in the west

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

Brihtest under bys; Hevene y tolde al his Þat o nyht were hire gest.

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brightest under fine linen I would count heaven entirely his who for one night

Bl Harley 2253, f. 63v

85. Hyperbolic to the extreme, “The Fair Maid of Ribblesdale” presents the conventional catalogue, beginning at the head and moving downwards. Mosti ryden by Rybbesdale Wilde wymmen for te wale, Ant welde wuch ich wolde. Founde were þe feyrest on Þat ever wes mad of blod ant bon, In boure best wiþ bolde. Ase sonnebem hire bleo ys briht, In uche londe heo leomeþ liht, Þourh tale as mon me tolde. Þe lylie lossum is ant long, Wiþ riche rose ant rode among, A fyldor fax to folde. 2 Hire hed when ich biholde apon Þe sonnebeem aboute noon Me þohte þat y seȝe. Hyre eyȝen aren grete ant gray ynoh, Þat lussom when heo on me loh Ybend wax eyþer breȝe. Þe mone wiþ hire muchele maht Ne leneþ non such lyht anaht, Þat is in heovene heȝe, Ase hire forhed doþ in day, For wham þus muchel y mourne may, For duel to deþ y dreyȝe.

if I could ride spirited; to choose take possession of whichever I wished the fairest one would be found in chamber best among noble folk colour each; she gleams brightly lovesome, beautiful rose colour; red hair like gold thread; take in the fingers

it seemed to me; I saw eyes; large and quite clear lovesome (lady); smiled each eyebrow became arched moon; great might does not lend such light at night high mourn so greatly sorrow; I suffer

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3 Heo haþ browes bend an heh, Whyt bytuene ant nout to neh. Lussum lyf heo ledes. Hire neose ys set as hit wel semeþ. Y deȝe, for deþ þat me demeþ. Hire speche as spices spredeþ. Hire lockes lefly aren & longe, For sone he mihte hire murþes monge Wiþ blisse when hit bredes. Hire chyn ys chosen & eyþer cheke Whit ynoh & rode on eke, Ase roser when hit redes. 4 Heo haþ a mury mouht to mele, Wiþ lefly rede lippes lele, Romaunȝ for te rede. Hire teht aren white ase bon of whal, Evene set ant atled al, Ase hende mowe taken hede. Swannes swyre swyþe wel ysette, A sponne lengore þen y mette, Þat freoly ys to fede. Me were levere kepe hire come Þen beon Pope & ryde in Rome, Styþes[t] upon stede. 5 When y byholde upon hire hond, Þe lylie-white lef in lond, Best heo mihte beo. Eyþer arm an elne long, Baloygne mengeþ al bymong, Ase baum ys hire bleo. Fyngres heo haþ feir to folde.

arched high not too close together an adorable life nose; as suits it well I am dying; is destined for me like (the scent of ) spices lovely quickly; mingle her pleasant pastimes joy; it grows choice perfectly white and also red rosebush; grows red

a charming mouth to speak lovely; truthful teeth; whalebone, i.e. ivory arranged gentlefolk should a swan’s neck; very well a span longer than I have encountered beautiful; give pleasure to I would rather wait for her coming sturdiest on a steed

dear one an ell ivory (whalebone) is mingled everywhere her skin is like (fragrant) balm take in one’s hand

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

Myhte ich hire have & holde In world wel were me. Hyre tyttes aren anunder bis As apples tuo of Parays, Ouself ȝe mowen seo. 6 Hire gurdel of bete gold is al, Umben hire middel smal, Þat trikeþ to þe to, Al whiþ rubies on a rowe, Wiþinne corven, craft to knowe, Ant emeraudes mo. Þe bocle is al of whalles bon; Þer wiþinne stont a ston Þat warneþ men from wo. Þe water þat hit wetes yn, Ywis hit worþeþ al to wyn; Þat seȝen, seyden so. 7 Heo haþ a mete myddel smal, Body & brest wel mad al, Ase feynes wiþoute fere. Eyþer side soft ase sylk, Whittore þen þe moren mylk, Wiþ leofly lit on lere. Al þat ich ou nempne noht, Hit is wonder wel ywroht, Ant elles wonder were. He myhte sayen þat Crist hym seȝe, Þat myhte nyhtes neh hyre leȝe. Hevene he hevede here. Bl Harley 2253, f. 66v 2.5 þat] ms þ

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breasts; under fine linen Paradise you can see for yourself

around her slender waist flows down cut to shape; expertise; to reveal more ivory stands protects people from harm is wetted in turns into those who saw it

a becomingly slender waist phoenix without peer

lovely light on her face everything I am not mentioning to you wrought or else it would be very strange Christ was watching over him whoever could lie beside her at night he would have heaven

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86. A woebegone lover’s lament with a dash of humour. A wayle whyt ase whalles bon, A grein in golde þat godly shon, A tortle þat min herte is on, In tounes trewe. Hire gladshipe nes never gon Whil y may glewe. 2 When heo is glad Of al þis world namore y bad Þen beo wiþ hire myn one bistad, Wiþoute strif. Þe care þat icham yn ybrad Y wyte a wyf. 3 A wyf nis non so worly wroht, When heo ys blyþe to bedde ybroht. Wel were him þat wiste hire þoht, Þat þryven & þro. Wel y wot heo nul me noht. Myn herte is wo. 4 Hou shal þat lefly syng Þat þus is marred in mournyng? Heo me wol to deþe bryng Longe er my day. Gret hire wel, þat swete þing, Wiþ eȝenen gray.

paragon; ivory (whale’s bone) precious stone turtle dove; fixed on delightfulness; will never be gone as long as I can make songs

she I would ask placed alone I am immeshed in I blame on a woman

excellently made brought knew her thoughts blooming and striking (med “that excellent one”) I know she does not want me

that person sing delightfully damaged by mourning

clear eyes

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

5 Hyre heȝe haveþ wounded me ywisse, Hire bende browen þat bringeþ blisse, Hire comely mouth þat mihte cusse In muche murþe he were. Y wolde chaunge myn for his Þat is here fere.

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eyes; certainly arched brows whoever could kiss joy change my sweetheart whoever is her companion (lover)

6 if her companion would be so gracious Wolde hyre fere beo so freo Ant wurþes were þat so myhte beo, worthy equivalents Al for on y wolde ȝeve þreo, for one lady I would give three Wiþoute chep. without bargaining From helle to hevene & sonne to see sun to sea Nys non se ȝeep adept Ne half so freo. noble Wose wole of love be trewe, do lystne me. whosoever 7 Herkneþ me, y ou telle, In such wondryng for wo y welle, Nys no fur so hot in helle, Al to mon, Þat loveþ derne ant dar nout telle Whet him ys on. 8 Ich unne hire wel ant heo me wo; Ycham hire frend ant heo my fo. Me þuncheþ min herte wol breke atwo For sorewe ant syke. In Godes greting mote heo go, Þat wayle whyte. 9 Ich wolde ich were a þrestelcok, A bountyng oþer a lavercok,

you bewilderment; I am in turmoil say whoever loves secretly; dare not what is the matter with him

convey well-being to her it seems to me; in two sighing paragon

thrush bunting; or; lark

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Swete bryd! Bituene hire curtel ant hire smok Y wolde ben hyd.

gown; under-slip

Bl Harley 2253, f. 67r

87. When all of nature is pullulating with the joy of spring, how can the speaker resist the impulse to love? Lenten ys come wiþ love to toune, Wiþ blosmen & wiþ briddes roune, Þat al þis blisse bryngeþ; Dayeseȝes in þis dales, Notes suete of nyhtegales, Uch foul song singeþ. Þe þrestelcoc him þreteþ oo; Away is huere wynter wo, When woderove springeþ. Þis foules singeþ ferly fele, Ant wlyteþ on huere wynne wele, Þat al þe wode ryngeþ. 2 Þe rose rayleþ hire rode, Þe leves on þe lyhte wode Waxen al wiþ wille. Þe mone mandeþ hire bleo, Þe lilie is lossom to seo, Þe fenyl & þe fille. Wowes þis wilde drakes, Miles murgeþ huere makes, Ase strem þat strikeþ stille. Mody meneþ, so doþ mo; Ichot ycham on of þo, For love þat likes ille.

spring conversation daisies every bird thrush; chides unremittingly their woodruff (a fragrant plant) birds; most abundantly warble in the wealth of their joy

sets out her red bright grow freely sends forth her light delightful fennel; chervil woo animals (W mīl) delight their mates like a stream that runs unstopping (even) the bold man laments, as others do I know I am one of those is ill received

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

3 Þe mone mandeþ hire lyht, So doþ þe semly sonne bryht, When briddes singeþ breme. Deawes donkeþ þe dounes, Deores wiþ huere derne rounes, Domes for te deme. Wormes woweþ under cloude, Wymmen waxeþ wounder proude, So wel hit wol hem seme. Ȝef me shal wonte wille of on, Þis wunne weole y wole forgon, Ant wyht in wode be fleme.

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sends loud wet the hills animals; mysterious messages make judgments (give their opinions) woo under the sod grow remarkably proud because it suits them well if I am destined to lack the favour of one wealth of joy immediately; a fugitive

Bl Harley 2253, f. 71va 1.11 wynne] ms wynter; 2.10 doþ] ms doh

88. In this, the only genuine carol in Harley 2253 and significantly earlier than most of the extant Middle English carols, the ardent words of the burden contrast with the mannered, consciously rhetorical style of the stanzas. Blow, northerne wynd, Sent þou me my suetyng. Blow, norþerne wynd, Blou, blou, blou. 1 Ichot a burde in boure bryht Þat sully semly is on syht, Menskful maiden of myht, Feir ant fre to fonde. In al þis wurhliche won A burde of blod & of bon Never ȝete y nuste non Lussomore in londe. Blow &c.

sweetheart

I know a lady lovely in (her) chamber wonderfully attractive excellent noble; experience excellent habitation (the world) I knew none more lovesome

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2 Wiþ lokkes lefliche & longe, Wiþ frount & face feir to fonde, Wiþ murþes monie mote heo monge, Þat brid so breme in boure, *Wiþ lossom eye grete ant gode, Wiþ browen blysfol under hode. He þat reste him on þe rode Þat leflich lyf honoure! Blou &c. 3 Hire lure lumes liht Ase a launterne anyht, Hire bleo blykyeþ so bryht, So feyr heo is ant fyn. A suetly suyre heo haþ to holde, Wiþ armes, shuldre ase mon wolde, Ant fyngres feyre for te folde. God wolde hue were myn. 4 Middel heo haþ menskful smal, Hire loveliche chere as cristal, Þeȝes, legges, fet, ant al Ywraht wes of þe beste. A lussum ledy lasteles Þat sweting is & ever wes, A betere burde never nes Yheryed wiþ þe heste. 5 Heo is dereworþe in day, Graciouse, stout, ant gay, Gentil, jolyf so þe jay, Worhliche when heo wakeþ. Maiden murgest of mouþ.

beautiful locks forehead she mingles (“can mingle”) with many delights lady; splendid delightful bided on the cross (may he) honour that noble creature

complexion sheds light face gleams neck just as one might desire enclose (in the hand) she

she has a fine slim waist aspect thighs shaped without blemish sweet lady praised with the highest

excellent stately merry noble most delightful

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

Bi est, bi west, by norþ & souþ Þer nis fiele ne crouþ Þat such murþes makeþ. 6 Heo is coral of godnesse, Heo is rubie of ryhtfulnesse Heo is cristal of clannesse, Ant baner of bealte. Heo is lilie of largesse, Heo is paruenke of prouesse, Heo is solsecle of suetnesse, And ledy of lealte. 7 To Love, þat leflich is in londe, Y tolde him as ych understonde Hou þis hende haþ hent in honde On huerte þat myn wes. Ant hire knyhtes me han so soht, Sykyng, Sorewyng, & Þoht, Þo þre me han in bale broht Aȝeyn þe poer of pees. 8 **To Love y putte pleyntes mo, Hou Sykyng me haþ siwed so, Ant eke Þoht me þrat to slo Wiþ maistry ȝef he myhte, Ant Serewe sore in balful bende Þat he wolde for þis hende Me lede to my lyves ende Unlahfulliche in lyhte. 9 Hire Love me lustnede uch word Ant beh him to me over bord Ant bed me hente þat hord

221

fiddle; crowd (a stringed instrument) musical entertainment

cleanness banner of beauty liberality periwinkle (i.e. paragon) of prowess marigold loyalty

beloved gracious (lady); taken in hand a heart Sighing those three have brought me to distress against the power of peace

more complaints pursued also; threatened to slay by overpowering if he could Sorrow; in painful bonds

unfairly by light (i.e., openly)

listened to my every word bowed; over the table bade me seize; treasure

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Of myne huerte hele, ***“Ant bisecheþ þat swete ant swote Er þen þou falle ase fen of fote Þat heo wiþ þe wolle of bote Dereworþliche dele.” 10 For hire love y carke ant care, For hire love y droupne ant dare, For hire love my blisse is bare, Ant al ich waxe won. For hire love in slep y slake, For hire love al nyht ich wake. For hire love mournyng y make More þen eny mon.

for my heart’s healing sweet (variant of swete) like mud from a foot she; will; by way of cure deal lovingly (with you)

worry I am drooping and languid grow pale fail (to sleep)

Bl Harley 2253, ff. 72va–73rb * f. 72vb; f. **f. 73ra; ***col. b

89. As in the more expansive stanzas of Poem 87, spring is the season of love. Here, more earnestly and in simpler language, the speaker dwells on his love plea. When þe nyhtegale singes þe wodes waxen grene, Lef & gras & blosme springes in Averyl, y wene, Ant love is to myn herte gon wiþ one spere so kene; Nyht & day my blod hit drynkes, myn herte deþ me tene. 2 *Ich have loved al þis ȝer, þat y may love namore, Ich have siked moni syk, lemmon, for þin ore; Me nis love never þe ner, & þat me reweþ sore. Suete lemmon, þench on me, ich have loved þe ȝore.

grow I believe a spear gives me grief

year sighed many a sigh; beloved; favour is never any closer; I sorely regret think; for a long time

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3 Suete lemmon, y preye þe of love one speche. Whil y lyve in world so wyde oþer nulle y seche. Wiþ þy love, my suete leof, mi blis þou mihtes eche. A suete cos of þy mouþ mihte be my leche. 4 Suete lemmon, y preȝe þe of a love bene. Ȝef þou me lovest ase men says, lemmon as y wene, And ȝef hit þi wille be, þou loke þat hit be sene. So muchel y þenke upon þe þat al y waxe grene.

opportunity for speech I will seek no other darling; could increase kiss; physician

boon, favour if; I think take care that it be apparent I grow green (pale)

5 Bituene Lyncolne & Lyndeseye, Norhamptoun ant Lounde, Lindsey; Lound Ne wot y non so fayr a may as y go fore ybounde. I know; maiden; Suete lemon, y preȝe þe þou lovie me a stounde. Y wole mone my song On wham þat hit ys on ylong.

bound (by love) in a little while utter about the one who caused it

Harley 2253, ff. 80v–81r 3.4 mouþ] ms mouerþ *f. 81r

90. In the manuscript, this accomplished lyric of courtly love forms a pair with the poem of divine love that immediately precedes it (22). Lutel wot hit any mon Hou derne love may stonde, Bote hit were a fre wymmon Þat muche of love had fonde. Þe love of hire ne lesteþ no wyht longe. Heo haveþ me plyht & wyteþ me wyþ wronge.

little knows secret unless; noble experienced not at all she has pledged; charges

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Ever & oo for my leof icham in grete þohte. Y þenche on hire þat y ne seo nout ofte.

constantly; dear one; I am think

2 name Y wolde nemne hyre today Ant y dorste hire munne. mention Heo is þat feireste may maiden Of uch ende of hire kunne. from end to end of her sex Bote heo me love, of me heo haves sunne. she does me wrong Who is him þat loveþ þe love þat he ne may ner ywynne. woe; never win Ever & oo &c. 3 Adoun y fel to hire anon ant crie, “Ledy, þyn ore! Ledy, ha mercy of þy mon; Lef þou no false lore. Ȝef þou dost, hit wol me reowe sore. Love dreccheþ me þat y ne may lyve namore.” Ever & oo &c. 4 Mury hit ys in hyre tour Wyþ haþeles & wyþ heowes. So hit is in hyre bour Wiþ gomenes & wiþ gleowes. *Bote heo me lovye, sore hit wol me rewe. Wo is him þat loveþ þe love þat ner nul be trewe. Ever & oo &c.

immediately (grant me) your favour believe; information if; I will be very sorry afflicts

noblemen; servants chamber pastimes; musical diversions never will

5 Fayrest fode upo loft, creature alive (“in the air”) My gode luef, y þe greete dear one Ase fele syþe & oft as many times As dewes dropes beþ weete, wet Ase sterres beþ in welkne ant grases sour ant suete. sky (“welkin”); herbs

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

Whose loveþ untrewe, his herte is selde seete. Ever & oo &c.

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someone untrue; seldom content

Bl Harley 2253, f. 128rv

*f. 128v

91. This minimalist stanza may be just a fragment, but it stands alone as a graceful statement of the lover’s dedication to his sweetheart. Me þingkit þou art so loveli, So fair & so swete, Þat sikerli it were mi det Þi companie to lete.

it seems to me truly; death relinquish

Bl Harley 7322, f. 162v

92. Another delicately simple expression of love-longing. This little song, probably well known, is quoted to humorous effect by Chaucer, and seriously at the end of an otherwise rather undistinguished love poem. My lefe ys faren in a lond. Allas, why ys she so? And I am so sore bound I may nat com her to. She hath my hert in hold Where ever she ryde or go, With trew love a thousand fold.   Explicit.

dear one; gone away

the end

tcc r .3.19, f. 154r

93. An ill-treated lover’s lament turns into a complaint with hints of legal litigation.

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Alone walkyng, In thought pleynyng, And sore syghyng, All desolate, Me remembryng Of my lyvyng, My deth wyssyng Bothe erly and late. 2 Infortunate Ys soo my fate That, wote ye whate, Oute of mesure My lyfe I hate. Thus desperate, In suche pore estate Do I endure. 3 Of other cure Am I nat sure. Thus to endure Ys hard, certayn. Such ys my ure, I yow ensure. What creature May have more payn? 4 My trouth so pleyn Ys take in veyn, And gret disdeyn In remembraunce. Yet I full feyne Wold me compleyne

The Voices of Medieval English Lyric

lamenting

wishing

do you know

custom assure

very gladly make my complaint

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

Me to absteyne From thys penaunce.

227

keep myself (from)

5 But in substaunce Noon allegeaunce Of my grevaunce Can I nat fynde. Ryght so my chaunce With displesaunce Doth me avaunce; And thus an ende.   Explicit.

relief

lot discontent carries me along the end

tcc r .3.19, f. 160ra

94. Self-deprecatingly, the speaker hopes to please his lady with more lighthearted songs than this. Now wolde y fayne sum merthis mak, Al only for my lades sak, When y her se. But nowe y am so far fro hir It wil not be. 2 Thow y be for out of her cith, I am her man both day & nygth, & so wol be. Therfore wolde as y love her She lovyd me. 3 Whan she is mery þan am y gladde, Whan she is sory than am y shadde,

entertainments, enjoyments

sight

sad

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And cause is whye: For he levyth not þat lovyd [her] So wel as y.

the reason why is lives

4 She seith þat she hath seyn hith write That seldyn seyn is sone forgeit. Yt is not so. For yn good feith save only her Y love & no moo.

it

more

5 Wherfor y pray, bothe nygth & day, That she may cast alle car away And leve in rest, And evermor wherever she be To love me best. 6 And y to her to be so trewe, And never to chaung for no newe, Unto my ende, And þat y may in her service Ever to amend.

grow better

Bodl Ashmole 191, Part Iv , f. 191r 4.1 hith] ms hith it; 5.1 nygth & day] ms day & nygth with transposition marks at 1st and 3rd words

95. In this little cameo the speaker dramatizes his woeful state, playing with the literary conceit of object as messenger. The severity of the lover’s affliction is belied by the gracefulness of his song, and the lyric ends hopefully. Go, hert hurt with adversite, And let my lady þi wondis see.

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

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And sey hir þis, as y say þe, Farwel my joy and welcom peyn Til y se my lady agayne. Bodl Ashmole 191, Part Iv , ff. 192v–193r (text 192v only)

96. The lover has been banished by his lady, apparently because of slander spoken against him, and will have to live like a wild man of the woods – a woodwose. I must go walke þe woed so wyld & wander here & there In dred & dedly fere, For where I trusted I am begyld, & all for on.

because of one (person)

2 Thus am I banysshyd from my blys By craft [& false] pretens, Fautles without offens, As off return no certen ys, And all for fer off on.

certainty fear

3 My bed schall be under þe grenwod tre, A tufft off brakes under my hed, As one from joye were fled. Thus from my lyff day by day I fl[e], And all for on. 4 The ronnyng stremes shall be my drynke, Acorns shal be my fode. Nothyng may do me good,

fear

bracken (rough ferns)

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But when your bewty I do thyn[k], & all for lowe off [on]. San Marino, cA , Huntington el 34.B .60, f. 11v 1.5 nowe added at right edge; 2.5 ms repeats thus am I below; 3.4 by day] ms by do; 4.5 final word illegible

97. This lover’s lament has a sting in the tail. O mestres, whye Owtecaste am I All utterly From your pleasaunce? Sythe ye & I Or thys truly Famyliarly Have had pastaunce. 2 And lovyngly Ye wolde aply Your company To my comforte. But now, truly, Unlovyngly Ye do deny Me to resorte. 3 And me to see As strange ye be As thowe þat ye Shuld nowe deny, Or else possesse

wishes, pleasure since before intimately recreation (“pastime”)

refuse turn to me

unfriendly disown (me)

Refined Love: The Man Speaks

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Þat nobylnes To be dochess Of grete Savoy. 4 But sythe þat ye So strange wyl be As toward me, & will not medyll, I truste percase To fynde some grace To have free chayse & spede as well.

come together (with me) maybe hunting succeed

Bl Harley 2252, f. 84v 2.3 your] ms my; 3.5 possesse] ms possede

98. Very likely considerably earlier than the manuscript in which it is found, Westron wynde may be a fragment of a longer song. Included here among the male-voice poems of “refined love,” it could as well be in the female voice, and its concentrated directness transcends any distinction between popular and courtly. Westron wynde, when wyll thow blow, The smalle rayne downe can rayne. Cryst, yf my love wer in my armys, And I yn my bed agayne. Bl Royal Appendix 58, f. 5r

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

Most of the lyrics in this section fall into the category of “woman’s song,” translating the French chanson de femme and German Frauenlied, and meaning a poem, most often about love or sex, in a popular rather than a courtly register. While the vast majority of the preserved English songs of this type are found in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century manuscripts, there are indications that much earlier examples existed. The mode belongs to an oral tradition of songs performed – very likely also originally composed – by women, and often accompanied by dance. Poem 52, “The Irish Dancer,” is a good example. Most of the specimens below, and probably also 52, take the form of the carol, which arose as a song for dancing. Though part of an oral tradition, the surviving medieval examples are, self-evidently, written. The mode is not restricted to the illiterate and preliterate, but could be adopted and enjoyed by all levels of society, high and low, learned as well as unlearned. For a survey of woman’s song in various manifestations, see Klinck, “Woman’s Song in Medieval Western Europe.” These are songs voiced by women. Many of them, and all the English ones, are anonymous. Others are authored by

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known male poets. The artless, desiring, vulnerable femininity depicted in so many of them looks to me more like the product of male wishes and fantasies than a reflection of essential femininity, or of female authorship in the case of the anonymous poems. It may be significant, though, that one of the earliest English examples, Poem 5, projects a much more robust female persona. Interestingly, the handful of love poems known to be authored by women are not in the usual style of woman’s song. Witness the poems of the trobairitz (women troubadours), who managed to combine lofty courtliness with open desire, as well as the two probably female-authored poems included below. Although woman’s songs in English are influenced by material from France, the genres are differently distributed and more fluid in English than they are in Occitan and Northern French, where the balada or ballette for dancing, the chanson de toile (song [of a romantic kind] to accompany needlework), chanson de malmariée (song of an ill-married woman), chanson de délaissée (song of an abandoned girl), and others are clearly defined by set features. In the English corpus, the malmariée, prolific in Northern France, is rare, but songs of seduced girls are common, and range from bitter lament to cheery self-congratulation. The woman’s-voice lament is, in fact, an old-established convention, going back to Greek tragedies and Virgil’s Dido, and by no means always of the popular kind. For courtly examples of woman’s lament see For pencynesse & grett distresse (Bodl Eng poet e.1, ff. 14r–15v, dimev 6532) – here the beloved’s gender is indicated only by abbreviated hym in the last line – and the extravagantly mournful Grevus ys my sorowe (see Notes on 109). The evolution of the female lament from the ancient world on is thoughtfully traced by John Kerrigan in the Introduction to his anthology (Motives of Woe, 1–83). Similar to the chansons de délaissée, several of the items below are “Jolly Jankin” lyrics, spoken by girls who have been taken advantage of by a priest or clerk called John, Jankyn, or Jack (Robbins gives this title to Poem 100). Although the pathos of the seduced maiden’s situation inevitably shines through, it seems to me probable that these often snide, if jaunty, songs were created by clerics for a male audience. But it can also be argued that women would have put these songs to good use (see Judith Bennett, “When Maidens Speak”). Their earlier existence is made probable by an account in a thirteenth-century moralizing poem of precisely the situation they typically depict, detailed below. There are also Continental songs of a similar kind, for

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instance Huc usque, me miseram (“Until now, poor wretched me”), Carmina Burana 126 (Klinck, 93–4). The earliest of the lyrics in this section, Alas, hou shold y synge? (99), is an English chanson de malmariée, a genre in which a spirited young wife complains about her boorish, old, and very likely impotent husband. Here, accordingly, a girl married to an unappealing old man bewails her fate and longs for her young sweetheart. Probably this is only the beginning of the poem. She may have gone on to be more defiant – like the girl in Adam de la Halle’s thirteenth-century rondeau, who proclaims, Fi, maris de vostre amour, car j’ai ami! (“Fie, husband on your love, for I’ve a lover!”; see Klinck, 82–3). Poem 100, Kyrie, so kyrie, is uttered by a pregnant girl, seduced by “joly Jankyn.” Quite possibly “aleyson,” in the burden to this carol, is intended to suggest the young woman’s name, which would be a common one, Alisoun, the name of the maiden in 83. Jankyn must be the parish clerk, an assistant to the priest, like Chaucer’s Absolon, the wooer of Alisoun in the Miller’s Tale. Jankyn’s splendid voice and his musical talents seem to be his chief asset; he emulates the accomplishments of elegant young men. The scenario described in Kyrie, so kyrie seems to have been a standard example of misbehaviour, here handled with a mixture of humour and pathos. The subject is treated more gravely in the thirteenth-century poem called A lutel soth sermun (“A little truthful sermon”), which issues a warning to various kinds of sinners heading for Hell, and, in a section condemning sexual relations between priests and young women, speaks of proud maidens that love Jankin, who “runeth togaderes and speketh of derne luve” (“whisper together and speak of secret love”), fail to concentrate on the church service, get taken to the tavern and subsequently seduced, and then find themselves in hot water with master and mistress, especially when their belly swells. See Richard Morris, An Old English Miscellany, 186–91. Rybbe ne rele ne spynne yc ne may and Alas, ales þe wyle (101 and 102), which appear together in a student’s commonplace book, tell a similar story. In these two poems the charming “Jack” takes advantage of a serving maid on a “holiday” (101), specified as “Midsummer Day” in 102. Probably in both cases the occasion is St John’s Day, June 24th, or its eve. The Nativity of St John the Baptist is still a major festival in Catholic populations. On the sexual licence associated with St John’s Eve, see Greene (489). Both speakers narrate their sexual adventure with enthusiasm – in 102 it is “the merriest night that ever I came in” – even though it lands them in trouble. Poem 105,

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235

I have forsworne hit whil I life, follows a similar plot. This time the seduction takes place at a well-waking, and the seducer, Sir John, must be the parish priest. The practice of sleeping – or staying up all night – beside a well or spring goes back to pre-Christian customs associated with sacred places. In medieval times and later, wakes at wells were among the festivities that attached themselves to St John’s Eve. Sir John appears again in Poem 110, Hey noyney, I wyll love our Ser John & I love eny, where the speaker is quite delighted with her lascivious priest. His kisses, his gifts, his expertise in the act of love, all render her quite incapable of resistance, and there is no mention at all of the usual unhappy consequences. This saucy little poem enthusiastically uses sexual innuendo (box, mousetrap) and graphic language in a way that, to my mind, suggests male glee and a male intended audience. With the frank “gropith so nyselye abought my lape,” compare Shakespeare’s more creative “groping for trouts in a peculiar river” (Measure for Measure 1.2.83). Were it undo þat is ydo (103) is less sprightly and more poignant than most of the seduction lyrics. Without going into details, this poem focusses on the speaker’s loneliness and regret. A, dere God, qwat I am fayn (106) may also be a song of regret. As in the Jolly Jankin lyrics, the maiden has been seduced and left pregnant by a clerk. In the usual interpretation, she laments that “I am now a maiden no more.” However, Neil Cartlidge argues that the speaker went away to conceal her pregnancy and is now congratulating herself on getting away with the deception. He understands the burden as “How glad I am because now I am a maiden again” (see Notes on 106). This would produce a more intriguing poem. But the appeal “A, dere God” in the burden and stanza 3 sounds more like an expression of urgent anxiety, and the lyric can be convincingly read as the bitter words of one who has learned the hard way and will be more careful in future. Different in tone from the preceding lyrics, Wolde God that hyt were so (104) is more like the poems of refined love. Though voiced by a woman, the sentiments resemble those of the typical male lover pining for a lady who remains aloof. Interestingly, interlineations in the manuscript provide for the substitution of a male speaker by changing the pronouns. This gender-switching is common enough in present-day songs – “The House of the Rising Sun,” for example, which has been “the ruin of many a poor girl/boy” – but rare, though not unparalleled, in medieval manuscripts. It may have been less unusual in performance. In a tiny German lyric from the Carmina Burana, the speaker would give up all the world to have the King

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of England lying “in my arms.” Chunich (“king”) is crossed out, and diu chuenegin (“the queen”) written above. See Klinck, 98 and 163. The lively So well ys me begone (109), half of which is repeated “Trolyloly”s, skims along on the sunny side of life, with no profundities and no shadows. A love-song of sorts, but not a love-complaint, it is saved from insipidity by its satire, of the most light-hearted kind. A young girl is ecstatic about her fashionable boyfriend – whose qualities are all on the surface. The “servyng men” she refers to are no menials, but prosperous young men serving in wealthy households. She is probably in the servant class herself, perhaps a little farther down the social scale. Woman’s-voice lyrics in a courtly style are rare in Middle English, the poetry of refined love being mainly in the male voice – and sometimes assumed to be so when it is not. But in recent decades the female-voice love poetry in the Findern Manuscript has been considered more seriously. Findern, named from the Derbyshire family that assembled the manuscript in the late fifteenth century, contains well-known poems by Chaucer and others, but was filled in with various short items, including about two dozen secular lyrics, some of which were written, and probably composed, by women. Whatso men sayn (107), in which a generic female voice expresses skepticism about men’s sincerity in love, and Yit wulde I nat the causer faryd amysse (108), which expresses a woman’s distress at the departure of the man she loves, are likely candidates. 107 wittily takes aim at men’s “doubleness” and ends by proposing to give them a dose of their own medicine. 108, less adroit, adopts the language of deferential love-service and speaks of the pain of separation in much the same way as male-voice love-poetry in the courtly style. Behind the mannered wording of Yit wulde I nat there may well be a real-life situation, especially if the copyist is also the author. In its slightly awkward earnestness, this lyric, perhaps prompted by a husband’s departure, may remind us of the American Puritan Anne Bradstreet, and her poems of wifely devotion, To My Dear and Loving Husband and Letter to Her Husband, Absent upon Public Employment. The writers of these two poems in the Findern Manuscript, probably women members of the country gentry, can also be compared with the aristocratic women troubadours, further up the social scale, who composed in the genres of courtly love, but with a distinct consciousness of their own high status. Earlier scholars simply took it for granted that all the authors of the Findern lyrics were men. Robbins inferred from five women’s signatures, some

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resembling the hands of the texts, that women must have contributed to the copying of the manuscript (“The Findern Anthology,” 616, 628), but still assumed a male voice and male authorship in all of the added lyrics, as did Richard Beadle and A.E.B. Owen in their facsimile edition. But in a few of these poems, the pronouns point clearly to a female speaker, and this, combined with the evidence of the women’s signatures, invites the inference that women composed some of these “fillers.” Sarah McNamer finds fifteen female-voice lyrics in Findern (actually, ten of these could be read either way), and argues that in them women take the “playful terms” of courtly love and use them for “sincere self-expression” (“Female Authors, Provincial Settings,” 289). In his 2005 anthology, John Hirsh includes as poems authored by women the present lyric as well as three where the female voice is likely enough, but less certain; see Medieval Lyric, 62–3, 200–5. The Findern anthology is an important piece of evidence that women were involved in the production of courtly literature, probably as authors as well as copyists. For the other lyrics in this section, the types of manuscript involved are somewhat different from those that preserve courtly poetry. Both courtly and uncourtly items are found in songbooks. Otherwise, the manuscript placement is more casual for the latter than the former, with less deliberate arrangement, mainly in miscellanies, and in commonplace books, such as Caius Camb 383 (dating from the mid-fifteenth century), owned by an Oxford student, and Bl Sloane 1584, which belonged to John Gysborn, a canon of Coverham in Yorkshire (dated before 1550). A couple of the poems have a preaching context, 99 a rather distinctive one in the Red Book of Ossory. And 110 is scribbled in a random way in a volume devoted to a treatise on land tenures. The subject of woman’s voice in medieval poetry has tended to be treated in terms of writing by or on the side of women. See, for example, Alexandra Barratt’s anthology, Women’s Writing in Middle English, and Annette Grisé’s chapter (focussed on the fifteenth century), “Women and Writing,” in the Blackwell Companion to Middle English Poetry. But, as noted above, woman’s-voice song was a well-established medieval tradition, and the composers of it, when identifiable, were usually men. On the dangers of assuming that women’s voices in anonymous poetry are an indication of women’s authorship, see Klinck, “Was Anonymous a Woman?” Further, although it is appropriate to speak of women’s writing in connection with the very late Findern anthology, when discussing the medieval period more generally, the

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conflation of composition and writing, which modern readers tend to take for granted, is misleading as applied to the production of vernacular poetry in a still largely oral society. In short, the lively voices in the poems below project a conventional range of sensibility that doesn’t necessarily reflect the lived experience of particular women.

99. Like May married to January in Chaucer’s Merchant’s Tale, the speaker is stuck with her old husband and longing for her young lover, a situation that would not have been unusual when arranged marriage was the norm. Alas, hou shold y synge? Yloren is my playinge. How shold y wiþ þat olde man To leven, and let my leman Swettist of al thinge?

lost, gone; recreation live; leave; sweetheart

Dublin, Representative Church Body Library D 11.1.2, The Red Book of Ossory, f. 71v

100. Jankyn’s charms are introduced anaphorically, stanza by stanza, until the sudden change of tone at the end, where the conventional words of the liturgy are brought into sharp contrast with the speaker’s very real and personal fear for her future. “Kyrie, so kyrie,” Jankyn syngyt merie, With “aleyson.” 1 As I went on Ȝol day in owr prosessyon, Knew I joly Jankyn be his mery ton. [Kyrieleyson.]

“Lord” “have mercy”

Yule “Lord have mercy”

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

2 *Jankyn began þe offys on þe Ȝol day, & ȝyt me þynkyt it dos me good, so merie gan he say Kyrieleyson. 3 Jankyn red þe pystyl ful fayr & ful wel, & ȝyt me þinkyt it dos me good, as evere have I sel.

office, service it seems to me; did he say

epistle good fortune, (heavenly) bliss

[Kyrieleyson.] 4 Jankyn at þe Sanctus crakit a merie note, & ȝyt me þinkyt it dos me good—I payid for his cote. [Kyrieleyson.] 5 Jankyn crakit notes an hunderid on a knot, & ȝyt he hakkyt hem smaller þan wortes to þe pot. K[yrieleyson.]

239

“Sanctus” (“Holy, holy, holy”); trilled

in succession, in a bundle chopped up; vegetables

6 Jankyn at þe angnus beryt þe pax-brede.

“Agnus” (“Lamb of God”); bore; peace disc winked He twynkelid, but sayd nowt, & on myn fot he trede.

[Kyrieleyson.]

7 Benedicamus domino. Cryst fro schame me schylde. Deo gracias þerto. Alas, I go with schylde! K[yrieleyson.] Bl Sloane 2593, f. 34rv

*f. 34v

“Let us bless the Lord”; shield “Thanks be to God”; child

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101. Eager excitement at this “holiday” – the word caps burden and all stanzas – turns to grief in a serving maid’s vivid and racy account of her seduction. Rybbe ne rele ne spynne yc ne may For joyȝe þat it ys holyday. 1 Al þis day ic han sou[ȝt], Spyndul ne werve ne wond y nouȝt, To myche blisse ic am brout Aȝen þis hyȝe [ho]lyda[y]. Rybbe &c. 2 All unswope ys owre vleth, & owre fyre ys unbeth, Oure ruschen ben unrepe ȝeth, Aȝen þis hy halyday. R. 3 Yc moste feschun worton in, Predele my kerchef undur my khyn; Leve Jakke, lend me a pyn To predele me þis holiday. R. 4 Now yt draweþ to þe none, & al my cherrus ben undone; Y moste a lyte solas mye schone To make hem dowge þis holiday. R.

scrape (the flax); wind (the thread)

I have searched about whorl (of a spindle); found brought in expectation of; high

unswept; floor out our rushes are not yet cut

fetch; vegetables fasten?; chin dear

chores clean my shoes a little soft

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

5 Y moste mylkyn in þis payl, Outh me bred al þis schayl, Ȝut is þe dow undur my nayl, As ic knad þis holyday. R. 6 Jakke wol brynge me onward in my wey, Wyþ me desyre for te pleyȝe; Of my dame stant me non eyȝe An never a god haliday. R. 7 Jacke wol pay for my scoth, A Sonday atte þe ale-schoth; Jacke wol sowse wel my þroth Every god halida[y]. R. 8 Sone he wolle take me be þe hand, & he wolle legge me on þe lond, Þat al my buttockus ben of son[d], Opon þis hye holyday. R. 9 In he pult & out he drow, & ever yc lay on hym ylow. “By Godus deth, þou dest me wow, Upon þis hey holyday!” R.

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spread out (the contents of ) this bowl still; dough kneaded

to have sport with me I am not in awe of my mistress on any

contribution scot-ale (contributory feast) drench my throat

lay; ground will be covered with sand high

thrust I continued to lie under him you do me woe

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10 Sone my wombe began to swelle A[s] greth as a belle; Durst y nat my dame telle Wat me betydde þis holyday. R.

big dared not; mistress happened to me

Caius Camb 383, p. 41 7.3 þroth] ms wroth; 8.2 me] ms men; 10.3 durst] ms drurst

102. The Midsummer dance, probably on St John’s Eve, is the maiden’s undoing. Seduced, and now toughing out the consequences, she describes her sexual escapade with enthusiasm, and in burden and refrain blames her misfortune on her dancing prowess and her naïveté. Alas, ales þe wyle, Þout y on no gyle, So have y god chaunce! Ala[s], ales þe wyle Þat ever y cowde daunce! 1 Ladd y þe daunce a myssomur day. Y made smale trippus soþ for to say. Jak oure haly watur cle[r]k com be þe way, & he lokede me upon, he þout þat y was gay. Þout yc on no gyle! 2 Jak oure haly watur clerk, þe ȝonge strippelyng, For þe chesone of me he com to þe ryng, & he trippede on my to, & made a twynkelyng. Ever he cam ner, he sparet for no þynge. Þout y on [no gyle!]

time, occasion I suspected no deception fortune

I led; midsummer steps; truth attractive

because of me; dancing circle wink closer; held back

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

3 Jak, ic wot, priyede in my fayre face, He þout me ful worly, so have y god grace. As we turndun owre daunce in a narw place, Jak bed me þe mouþ, a cussynge þer was. Þout y on no g[yle!] 4 Jak þo began to rowne in myn ere: “Loke þat þou be privey & graunte þat þou þe bere; A peyre wyth glovus ic ha to þyn were.” “Gramercy, Jacke,” þat was myn answere. Þoute yc [on no gyle!] 5 Sone aftur evensong Jak me mette. “Com hom aftur þy glovus þat ic þe byhette.” Wan ic to his chambur com, doun he me sette. From hym mytte y nat go wan [we] were mette. Þout y [on no gyle!] 6 Schetus & chalonus ic wot were yspredde, Foresoþe þo Jak & yc wenten to bedde. He prikede & he pransede, nolde he never lynne. Yt was þe murgust nyt þat ever y cam ynne. Þout y [on no gyle!]

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I know; peered admirable offered; kissing

then; whisper secret; promise to behave discreetly pair; white; have; wearing thank you

promised when

sheets; bedspreads truly; then galloped; he would never stop merriest

7 Wan Jak had don, þo he rong þe belle. stay Al nyȝt þer he made me to dwelle. Of[t], y trewe, we haddun yserved þe reaggeth I believe; shaggy devel of helle! little amusements; I don’t care to Of oþur smale burdus kep y nout to telle. Þout y [on no gyle!]

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8 Þe oþur day at prime y com hom, as ic wene, Meth y my dame coppud & kene. “Sey, þou stronge strumpeth, ware hastu bene? Þy trippyng & þy dauncyng, wel it wol be sene!” Þout y [on no gyle!]

Prime (early morning); suppose met; mistress; supercilious; spiteful great strumpet; where will be clearly seen

9 Ever bi on & by on, my damme reched me clot. Ever y ber it privey wyle þat y mouth, Tyl my gurdul aros, my wombe wax out. Evel yspunne ȝern ever it wole out. Þout y on no gyle!

all the time; one after another; a slap bore; secretly; while I could my belly swelled up ill-spun yarn will always come out

Caius Camb 383, p. 41 1.4 y] ms he; 1.5 no] ms ne; 6.1 were] ms a were

103. Less sprightly and more poignant than most of the seduction lyrics. Without going into details, this carol focusses on the speaker’s loneliness and regret, the words far and war echoing through her song. Were it undo þat is ydo I wolde be war. 1 Y lovede a child of þis cuntre, & so y wende he had do me. Now myself þe soþe y see, Þat he is far. Wer it undo þat is ido &c.

done (more) cautious

region I thought truth

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

2 He seyde to me he wolde be trewe, & chaunge me for non oþur newe. Now y sykke & am pale of hewe, For he is far. Wer it undo &c.

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no other (lover) sigh

3 He seide his sawus he wolde fulfille; Þerfore y lat him have al his wille. Now y sykke & mourne stille, For he is fare. Wer it undo &c.

declarations

Caius Camb 383, p. 210.

104. Though voiced by a woman, the sentiments in this lyric resemble those of the typical male lover pining for a lady who remains aloof. Interestingly, interlineations in the manuscript provide for the substitution of a male speaker. Wolde God that hyt were so As I cowde wysshe bytuyxt us too. 1 The man that I loved altherbest, In al thys contre est other west, To me he ys a strange gest. What wonder es’t thow I be woo? 2 When me were levest that he schold duelle He wold noȝt sey onys farewelle, He wold noȝt sey ones farewell, Wen tyme was come that he most go.

between; two

best of all country, region aloof; stranger

I would have liked it best; stay once

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3 In places ofte when I hym mete, I dar noȝt speke but forth I go. With herte & eyes I hym grete; So trywe of love I know no mo.

more

4 As he ys myn hert love, My dyrward dyre, iblessed he be. I swere by God that ys above, Non hath my love but only he.

precious; dear

5 I am icomfortyd in every syde; The colures wexeth both fres and newe. When he ys come & wyl abyde, I wott ful wel that he ys trywe.

grow, become

6 I love hym trywely & no mo. Wolde God that he hyt knywe! And ever I hope hyt schal be so. Then schal I chaunge for no new.

I know

no one

cul Add 5943, f. 178v

105. The well-waking that begins all the trouble here is probably another St John’s Eve frolic, like the dancing in 102. The course of events is similar, the characters, especially the priest Sir John, a little more cynical. I have forsworne hit whil I life To wake the well-ey.

promised to abstain from staying up all night by the spring

1 The last tyme I the wel woke Ser John caght me with a croke,

crook (hooked stick)

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

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He made me to swere be bel & boke I shuld not tell[-ey]. 2 Ȝet he did me a wel wors turne, He leyde my hed agayn the burne, He gafe my maydenhed a spurne And rofe my kell[-ey].

played me a trick stream blow split my “keel”

3 Sir John came to oure hows to play Fro evensong tyme til light of the day. We made as mery as flowres in May. I was begyled-ay. 4 Sir John he came to our hows, He made hit wondur copious, He seyd that I was gracious To beyre a childe-ey.

led astray

well-supplied fortunate

5 I go with childe, wel I wot. I schrew the fadir þat hit gate, Withouten he fynde hit mylke & pap A long while-ey.

I know curse; conceived it unless; baby food

cul Ff.5.48, f. 114v.

106. A seduced and pregnant girl wonders how she is going to explain her condition. A, dere God, qwat I am fayn, For I am madyn now gane!

worthless gone, finished

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1 Þis enþer day I mete a clerke, & he was wylly in hys werke, He prayd me with hym to herke, And hys cownsell all for to lene.

the other day wily scheme, secret plan; hide

2 I trow he cowd of gramery. I xall now [telle] a good [s]kyll wy, For qwat I hade siccu[r]ly: To warne hys wyll had I no may[n]. 3 Qwan he and me browt un us þe schete, Of all hys wyll I hym lete; Now wyll not my gyrdyll met. A, dere God, qwat xal I say[n]? 4 *I xall sey to man & page Þat I have bene of pylgrymage. Now wyll I not lete for no rage With me a clerk for to pley[n].

I’m sure he knew magic shall; reason why what; experienced; surely refuse; strength

when; put the sheet on us allowed him meet

boy, young man amorous passion sport, play

St. John’s Camb s .54, ff. 2v–3r 3.4 xal I] ms I xal *f. 3r

107. A woman is skeptical about male protestations of faithful love; the deceivers deserve to be deceived! Whatso men seyn, Love is no peyn To them, serteyn, Butt varians.

certainly changeableness

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

For they constreyn Ther hertis to feyn, Ther mowthis to pleyn Ther displesauns. 2 Whych is indede Butt feynyd drede, So God me spede, And dowbilnys— Ther othis to bede, Ther lyvys to lede— And proferith mede Newfangellnys. 3 For when they pray Ye shall have nay, Whatso they sey. Beware, for shame. For every daye They waite ther pray Whereso they may, And make butt game. 4 Then semyth me Ye may well se They be so fre In evyry plase, Hitt were pete Butt they shold be Begelid, parde, Withowtyn grase. cul Ff.1.6, f. 56r

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hearts; feign mouths; complain, lament unhappiness

anxiety prosper me doubleness, two-facedness proclaim their oaths lead their lives offers as a reward novelty

nothing

lie in wait for their prey

it seems to me

it would be a pity if they should not be deceived; in truth (lit. “by God”) grace

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108. In rather awkwardly elaborate language, a woman wishes her beloved well, even though his departure is making her wretched. Only in the final stanza does she address him directly. Yit wulde I nat the causer faryd amysse, For all the good that ever y had or schall. Therfor y take myn aventure, iwisse, As sche that hath forsaken joyus all, And to all payne is bothe sojet & thralle. Lo, thus I stonde withowten wordes moo, All voyde of joy an full of payne and woo.

I would not wish ... to fare amiss wealth; shall (have) chance, fortune; assuredly subject; slave more devoid

2 *Now, ye that bathe in myrthe & plesaunce, Have mynde on me that was sumtyme in ease, And had the worldyl at myn oune ordynaunce, Whiche now is turned into al disease. Now glad wher sche that Fortune so cowde please That sche myght stonde in verry sycurnesse, Never to fele the stroke of unkyndnesse. 3 Departyng ys the grownde of dysplesaunce, Most in my hert of enything erthly. I you ensure holy in remembraunce Within myself, y thenke hit verryly, Wiche schall contynu with me dayly. Syns that ȝe moste nedys departe me fro, It ys to me a verry dedly woo. cul Ff.1.6, ff. 153v–154r *f. 154r

delight; pleasure once, formerly world; command suffering, trouble she would be happy who; please so much stand in real security

parting is the reason for unhappiness I pledge you full loyalty in my thoughts?

since; must needs part from me

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

251

109. With just a hint of satire, a merry girl sings the praises of her fashionable young man. So well ys me begone, Troly lole. So well ys me begone, Troly loly. 1 Off servyng men I wyll begyne, Troly loley, For they goo mynyon trym, Troly loley. 2 Off mett & drynk & feyr clothyng, Troly loley, By dere God I want none, Troly loley. 3 His bonet is of fyne scarlett, Troly loley, With here as black os geitt, Troly lolye. 4 His dublett ys of fyne satyne, Troly lolye, Hys shertt well mayd & tryme, Troly lolye. 5 His coytt itt is so tryme & rownde, Troly lolye,

I am so fortunate

elegantly neat

food lack

hair; as jet

smart

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His kysse is worth a hundred pownde, Troly loly. 6 His hoysse [is] of London black, Troly lolye, In hyme ther ys no lack, Troly lolye.

hose

7 His face yt ys so lyk a man, Troly lolye, Who cane butt love hyme than, Troly lolye.

then

8 Whersoever he bee, he hath my hert, Troly loly, And shall to deth depart, Troly lolye.

until death part (us)

9 So well ys me begone, Troly loly. S[o] well ys me begone, Troly lolye. Bl Sloane 1584, f. 45v 3.4 troly] ms Torly; 5.3 hundred pownde] ms c £

110. The speaker is totally smitten with this ingratiating seducer – her parish priest. Hey noyney, I wyll love our Ser John & I love eny.

if I love anyone

Desire and Seduction: The Woman Speaks

1 O Lord, so swett Ser John dothe kys, At every tyme when he wolde pley. Off hymselfe so plesant he ys, I have no powre to say hym nay. 2 Ser John love[s] me & I love hym. The more I love hym the more I maye. He says, “Swetthart, cum kys me trym.” I have no powre to say hym nay.

253

play, have fun

am able to nicely

3 Ser John to me is proferyng For hys plesure ryght well to pay, & in my box he puttes hys offryng. [I have no powre to say hym nay.] 4 Ser John ys taken in my mouse-trappe. Fayne wold I have hem bothe nyght [a]nd day. He gropith so nyslye abought my lape. I have no pore to sa[y hym nay.] 5 Ser John gevyth me reluys rynges, With praty plesure for to assay, Furres off the fynest with other thynges. [I have no powre to say hym nay.]

gladly expertly; lap, orifice

shining (a nonce word) pretty, charming; try

San Marino, cA , Huntington el 34.B .60, f. 11r 3.1 is] ms In; 5.1 reluys] ms relyus, y no longer visible; 5.3 other thynges] ms now illegible

The Love Debate

More dramatic in conception than the male- and femalevoice love complaints, the lyrics that follow present a lively range of love-encounters in which the two speakers clash. The mode is comic, and the tone light – although the implications may be sombre. There are, of course, other kinds of medieval English debate poetry: the grimly moralistic soul-and-body dialogue, and the vituperative flyting, for instance. On the Continent different kinds of love debate are found, such as the Occitan tenso, in which a pair of poets exchange views on the subject of love, and the Middle High German Wechsel, in which two speakers take turns but don’t directly address each other. The Song of Lawino and the Song of Ocol, written in the sixties by the Ugandan Okot p’Bitek, and voiced by a woman and her husband, respectively, form a modern diptych of somewhat similar kind, although the subject, the clash of cultures, is very different. In the debates below, each poem constructs a mininarrative, a story which hinges on an incident that changes things. Styles and registers vary, but most of these pieces belong to the pastourelle genre. In its classic form, prolific in Northern France, the pastourelle describes an encounter

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between a man, with the advantages of greater wealth and education, often identified as a knight or clerk, and a peasant girl. He greets her, sweet-talks and propositions her, offers her pretty clothes and presents – all expressed in courtly terms. She protests vigorously. Sometimes the debate ends here. More often, her accoster overcomes her resistance by guile or force, and enjoys her on the spot. The tone is light-hearted and cynical, the action crude. Kathryn Gravdal castigates the mentality behind these poems in a trenchant article, “Camouflaging Rape.” But pastourelles composed in English are seen in a more positive light, as providing education in women’s agency, by Carissa Harris, in her “Rape Narratives, Courtly Critique, and the Pedagogy of Sexual Negotiation” and Obscene Pedagogies, where she discusses Poems 112–13 and 115–16, along with other examples of the pastourelle genre in Middle English and Middle Scots. See Obscene Pedagogies, 103–49 (ch. 3). The poems selected below diverge from the stereotypical pastourelle in a variety of interesting ways. Also, two distinctive poems from the Scottish section, Henryson’s “Robene and Makyne” (127) and Dunbar’s In secreit place þis hyndir nycht (131), engage with the pastourelle tradition, but take it to an entirely different level of sophistication. The earliest English pastourelle, Nou sprinkes þe sprai (111), is also a very early carol. Beginning with the standard chanson d’aventure opening, the poem introduces a male narrator who is charmed by the singing of a maiden in an arbour. Usually, the narrator is also the would-be seducer, but here he is external to a previous story, his emotional detachment contrasting with her involvement; someone else has loved her and left her. What strikes the narrator is the beauty of the maiden and the sweetness of her song. But her song is actually bitter: “Þe clot him clingge!” implies “Die and rot!” In both her song and her explanation of it the maiden’s words are grim. She sees no end to her suffering and seeks vengeance on her faithless lover. The lyric is probably based on an Old French pastourelle, but lacks the fourth stanza of its source, which ends with the narrator proffering himself as a replacement and the maiden well satisfied with her new sexual partner. Here the portrait of the maiden is darker and more interiorized, and the poem’s tone quite different from the light-hearted cynicism of the French song. Poem 112, As I stod on a day, meself under a tre, offers a different variant on the pastourelle scenario. Instead of the standard rustic maiden, the woman here is literate, elegantly clad, and sophisticated. The pastourelle woman not infrequently gets the better of her would-be lover in the debate; in As I stod,

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she trounces him. “The lyings of love” (2.4) introduces an element of confrontation into her polite response to his greeting. Conspicuous alliteration becomes a tool of her mockery, serving her sharp tongue and ready wit. Five fs explode with contemptuous dismissal in “fond ferther a fol for to feche” (2.8); four bs in “a balder bird billin on the bow” (3.6). In a fryht as y con fare fremede (113) is one of the love lyrics in Bl Harley 2253. In this poem, the demands of elaborate alliterative language combined with the exacting rhyme-scheme and the echoic linkage of each stanza-opening to the previous one’s close impose a considerable strain on expression, so that the line of thought and the division of the material between the two speakers are not altogether clear. In spite of this handicap, In a fryht is particularly interesting for its psychologically engaged rendering of the argument between the two characters, especially the woman’s side. The ingratiating flatterer begins by complimenting the maiden with enquiries about her parents, implying she is no ordinary rustic (1.5), but his offers are materialistic and cynical, his “love,” as he virtually admits, a thing of the moment (4.6). She, too, takes a pragmatic view, and imagines her situation if after she has lived as this man’s mistress he rejects her and takes another: she will be an outcast, treated with cruel contempt. Her closing hopeless wish that she could find a man without guile indicates her perception of her interlocutor as decidedly guileful. Less belligerent and more troubled than her victorious counterpart in 112, she ponders her situation, and her capitulation is problematic. The speaker in stanza 6 is uncertain; if it is assigned to the man, as here, the woman’s acceptance is more delayed and less emphatic. Either way, her final words are sombre and thought-provoking. Throughe a forest as I can ryde (115) and Come over the woodes fair & grene (116) are two pastourelles from the Welles Anthology, assembled by Humphrey Welles in the early to mid-sixteenth century. Throughe a forest’s metre and simple, repetitive wording are characteristic of ballads, and the poem is included in Child’s collection. This is a hard-edged poem, in which neither seducer nor maiden displays any tender feeling. Her experience is similar to that of her counterpart in Nou sprinkes þe sprai (111), but the account of it here has none of the other lyric’s charm. The roving male’s polite initial greeting and the accosted maiden’s scornful riposte, both typical of the pastourelle, are here unrelieved by any sprightliness. The girl’s threatening “the crow shall byte you,” implying that her assailant will come to a sticky end and be eaten by carrion birds, becomes a refrain in the first half of the poem,

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only to be capped in the second half by the man’s “the pye [i.e. magpie] has pecked you,” a derisive way of saying, “you have been violated.” Her hopeless attempts to obtain some compensation or redress and his mockery of them make this lyric more worldly-wise and totally unromantic than most of the pastourelles – not more so than 113, but balder. The young woman gets the last word, emerging not so much sad as angry and defiant. The effect of the poem is a little different if stanza 15 is assigned to the man, as it is by some editors. The warning to other maidens to think twice before getting involved in an amorous encounter is public-spirited if addressed by the young woman to her peers; if spoken by the man, it becomes more cynical, deflecting the blame from himself and his like. The exploited maiden in Come over the woodes fair & grene (116) is again the centre of interest, but this pastourelle is softer: the male protagonist thoroughly devious, but less brutal; the female, more innocent. Unmediated by a narrator, the poem consists entirely of dramatic dialogue, formally arranged in quatrains, and beginning and ending with the exploiter’s problematic invitation. Like Al nist by þe rose, rose (55), this lyric focusses on a symbolic flower. Here the designing male persists in his metaphorical demand for the maiden’s fairest flower as fee, while the flower-gathering young girl as persistently misunderstands him. As in the preceding poem, each of them has their own refrain, the maiden’s “all alone” underlining her vulnerability in this unfrequented spot, and the man’s “comforthe ys none alone to be” insidiously taking advantage of it. He comes up with an interesting justification, evidently invented on the spot: the custom of paying a fine for trespass if one ventures into this place. With sophistical arguments, he uses legal language to overawe the young girl, conflating the two senses of courtes when he claims that the court’s law obliges him to exact this fine, either in a courtly manner or by physical force, and invoking the principle that a customary rule becomes binding if it has been established for a long time (see Notes). Whereas the actual rape is described briefly and bluntly in Throughe a forest, here, more sensitively, the dialogue bypasses it, and we only realize it has happened when the maiden tells her abuser, “Doo to me then as ye dyd now” if she ever comes to this place alone again. These words have been taken as evidence that she consents to a sexual relationship, as supposed by the editors of the Welles Anthology, who find that the two characters “reach a mutually satisfactory conclusion” (Jansen-Jordan, 30). However, as perceived by Harris (“Rape Narratives,” 278–9), the maiden’s words are bitter,

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and imply that she will never come here unprotected again. The poem ends with a sweet plea from the seducer to come and gather flowers again. His heart has been softened, but he remains unfazed and uncomprehending. Frequently entitled De Clerico et Puella (“On the Clerk and the Girl”), My deþ y love, my lyf ich hate, for a levedy shene (114), like 113 one of the Harley lyrics, presents a mini-drama of the pastourelle kind, with courtly protestations from the woeful suitor and no-nonsense responses from the dismissive maiden, but the circumstances are different. The encounter is not by chance, the man is a lover in extremis, not a flatterer with the gift of the gab, and the emphasis is on the girl’s inaccessibility – within her house – rather than her rusticity. So the poem has affinities with other conventional types, such as the paraclausithuron (“bewailing at the door”), in Greek and Roman poetry an extravagant lament by a prostrate lover, and the Fensterlied (“window song”), of which the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet 2.2 is a well-known reflection. The man at first speaks in soliloquy and then addresses the girl directly. Thereafter the two speak in alternating stanzas. The background to the action is hard to put together; quite possibly the author has not thought it through. Although 3.1 might suggest otherwise, 6.3 indicates that the clerk and the girl reciprocated each other’s love in the past. In that case, his sorrows must have been caused by an estrangement. When, in 7.2, she says she loved a clerk, is she referring to her present wooer? And her words in 9.1 are inconsistent if she is inferring him to be a clerk, as semest implies. Fein supposes she fails to recognize him because of the darkness (Art. 64, Introduction). By and large, while boundaries between the different genres are fluid, and the pastourelle scenario overlaps with the betrayed maiden’s narrative, the debate format provides an opportunity to give the female speaker more agency, and invites a more questioning treatment of sexual relations. Perhaps simply because the pastourelle genre is less dominant in England than it was in France, in these English poems the action is treated less as a game to be played with skill according to the rules, and more as a subject for exploration and experimentation. The poems selected here are contained in four manuscripts, dating from around 1300 until well into the sixteenth century. The first two items, 111 and 112, are incidental additions in volumes devoted to more substantial texts, a legal treatise and a romance respectively. 113 and 114 are in Harley 2253 (see introduction to the “Refined Love” section, above). 115 and 116 were chosen by Humphrey Welles for the anthology that bears

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his name (see Notes). Poems 112–13 and 115–16, along with other examples of the pastourelle genre, broadly interpreted, in Middle English and Middle Scots, are discussed in Harris, Obscene Pedagogies.

111. Charmed by a maiden’s song, the narrator seems unaware of its bitterness. [Nou sprinkes] þe sprai; Al for love icche am so seeke Þat slepen I ne mai. 1 Als I me rode þis endre dai O mi [pleyinge], S[ei]h I hwar a litel mai Bigan to singge, “Þe clot him clingge! Wai es him i louve-[lon]gi[n]ge Sal libben ai. Nou sprinkes” &c. 2 Son icche herde þat mirie note, Þider I drogh. I fonde hire [in] an herber swot, Under a bogh With joie inogh. Son I asked, “Þou mirie mai, Hwi si[n]kes tou ai, ‘Nou sprinkes þe sprai’?” &c. 3 Þan answerde þat maiden swote Midde wordes fewe: “Mi lemman me haves bihot Of louve trewe.

springs; shoot, branch I; sick cannot

rode along; the other day for my recreation, amusement saw; where; maid clod, sod; cling to him woe; love-longing shall always live

as soon as drew sweet arbour enough, much immediately why do you always sing

with sweetheart; promised me

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He chaunges anewe. Yiif I mai it shal him rewe, Bi þis dai! Now sprink[es]” …

if I can (do it), he’s going to be sorry

London, Lincoln’s Inn, Hale 135, f. 137v 1.1] ms þis endre dai als i me rode; 1.5 clingge] ms clingges; 2.2 þider] ms yider; 3.6 yiif ] ms þiif

112. Happening upon a maiden in a meadow, this suitor finds his courtly advances met with a blast of alliterative scorn. As I stod on a day, meself under a tre, I met in a morueninge a may in a medwe. A semilier to min sithe saw I ner non. Of a blak bornet al was hir wede, Purfiled with pellour doun to þe teon; A red hod on hir heved, shragid al of shridis, With a riche riban gold begon. Þat birde bad on hir boke evere as sche yede. Was non with hir but hirselve alon. With a cri þan sche me sey; Sche wold awrenchin awey, but for I was so neye. 2 I sayd to þat semly that Crist should hir save, For þe fairest may þat I ever met. “Sir, God yef þe grace god happis to have, And þe lygingis of love,” þus she me gret. Þat I mit becum hir man I began to crave, For noþing in hirde fondin wold I let. Sche bar me fast on hond, þat I began to rave,

by myself morning; maid; meadow more attractive; sight burnet (fine dark-brown wool); clothing edged with fur; toes head; trimmed; decorative edging adorned with gold lady; was praying; continually; she went caught sight of me would have run; close (“nigh”)

attractive (lady) good fortune lying(s) down (or possibly, lies) beg on earth; to try; cease accused me (so) vehemently

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And bad me fond ferþer a fol for to feche. “W … þu spellis al þi speche? Þu findis hir nout hire, þe sot þat þu seche.” 3 For me þothe hir so fair, hir wil wold I tast, And I freyned hir of love, þerat she lowe. “O, sire,” she sayd, “hirt yow for non hast. If it be your wille, ye an sayd innowe. It is no mister your word for to wast. Þer most a balder bird billin on þe bow. I wend be your semlant achese you for chast. It is non ned to maknit so tow; W … wet ye wat I rede? Wend fort þer ye wenin bett for to spede.”

try farther off; to catch a fool where is the meaning of? (all your speech) not here; simpleton

seemed to me; wanted to; test asked her for; laughed don’t hurt yourself because of any haste you have; enough there is no need bolder bird/lady; pecking, billing thought; appearance; pick you out as chaste no need to be so persistent (“make it so tough”) ... what I advise go; where; expect; better; succeed

London, College of Arms, Arundel 27, fol. 130v þ written as y 1.8 sche] ms he; 2.9, 3.9 w … ] ms wcc o ri ?, text abbreviated

113. Another articulate maiden keeps her unconvincingly ingratiating suitor at bay, this time with less asperity and more anxiety. In a fryht as y con fare fremede, Y founde a wel feyr fenge to fere. Heo glystnede ase gold when hit glemede; Nes ner gome so gladly on gere. Y wolde wyte in world who hire kenede, Þis burde bryht, ȝef hire wil were.

wood; did go as a stranger a very fair catch for a companion there was never anyone so pleasing in dress I wanted to know; conceived her lady; if it should be her will

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Heo me bed go my gates lest hire gremede. Ne kepte heo non henyng here. 2. “Yhere þou me nou, hendest in helde. Nav y þe none harmes to heþe. Casten y wol þe from cares & kelde, Comeliche y wol þe nou cleþe.” 3 “Cloþes y have on for te caste Such as y may weore wiþ wynne. Betere is were þunne boute laste Þen syde robes ant synke into synne. Have ȝe or wyl, ȝe waxeþ unwraste; Afterward or þonk be þynne. Betre is make forewardes faste Þen afterward to mene & mynne.” 4 *“Of munnyng ne munte þou namore. Of menske þou were wurþe, by my myht. Y take an hond to holde þat y hore Of al þat y þe have byhyht. Why ys þe loþ to leven on my lore Lengore þen my love were on þe lyht? Anoþer myhte ȝerne þe so ȝore Þat nolde þe noht rede so ryht.” 5 “Such reed me myhte spaclyche reowe When al my ro were me atraht.

go my way lest I offend her she desired to hear no insult

hear me; most gracious in favour I have no insults to mock you will remove you; cold clothe

to put on wear with pleasure to wear thin clothes without shame full if you have your will; you’ll become faithless your thanks will be slim pledges; firmly complain and recollect (have second thoughts)

second thoughts; say you would be worthy of honour promise to keep my word; until; grow gray pledged loath(some); believe my advice longer than (the moment when); had alighted desire you so eagerly would not advise you so correctly

advice; I might quickly regret peace; snatched from me

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Sone þo[u] woldest vachen an newe Ant take anoþer wiþinne nyȝe naht. Þenne mihti hongren on heowe, In uch an hyrd ben hated & forhaht, Ant ben ycayred from alle þat y kneowe, & bede clevyen þer y hade claht.” 6 “Betere is taken a comeliche ycloþe In armes to cusse & to cluppe, Þen a wrecche ywedded so wroþe. Þah he þe slowe, ne myhtu him asluppe. Þe beste red þat y con to us boþe, Þat þou me take ant y þe toward huppe. Þah y swore by treuþe & oþe, Þat God haþ shaped mey non atluppe.” 7 “Mid shupping ne mey hit me ashunche. Nes y never wycche ne wyle. Ych am a maide, þat me ofþunche. Luef me were gome boute gyle.”

get someone new nine nights I might go hungry at home in every household; rejected separated told to stick where I had caught hold

someone finely clothed kiss; embrace so badly beat; give him the slip advice; I know spring pledge; oath what God has designed no one can escape

shape-changing; frighten I was (not); witch; sorceress I regret I would like a man without guile

Bl Harley 2253, ff. 66v–67r 5.5 hongren] ms hengren; 6.4 þe] ms me; myhtu] ms myhti *f. 67r

114. A love debate, but not a pastourelle in the narrow sense. Although there is a similar element of humour and parody, the setting and action are different, and the characters ultimately more benign. “My deþ y love, my lyf ich hate, for a levedy shene. Heo is briht so daies liht, þat is on me wel sene.

beautiful she; bright as; clear to me

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Al y falewe so doþ þe lef in somer when hit is grene.

become yellow (i.e. lose colour) if; communicate

Ȝef mi þoht helpeþ me noht, to wham shal y me mene? 2 Sorewe & syke & drery mod byndeþ me so faste Þat y wene to walke wod ȝef hit me lengore laste. My serewe, my care, al wiþ a word he myhte awey caste. Whet helpeþ þe, my suete lemmon, my lyf þus for te gaste?”

sighing expect to go mad; longer sorrow; she could banish darling; to ruin

3 “Do wey, þou clerc, þou art a fol. Wiþ þe bydde stop; intend; not to argue y noht chyde. receive (after waiting) Shalt þou never lyve þat day mi love þat þou shalt byde. chamber Ȝef þou in my boure art take, shame þe may bityde. Þe is bettere on fote gon, þen wycked hors to ryde.” 4 “Weylawei, whi seist þou so? Þou rewe on me, þy man! Þou art ever in my þoht in londe wher icham. Ȝef y deȝe for þi love, hit is þe mykel sham. Þou lete me lyve & be þi luef, & þou my suete lemman.”

alas; take pity wherever I am much dear; sweetheart

5 rightly; can you “Be stille, þou fol, y calle þe riht. Cost þou never blynne? never stop Þou art wayted day & nyht wiþ fader & al my kynne. watched out for Be þou in mi bour ytake, lete þey for no synne they will not hold back Me to holde & þe to slon. Þe deþ so þou maht wynne.” slay; will get 6 “Suete ledy, þou wend þi mod, sorewe þou wolt me kyþe.

change; mind; acquaint me with

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Icham al so sory mon so ich was whylen blyþe. In a wyndou þer we stod we custe us fyfty syþe. Feir biheste makeþ mony mon al is serewes mythe.”

as I was once cheerful kissed; times promise; hide his sorrows

7 “Weylawey, whi seist þou so? Mi serewe þou makest newe. Y lovede a clerk al par amours, of love he wes ful trewe. He nes nout blyþe never a day bote he me sone seȝe. Ich lovede him betere þen my lyf; whet bote is hit to leȝe?”

as a sweetheart unless he saw me immediately what use; lie

8 “Whil y wes a clerc in scole, wel muchel y couþe of lore.

I was very knowledgeable Ych have þoled for þy love woundes fele sore. suffered many wounds Fer from [hom] & eke from men, under þe wode gore. dirty wood Suete ledy, þou rewe of me. Nou may y no more.” can do no more

9 “Þou semest wel to ben a clerc, for þou spekest so stille. Shalt þou never for mi love woundes þole grylle. Fader, moder, & al my kun ne shal me holde so stille Þat y nam þyn, & þou art myn, to don al þi wille.”

seem clearly; gently suffer cruel wounds immobile (i.e., imprisoned) am not

Bl Harley 2253, f. 80v 1.2 briht] ms brith; 3.3 ȝef ] ms ȝof; 5.1 riht] ms riþt; 8.3 hom] ms omits a word

115. A pastourelle in ballad style. The poem turns on the implications of being bitten by a carnivorous bird. Throughe a forest as I can ryde, To take my sporte yn on mornyng, I cast my eye on every syde; I was ware of a bryde syngynge.

did ride one maiden

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2 I sawe a fair mayde come rydyng, I speke to hur of love, I trowe. She answered me all yn scornyng, & sayd, “The crowe shall byte yow.”

I can say

3 “I pray yow, damesell, scorne me nott. To wyn your love ytt ys my wyll; For your love I have dere bought, & I wyll take good hede ther tyll.” 4 “Nay, for God, sir, that I nyll. I tell the, Jenken, as I trowe, Thow shalt nott fynde me such a gyll. Therefore the crowe shall byte yow.” 5 He toke then owt a good golde ryng, A purse of velweytt that was soo fyne. “Have ye thys, my dere swetyng, With that ye wyl be lemman myn.” 6 “Be Cryst, I dare nott for my dame To dele with hym that I doo nott knowe, For soo I myght dyspyse my name. Therfore the crow shall byte yow.” 7 He toke hur abowte the mydell small, That was soo fair of hyde & hewe; *He kyssed hur cheke as whyte as whall, & prayed hur that she wolde upon hym rewe.

believe Gill (i.e. a simple fool)

sweet little one sweetheart

for (fear of ) my mistress bring into contempt

slim waist skin; colouring whalebone (i.e., ivory) have pity

The Love Debate

8 She scornyd hym & callyd hym hew; His love was as a paynted blewe. “Today me, tomorowe a newe. Therefore the crow shall byte yow.” 9 He toke hur abowte the mydell small, & layd hur downe upon the grene. Twys or thrys he served hur soo withall. He wolde nott stynt tyet, as I wene. 10 “But sythe ye have ilyen me bye, Ye wyll wedde me now, as I trowe.” “I wyll be advysed, gyll,” said he, “For now the pye hathe peckyd yow.”

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scullion

stop soon; think

since; lain take advice, consider magpie

11 “But sythe ye have ileyn me by & brought my body unto shame, Some of your good ye wyll part with me, Or elles, be Cryst, ye be to blame.” 12 “I wyl be advysyd,” he sayde. “Þe wynde ys wast þat thow doyst blowe. I have anoder þat most be payde. Therfore the pye hathe pecked yow.” 13 “Now sythe ye have ileyn me bye, A lyttle thyng ye wyll tell, In case that I with chylde be: What ys your name, wher doo ye dwell?”

wasted

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14 **“At Yorke, at London, at Clerkenwell, At Leycestur, Cambryge, at myrye Brystowe. Some call me Rychard, Robart, Jacke, & Wyll. For now the pye hathe peckyd yow.” 15 “But, all medons, beware, be rewe, & lett no man downe yow throwe. For & yow doo ye wyll ytt rewe. For then þe pye wyll pecke yow.

Bristol

maidens; regretful if; regret

16 Farewell, corteor, over the medoo. Pluke up your helys, I beshrew yow. Your trace whersoever ye ryde or goo, Crystes curse goo wythe yow.

go your way; courtier; meadow heels; curse course; walk

17 Though a knave hathe by me leyne, Yet am I noder dede nor sleyne. I trust to recover my harte agayne, & Crystes curse goo wythe yow.”   Finis.

neither

end

Bodl Rawlinson c 813, ff. 56v–57v *f. 57r; **f. 57v

116. A poignant take on the familiar metaphor of gathering a flower. “Come over the woodes fair & grene, The goodly mayde, þat lustye wenche, To chadoo yow from the Sonne[shene]. Under the woode ther ys a benche.” “Sir, I pray yow doo non offence To me a mayde—thys I make my mone—

shadow; sunshine

thus; plea

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But as I came lett me goo hens, For I am here myselfe alone. 2 I wolde for noo worldly goode Be founde with yow yn thys place, *All alone under thys wood; Therfore I putt me now yn your grace.” “The goodly maydon fair of face, Sytt downe under thys grenewood tree & talke with me a lyttle space, For comforth ys non alone to be.

mercy

3 The custome & the maner here Of maydons ys, & ever was, Þat gether the floures withowt a fere, To pay a trepytt or they passe.” “Then of my mouth come take a basse, For oder goodes have I non, But floures fair among the grasse, Whyche I have gathered all alone.

companion (fine for) trespass; before kiss

4 My moder can the howres tell Whyle I am here, soo doeth my fader. Longe with yow I may nott dwell. Lett me departe, I yow requere.” “Agaynst all ryght ys all your desyre Soo sodenly to goo frome me. Abyde tyll ye have payd your hyre, For comforthe ys non alone to be. 5 I most observe the courte lawe, By cou[r]tes maner or by myght. Custome may I non withdrawe

profit

does count the hours linger entreat

wait

courtly manners; physical force rescind

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Þat hathe be usyde here by ryght.” **“Now for thys tyme lett me goo quyte— Yow to wythstande strengthe have I non— & nevermore, I wyll yow plyghte, To gather the floures all alone. 6 But yf ther be non other wey, But I must pay at your request, What ye wyll then most ye saye: Þat of all flowres ye love best.” “Then all þe flowres bothe est & west Your cumpanye ys more leve to me. For to depart ye be to prest, Sythe comforthe ys non alone to be. 7 My harte begynnethe to rejoyse, Sythe ye have made me boldely to crave & hathe putt fully yn my choyce The fairest floure now that ye have.” “I meane, your custome for to save, Of all my floures take ye on; Choyse of þe beste of all yn my arme Þat I have gathered all alone. 8 Beholde theȝ floures bryght & shene: Cowslapes, dayseys, & þe primerose, & basell, þat herbe bothe gentyll & grene, And elles the lusty ruddy roose.” “Anoder floure ys bettur for my purpoose, & non of theeȝ to take yn fere, To dwell with me yourself de[s]pose, For comforthe ys non alone to be.

free pledge

desire which (flower) than dear eager since

ask

choose among

beautiful cowslips; daisies basil; tender

to stay; make up your mind

The Love Debate

9 Swete mastreȝ myn, ye shall have no wronge, But as ye grante me, sythe we be mette, Þat fair floure þat ye have kept soo longe; I call ytt myn owne as my very dett.” “I trowe ye be nott of that sett To spyll my flowres everyche on. I wyll no more gader the vyolett Under thys woode myselfe alone. 10 But shall I gether the floures here? Nay, never more, I make a vowe. & yff I doo withowten a fere, Doo to me then as ye dyd now.” “O ye fair maydon, swete lady, now, Come gather the floures ageyn with me, & ye shall fynde ytt for your prowe, For comforthe ys non alone to be.” Bodl Rawlinson c 813, ff. 58v–59v 6.4 love best] ms love me best; 6.6 leve] ms love *f. 59r; **f. 59v

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as long as, on condition that

I believe destroy; every one

advantage

An Authored Collection: Charles d’Orléans

Unlike most of the poems in the preceding sections, the lyrics here belong to an organized collection, produced and presented to the world as the work of a particular individual. For that reason alone, Charles’s oeuvre would occupy a significant place in English literature – books of this kind do precede him in French. Although Ryman, Audelay, and Lydgate, all working within the context of the religious life, produced collections of their poems, Charles’s manuscript is the first major collection of secular poems in English attributable to a single author (see Boffey, “Middle English Lyrics and Manuscripts,” 3–4). Further, Charles’s collection was almost certainly intended to be read, not just listened to, and probably to be read all the way through – in this respect, too, unlike previous collections. A prominent member of the French royal family, Charles duc d’Orléans (1394–1465) is known among Romanist scholars as a French poet, but the corpus of his English poetry is also substantial. Although a Frenchman, he is one of the most appealing English poets of the fifteenth century: not only accomplished, but, as projected in the voice of his poetry, cultivated, sensitive, devout, and, at his best, with a winning lightness of touch. Douglas Gray pronounces him

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“the finest lyric poet of the period” (Later Medieval English Literature, 361). After his capture at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, Charles was brought to England, and detained in genteel captivity for twenty-five years. During this time – more than enough for him to become thoroughly at ease in the language of the country – he composed two similar lyric sequences, one in French and one in English, both purporting to trace his romantic career. A little over half of the English poems have a counterpart in the French. When Charles returned to France in 1440, he left the English manuscript behind, and took the French with him, continuing to add to it with his own and others’ contributions, for the rest of his life. For centuries little importance was attached to his English production. Charles’s authorship was doubted, and the poems largely dismissed as mere translations. The appearance of Steele’s edition in 1941, which argued in favour of his authorship (Introduction, xi–xii, xix–xxv), turned the tide, and now most Anglicist scholars accept that view. The case for Charles, based on the occasional peculiarities of expression that suggest a francophone and the absence of any other obvious candidate, has been very persuasively argued by Mary-Jo Arn (“Charles of Orleans and the Poems of Bl ms Harley 682”). In her view, the English sequence was modelled on the French. Still, the English never presents itself as a translation, and the priority of the French should not be taken for granted. Where two versions of a poem exist, it is best to regard them as parallel texts. Charles certainly appears to lay claim to the English sequence; as in the French manuscript, he is identified by name as the protagonist early on (Arn, lines 5–6, with probably an earlier identification in the missing opening quire). There is good reason, then, to infer that Charles is the author behind the principal voice in the poems. And so, although author and voice are not the same, it makes sense to refer to this poetic persona as “the poet” and “Charles.” My selection of poems here is not intended to provide a miniature of the whole book. Arn treats it as a single work in 6531 lines, and entitles it “Fortune’s Stabilnes” (an allusion to line 4695), but it is very diverse, and, like the individual poems in a sonnet sequence, its component parts can stand very well alone, perhaps even better when separated from their bulky context. In lingering fashion, adopting the stance of the courtly lover and the conventions of love allegory, the poet follows the vicissitudes of his romantic relationships, through the death of his first sweetheart, his retirement from the service of Love, his finding a new sweetheart, his uneasy relationship with

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her, and the pain of her absence: there is no final denouement. The pieces chosen here reflect not so much the unfolding narrative as the poet’s characteristic preoccupations, his attitudes and talents, as he draws the reader into the struggle with loss and loneliness, the fascination with his heart as a separate consciousness, the power of memory to recreate, the self-regard combined with light self-mockery. Six of the lyrics below, 117–22, are taken from the complete sequence as found in Harley 682. Of these, the first three have pairs in the French sequence, and 122 a link with it. 123–6 are preserved in other manuscripts, and fit in at the end of the love story. All ten poems conform to one or the other of the two favourite formes fixes: ballade and ro(u)ndel, also called simply chanson. The first contains three stanzas, sometimes plus an envoy, all repeating the refrain. The second is characterized by repeated lines, at beginning, middle, and end – as in Chaucer’s Now welcome, somer, quoted 29–30, above. Charles handles both forms with delicacy and finesse. The ballade, with its resonant refrain, lends itself to weightier subjects, the graceful roundel to lighter ones, or to poems where the act of repetition itself becomes the subject. It is illuminating to compare the English and French versions of the three mourning ballades included here (for the French texts, see Notes). These poems easily persuade us that they were prompted by the death of a real woman, although we cannot know this as a historical fact, or, if so, whether she was the wife left in France or another person. In general, the emotional thrust of the English is stronger, partly because the more spacious pentameter accommodates a fuller statement of feeling than the octosyllabe. Also, the cultural associations of the two languages differ, and Charles may have felt it appropriate to be more restrained in French, to aim for elegance and concision. The distinctive qualities of “The English Charles,” in both respects, have recently been explored by Zeeman. In Poem 117, which voices the poet-lover’s longing to give a New Year’s present to his dead sweetheart, “fresshe newe yere,” as compared with “commencement de l’annee,” introduces connotations of youth and revival, contrasting with death. The lover wishes not just to give his lady a “don” but to give her a pretty thing. “Y can no bettir say,” added to the refrain, and “this tyme that neigheth nere,” for “ceste journee” help to build the poem’s dignified reflectiveness. In the French version, Mort has simply taken her out of the world; in the English, Death has made the world naked by taking her. Occasionally the differences

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are more radical. Charles asks in French that she be crowned because of her good deeds, in English that his good deeds may make his prayer – that she be crowned – efficacious. Poem 118 describes Charles’s commemoration of his sweetheart in the Church of Love. Again, the English poem infuses feeling with little expansions: “my lady dere” instead of “ma dame”; “made … full solempnely” instead of “fait.” More strikingly, in the English version God takes the beautiful woman not simply to adorn his home in Paradise (“parer son repaire / De Paradis”), but to comfort his saints with sport and game, a delightful image of the sweetheart as courtly lady, using her lively talents to generate festivity and fun (cf. Poem 90, st. 4). The third ballade here (119) finds the poet-lover wandering in the Forest of Noyous Hevynes, where he meets the Goddess of Love, who asks him whither he is going; he responds that in his bereaved state he is “the man forlost that wot not where he goth.” The picture of the forlorn lover as a blind man “with my staf grapsyng wey” is more vivid and, unusually, more concise than the French “De mon baston … tastant mon chemin ça et la.” But the French words deftly suggest the actual sound of the tapping stick: “bâton … tâtant” (the s, retained in the spelling, is already silent; see Fox-Arn, lxi). The remaining ballade, Honure, joy, helthe, and plesaunce (122), proposes a short-term contract to the second sweetheart. There is no real parallel in the French sequence. However, the pledge-affirming refrain, “With hert, body, my litill good, and all,” resembles that in a letter addressed by Charles to his ally Philippe duc de Bourgogne as part of their verse correspondence: “De cueur, de corps, et de puissance” (Fox-Arn, B 129). Both the political poem and the love lyric express devoted loyalty, but Honure, joy’s piquant mixture of erotic tenderness and self-deprecating humour is totally unlike anything in the epistle to the Duke of Burgundy. While the political supplication is serious, the amorous proposal is nicely ironic. The phrase “my litill good,” corresponding to but by no means equivalent to puissance (“power, capacity”), and encompassing moral qualities as well as worldly possessions, is disarmingly modest – and with regard to the latter wildly inaccurate. It is usually assumed that the English poem imitates the French, but, as Anne Coldiron notes, the reverse is possible (“Toward a Comparative New Historicism,” 108). All of the roundels chosen here stand alone, with no French parallel. All are dramatic, and all in the form of direct address. My gostly fadir (120) is a mock confession; Go forth, myn hert (123) and Bewere, my trewe, innocent hert

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(126) draw on a familiar poetic personification in order to indirectly admonish the lady who has her lover’s heart in her power, as So fayre, so freshe (124) and My hertly love (125) make clear. Perhaps the most haunting lyric in this group – and, indeed, in Charles’s entire oeuvre – is The smylyng mouth (121), in which the poet longs to see his absent sweetheart again, dwells on her in his mind’s eye, and appeals to her. This lyric functions as a mantra the poet uses to conjure up his beloved, and the craft that stints his pain is not just the power of memory, but his poetic craft, in which he takes delight. More an ideal of beauty than a specific person, she materializes out of the imagination – graceful, inviting, naked, rather like Pygmalion’s Galatea. For Charles, contemplating his evocation of her enables him to transcend the emptiness of her absence. Repetition in this lyric becomes incantation, and the poem a charm that makes things happen. There are voices other than Charles’s in his poems; in the French collection, many other voices representing other writers – over forty, mostly aristocratic, but including Villon (for names and brief notes, see Appendix 3 in Fox-Arn, 829–41) . In the English corpus, the only developed subjectivity is his own. At the same time, his poetry is full of embodied abstractions and mental properties: Thought, Hope, Comfort, Gladness, Pain, Woe, “Hevynes” – this last the subject of Poem 119, and so on. These personifications have the effect of suggesting a divided self, especially in the separation of the poet-lover and his heart, but also in giving concrete presence to varied, and sometimes conflicting, impulses. In 119, for example, the words of the calm and kindly Goddess of Love give expression to inner promptings more rational and balanced than the despairing outbursts of the grieving lover. Charles’s voice is complex and its relation to real life problematic. For modern readers, this quasi-autobiographical “I” may well be the most interesting feature of his poetry. We can neither simply assume nor simply deny that the speaker is the historical duc d’Orléans, nor know for sure what biographical facts may correspond to his constructed reflection of his romantic life. Like Sidney, Spenser, and Shakespeare, in the sonnet sequences of the following century, Charles creates a poetic autobiography in which a distinct, but not altogether consistent, subjectivity is the controlling impulse – a subjectivity differing in significant ways from that in the French. Charles’s English poems are mostly contained in Bl Harley 682, a few in other manuscripts, especially BnF fr. 25458, the collection of Charles’s French poems (dating from between 1439/40 and 1465), and one or two in

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Bl Royal 16.f .II (late fifteenth century). On the English and French versions as parallel texts, see Klinck, “Making a Difference: Bilingualism and Re-creation.” The English sequence has most recently been edited by Arn, with poems from the other manuscripts in Appendix I (381–9); the French sequence by Fox-Arn. The English poems in the French manuscript are still not firmly attributed to Charles by editors (see Fox-Arn, xxxviii). For some thoughtful doubts about Charles’s authorship of the whole English corpus, see Calin, “Will the Real Charles of Orleans Please Stand!”

117. Many of the earlier poems in Charles’s sequence express his grief at the death of his beloved lady. His second wife, Bonne d’Armagnac, who was married to him in 1410 when she was eleven years old, did die sometime between 1430 and 1435 – after they had been separated (in consequence of his captivity) for at least five years. Whether or not the anniversary of Bonne’s death is the occasion for this poem, the poet’s grief and continuing devotion are compelling. Ofte in my thought full besily have y sought, Ayens the bigynnyng of this fresshe newe yere, What praty thyng that y best yeven ought To hir that was myn hertis lady dere; But all that thought bitane is fro me clere Sith Deth, allas, hath closid hir undir cley, And hath this world fornakid with hir here. God have hir sowle, y kan no bettir say. 2 But for to kepe in custome, lo, my thought And of my sely service the manere In shewyng allys that y forget hir nought Unto eche wight y shall to my powere, This dede, hir serve with massis and prayere, For, a! to fowle a shame were me, mafay, Hir to forgete this tyme that neigheth nere. *God have hir sowle, y kan no bettir say.

in acknowledgment of pretty; give taken away made naked

according to proper custom lowly, poor somehow each person dead (person) by my faith, certainly is coming close

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3 there is not to be purchased To hir profit now nys ther to ben bought Noon othir thyng, all wol y bay hit dere; buy it at a high price Wherfore, thou Lord that lordist all aloft, govern(s) Mi deedis take, suche as goodnes stere, And crowne hir, Lord, within thyn hevenly spere As for most trewist lady, may y say, manner Most good, most fayre, and most benygne of chere. God have hir sowle, y kan no bettir say. 4 When y hir prayse or praysyng of hir here, All though it whilom were to me plesere, Yit fill ynough hit doth myn hert today And doth me wisshe y clothid had my bere. God have hir sowle, y kan no bettir say.

formerly, in the past covered; bier

Bl Harley 682, f. 42rv 4.3 yit] ms hit

*f. 42v

118. More complicated than the previous poem, and heavily allegorical, I have the obit calls up the same intense grief softened by religious as well as amorous devotion. The charming image of his lady delighting the saints in heaven comforts the poet and enables him to accept that worldly bliss, however precious, cannot last. service on the anniversary of death I have the obit of my lady dere Made in the Chirche of Love full solempnely, And for hir sowle the service and prayere, sadly In thought waylyng, have songe hit hevyly, The torchis sett of Sighis pitously Which was with Sorow sett aflame. also; in the same way The toumbe is made als to the same Of karfull cry depayntid all with teeris, sad, full of care; decorated

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The which richely is write abowt That here, lo, lith withouten dowt The hool tresoure of all worldly blys.

upon lies whole

2 Of gold on hit ther lith an ymage clere, With safyr blew ysett so inrichely— For hit is write and seide how the safere Doth token trouthe, and gold to ben happy—

sapphire; richly

The which that wel bisettith hir hardily, Forwhi hit was an ewrous, trewe madame And of goodnes ay flowren may hir name, For God, the which that made hir, lo ywys, To make such oon me thynke a myght ben prowt, For, lo, she was, as right well be she mowt, The hool tresoure of all worldly blys. 3 O pese, no more! Myn hert astoneth here To here me prayse hir vertu, lo trewly, Of hir that had no fawt, withouten were, As all the world hit saith as well as y, The whiche that knew hir deedis inthorowly. God hath hir tane, y trowe, for hir good fame,

silence!; is overwhelmed fault; without reservation

His hevene the more to joy with sport and game, The more to plese and comfort his seyntis, For certis well may she comfort a rowt, Noon is she saynt, she was here so devowt, The hool tresoure of all worldly blys. 4 Not vaylith now, though y complayne this, Al most we deye therto, so lete us lowt,

loyalty, genuineness; fortunate is very appropriate to her; assuredly because; favoured bloom, flourish to be sure such a one; he might be might

those who knew; thoroughly taken; believe; (high) reputation festivity certainly; host although she is not

also, we must all die; bow, submit

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For ay to kepe ther is no wight so stowt The hool tresoure of all worldly blys.

preserve forever; creature; strong

Bl Harley 682, ff. 44v–45r 2.1 hit] ms hir

119. Wandering and lost in his suffering, the bereaved poet comes upon the Goddess of Love, who wishes to comfort him. But in his eyes Death is a greater power, and so the encounter ends in despair. Yet, for the reader the calm, reasonable voice of personified Love lingers, resisting the protesting voice of the poet’s exaggerated self-pity. vexatious sorrow In the Forest of Noyous Hevynes, As y went wandryng in the moneth of May, I mette of Love the myghti gret Goddes, where I was going Which axid me whithir y was away. I hir answerid, “As Fortune doth convey, someone; although I do not wish it As oon exylid from joy, al be me loth, That passyng well all folke me clepyn may extremely; call The man forlost that wot not where he goth.” lost; knows

2 in response Half in a smyle ayen of hir humblesse, She seide, “My frend, if so y wist, mafay, if I knew; by my faith, to be sure Wherfore that thou art brought in such distresse, arrange; comfort, relief; try To shape thyn ese y wolde mysilf assay, For heretofore y sett thyn hert in way I do not know who upset you Of gret plesere. Y not whoo made thee wroth. Hit grevith me thee see in suche aray, such a state The man forlost that wot not where he goth.” 3 “Allas!” y seide, “most sovereyne good princesse, Ye knowe my case, what nedith to yow say? Hit is thorugh Deth, that shewith to all rudesse, Hath fro me tane that y most lovyd ay, In whom that all myn hope and comfort lay.

discourteousness, harshness taken; ever

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So passyng frendship was bitwene us both That y was not—to fals Deth did hir day— The man forlost that wot not where he goth.

excellent, superlative until; made her die

4 *Thus am y blynd, allas and welaway! Al fer myswent, with my staf grapsyng wey, That no thyng axe but me a grave to cloth, For pite is that y lyve thus a day, The man forlost that wot not where he goth.”

completely gone astray; feeling ask

Bl Harley 682, ff. 46v–47r

* f. 47r

120. This roundel, perhaps the most graceful and light-hearted of Charles’s English poems, plays with the conceit of returning the stolen kiss, using the language of religious confession. My gostly fadir, y me confesse First to God and then to yow That at a wyndow, wot ye how, I stale a cosse of gret swetnes, Which don was out avisynes, But hit is doon not undoon now. My gostly … First to … But y restore it shall, dowtles Ageyn, if so be that y mow And that God y make a vow And ellis y axe foryefnes. My gostly … First to … Bl Harley 682, f. 88v

spiritual do you know kiss without forethought

am able make a vow to God to do that in addition; forgiveness

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121. The subject of this meditation is the second sweetheart, who, like the first, may or may not correspond to a specific historical person. Roundel form, with its repetition, here becomes incantation, and the poem a charm that makes the absent present. The smylyng mouth and laughyng eyen gray, The brestis rounde, and long, smal armys twayne, The hondis smoþe, þe sidis streiȝt & playne, Yowre fetis lite, what shulde y ferþer say? Hit is my craft, when ye are fer away, To muse þeron, in styntyng of my payne— The smylyng … The brestis … So wolde y pray yow, gef y durste or may, The sight to se as y have seyne, Forwhi þat craft me is most fayne And wol ben to þe howre in which y day:

grey (or blue) eyes slender; two loins, flanks; trim; smooth little staunching, holding back

if; dared therefore; pleasing will; die

The smylyng … The brestis … Bl Harley 682, f. 94v

122. Playfully appropriating the legalities of feudal service, Charles offers his sweetheart fidelity in payment for rental of space in her heart – for a year only. Honure, joy, helthe, and plesaunce, enjoyment Vertu, ricches habundaunt with good ure excellence; abundant; good fortune The Lord graunt yow, which hath most puysshaunce, power And many a gladsom yere for to endure, With love and prays of every creature, although it is of small use And for my love, all prevayle it small, I gyve hit yow, as be ye verry sewre, truly certain With hert, body, my litill good, and all. good things, possessions

Charles d'Orléans

2 *And so yow not displese with my desire, This wolde y yow biseche: that of yowre grace Hit like yow, lo, to graunt me all þis yere As in yowre hert to have a dwellyng place, Al be hit nevyr of so lite a space, For which as this the rente resceyve ye shall: Mi love and service as in every case, With hert, body, my litill good, and all. 3 And syn hit is to yow no prejudice Sum litill, prati corner sekis me Within yowre hert for, parde lo, justice If y offende, hit must yowreselven be To punysshe liche as ye þe offensis se, For y as name nor have no thing at all But it is soul yowre owen in eche degre, With hert, body, my litill good, and all. 4 What so ye will, y wil hit to obey, For payne or smert, how so þat me bifall, So am y yowre and shal to that y dey, With hert, body, my litill good, and all.

283

my desire is not displeasing to you (that) it pleases you

I seek? by God, indeed according as; see I am (like) a mere name

I wish to obey it shall be until I die

Bl Harley 682, ff. 141v–142r

*f. 142r

123. As in many of Charles’s poems, the lover’s heart becomes a separate character – in the present case, a messenger. This established poetic trope (also the impetus for Poem 95) is handled lightly here, and the literally “heartless” doleful body introduces an element of drollery. Go forth, myn hert, wyth my lady. Loke that ye spar no besynes

diligence

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To serve hyr wyth seche lowlynes That ȝe get hyr grace and mercy.

favour

Pray hyr oftymes pryvely That sche quippe trewly hyr promes. Go forth &c. I most as a hertles body Abyde alone in hevynes, And ȝe schal dwel with your maistres In plesans glad and mery.

keep

sadness mistress enjoyment

Go forth &c. BnF fr 25458, p. 310

124. While the refrain conveys only admiration for his gracious lady, Charles indicates in the most delicate possible way that he doesn’t deserve her suspicions. So fayre, so freshe, so goodely on to se, So welle dymeynet in al your governans, That to my hert it is a grete plesans Of your godenes when y remembre me. And trustyth fully wher that ever y be I wylle abyde undyr your obeyssance. So fayre &c. For in my thought ther is no mo but ye Whom y have servid wythout repentance, Wherfore y pray yow sethe to my grevance And put osyde all myn adversite. So fayre &c. BnF fr 25458, p. 312

to look upon well-mannered; behaviour pleasure remind myself, reflect upon be assured remain obedient to you more see to, attend to; distress, injury misfortune, being out of favour

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125. A small pledge of fidelity, and hope for the same in return. The poem is given weight by its prayerful stance, cadence, and stately trisyllabic rhyme-words. My hertly love is in your governans, And ever shal whill þat I lyve may. I pray to God I may see that day That we be knyt with trouthfull alyans;

control, direction

loyal bond

Ye shal not fynd feynyng or variauns, *As in my part that wyl I trewly say, My hertly &c.

inconstancy

Bl Royal 16.f .II , f. 118rv 1 governans] ms governaus; 4 alyans] ms alyaus; 5 variauns] ms varianns

*f. 118v

126. Charles belatedly and futilely warns his heart not to ally itself with a lady who has deceived him. Bewere, my trewe, innocent hert, How ye hold with her aliauns That somtym with word of plesauns Desceyved you under covert. Thynke how the stroke of love con smert Without warnyng or deffiauns. Bewere, my &c. And ye shall pryvely or appert See her by me in loves dauns, Wyth her faire femenyn contenauns, Ye shall never fro her astert.

bond of friendship who; at some time; a gratifying word surreptitiously inflict pain open challenge if you ... ; openly dance escape

Bewere my &c. Bl Royal 16 f .II , f. 131r 1 bewere] ms ne were (similarly 7, 12); 2 aliauns] ms aliaims; 5 con smert] ms com smert; 6 deffiauns] ms deffianns

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

The voices that will be heard in this section speak a language that not everyone would recognize as English. Unfamiliar vocabulary and a distinctive orthography, reflecting Scottish pronunciation, can make the texts seem foreign to many anglophone readers. But “Scots,” which came to be the regular term for that variety of language, is not recorded in this sense until 1494, and until the end of the sixteenth century Scots speakers typically referred to their language as “Inglis” (see Bawcutt and Williams, 4). The speech of Lowland Scotland had only comparatively recently, during the fourteenth century, differentiated itself from Northern Middle English. Henryson, Dunbar, and their fellow Scots poets shared a literary heritage with their compeers south of the border, and English poets appear in Scottish manuscripts. In his “Lament for the Makars,” Dunbar begins his Honours List of dead poets with Chaucer, Lydgate, and Gower. Thus, these texts from the late medieval and early modern period, while certainly distinctive, can be placed on the broad literary spectrum of English, in a way that French and Latin texts, however much a part of the culture, cannot.

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The lyrics selected here belong to the beginning of the Middle Scots period (1450–1700), although “Middle” may not be the best term (see Kopaczyk, “The Language of William Dunbar”). Though composed before the upheaval of the Protestant Reformation, which received official endorsement in Scotland in 1560, these could as well be considered early modern as late medieval poems. Their number is relatively small, and probably only a very partial reflection of what was actually produced, as Alasdair MacDonald explains in his survey chapter (Duncan, Companion, 242–67). Robert Henryson and William Dunbar, along with Gavin Douglas and his translation of the Aeneid, dominate the scene, and have left a substantial oeuvre. The five poems below cannot adequately represent either the pre-Reformation Scots lyric or the talents of two major poets. I have chosen them here because they are striking in themselves and they resonate with kinds of lyric that are important to this collection: the celebratory hymn, the Marian poem, the meditation on mortality, the pastourelle as love debate. Four of the five are by Dunbar, who indeed offers much to choose from, and whose brilliance in many styles rivals, and perhaps outshines, Burns’s. To begin with, the earlier poet, Henryson, who was born perhaps in the 1420s and dead by 1505, was a schoolmaster in Dunfermline, held a master’s degree – indicated by the title “Maister” – and is mentioned as highly respected (venerabilis) in 1462 (on the biographical evidence, see Fox, xii–xxi). He is best known for his longer works: the Moral Fables, in the Aesopian tradition, and the Testament of Cresseid, his bitter sequel to Chaucer’s romance. Robene sat on gud grene hill (127) is a challenging piece, and its generic affinity has provoked some discussion. The poem parodies the pastourelle (here represented in the “Love Debate” section), that genre itself parodying the situation of the courtly lover who suffers “dule in dern,” petitions for pity, and has to overcome his lady’s “danger” by patient persistence, as Makyne advises Robin in her ABc of love. It has been argued that “Robene and Makyne” burlesques not just pastourelle, but also courtly romance, carpe diem, elegy, and misogynist satire (Cornelius, “Robert Henryson’s Pastoral Burlesque”). Certainly, the poem is generically complex. It is composed in stanzas of alternating four- and three-stress lines, that is, in ballad metre, a form associated with the unadorned economy and the folk wisdom of ballads, but here used very disingenuously by Henryson. His poem calls up the stereotypes of both the edgy pastourelle and the saccharine pastoral in

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order to turn them upside down. The courtly lover of the old pastourelle has disappeared, replaced by the shepherd Robin. Instead of the roaming male coming upon a more-or-less static female, the roles are reversed, as the poem begins with Makyne coming upon Robin seated near his sheep and asking him for love. Like the usual shepherdess, he plays hard to get. Makyne goes home disconsolate, but recovers with surprising rapidity, while Robin catches her sickness and languishes, to her satisfaction. As she tells him tartly, “The man þat will nocht quhen he may / Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.” The poem ends with Makyne laughing as she takes off home, and Robin mourning, sitting alone, no longer on a pleasant green hill, but cooped up under a crag in the frosty woods. Part of the irony lies in the names themselves, suggestive of rustic characters and popular poetry: Robene is a diminutive of Robert, and Ma(w/l)kyne of Matilda or Maud. But the girl’s name also suggests a loose woman, and in Scots can be a term for the female genitalia (see med , dost , under malkin). This strong-minded Makyne belies her name. Henryson is not the first to write an inverse pastourelle with the maiden taking the initiative; the French tradition includes examples of shepherdesses eager for love or sharp-tongued, and well able to give their would-be seducers a good dressing-down (see inter alia nos. 37 and 42 in Paden’s Medieval Pastourelle). But Henryson moves beyond a battle of wits into an existential questioning of the love-game. The later poet’s career more or less coincides with the reign of James IV of Scotland (1488–1513). Dunbar graduated as “Maister” from St Andrews in 1479 (this date suggests he was born ca. 1460); he was a priest and a member of the royal household, where he served, with secretarial duties, for most of his adult life. He is last mentioned as alive in 1513 (for the biographical documentation, see Bawcutt, 1–3). Perhaps Dunbar is most remarkable for his versatility. If we classify his poetry according to three styles (high, low, and middle or plain), Poems 128 and 129 clearly fit into the first category, 130 into the second, and 131 into the third. Patricia Bawcutt nuances this threefold division in her exploration of his language (Dunbar the Makar, 347–82). Both Done is a battell on þe dragon blak (128), Dunbar’s celebration of the Resurrection, and Hale, sterne superne, hale, in eterne (129), his extremeaureate “Ballat of Our Lady,” are cast in an exalted, hymnic mould. Parataxis and the piling on of parallel items, heightened by alliteration, build the grand manner. Key to each poem is the Latin refrain, with its liturgical and biblical echoes. Yet, in overall effect and in detail the two poems are unalike.

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While Hale, sterne is studiedly exotic, Done is a battell sketches its scenes with everyday language – for the most part. The two refrains are used differently too. Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro, with its final resounding -o, rings at the end of each stanza; Ave Maria, gracia plena creates an internal pause, a moment of quiet. In a loud and public voice, Done is a battell proclaims the victory of Christ over Satan, with vivid images and sharp antitheses. The stanzas form a climactic sequence: Christ at Hell’s gates, the Devil as dragon or fierce tiger, the Resurrection at dawn, the radiance of full day and the sound of bells from heaven, all summed up in the final stanza. Dunbar’s hymn to Mary, also proclaimed in a herald’s voice, is more sumptuous and less dynamic. All apostrophe and no narrative, this lyric forms an extensive salutation, a mighty expansion of the angel’s greeting. Whereas Done is a battell needs to be heard aloud, Hale, sterne does not actually vocalize well – as a reader who attempts it will find. It is a thoroughly cerebral poem, its metaphorical language impossible to resolve into distinct visual or aural elements. As Bawcutt shows (Dunbar the Makar, 354–8), this lyric imitates the vocabulary and rhymes of medieval Latin hymns. The verse scheme is extremely exacting, notably the same triple internal rhyme required five times per stanza. In lesser hands it would be a disaster. In Dunbar’s it may prompt a rather stunned admiration in us modern readers. With its plethora of inventive epithets, Hale, sterne matches the vivid low-style poems at the opposite extreme, such as In secreit place þis hyndir nycht (131) and the well-known vituperative debate poem The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy. I þat in heill wes and gladnes, Dunbar’s “Lament for the Makars” (poets), is probably his best-known poem, very different in its spare bleakness from the colourful language he revels in. Here, in a voice that we identify as his own, the poet speaks of his fellow Scottish makers to their, and his, public. Whether or not he actually wrote this lament when seriously ill – he was in middle age and did not actually die for at least another eight years – the poem certainly invites the reader to treat it as personal, prompted by death’s approach to himself. I þat in heill wes is quite simple in form, constructed in stanzas of two rhyming couplets. Conceptually, it divides into two unequal halves: the first takes the reader from Dunbar’s own sickness through the instability of the world and examples of death’s assault on all conditions of humanity; the second brings Dunbar’s grim subject fearfully close to home, as he turns to the deaths of his fellow poets, who play their pageant and then go

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to the grave (st. 12.2). Life as a brief show on the stage is famously sketched by Shakespeare in the dark humour of Jacques’s “Seven Ages of Man” speech (As You Like It 2.7.139–66), responding to the banished Duke’s “This wide and universal theatre / Presents more woeful pageants than the scene / We play in” (137–9). While the tone of Dunbar’s poem is sombre throughout, he keeps his cool. He is not overwhelmed by his own fragility, like Audelay in his timor mortis lyric (16) and Donne in his Hymne to God, My God in My Sicknesse, both poems imbued with an intensity that has no counterpart here. Dunbar’s personification of death as assailant somewhat resembles his handling of Satan in Done is a battell. Death is equally sinister but less ferocious, a poisonous scorpion rather than a dragon or a tiger. A faint ironic humour flickers through the poet’s survey of the self-congratulatory princes, prelates, and potentates, the rhetoricians, logicians, and theologians with their conclusions sly, and the makers like himself who stage their brief pageants here. Disturbed at the imminent death of his rival, “gud Maister Walter Kennedy,” Dunbar accepts his own without drama, recommending provision for the inevitable and focus on the life to come – an offhand conclusion to his litany of death’s victims. The final poem here, In secreit place, is in a lighter vein. There are several anonymous pieces of a similar kind in the Bannatyne Manuscript, In somer quhen flouris will smell (f. 141rv), for example, but these other sexually frank encounters are probably later, and nowhere near as sophisticated or accomplished as Dunbar’s. In secreit place, like “Robene and Makyne” (127), parodies the pastourelle genre, but very differently, in a caricature that brims over with exuberant bawdy. The opening stanza suggests no more than a Scottish version of a lovers’ meeting. However, there are hints of where the poem is going. “Secreit place” hints at bawdy, and quadruple alliteration on homely words is not quite in keeping with a courtly suitor’s plea. Then, in the second line of stanza 2, all dignity disappears, and the poem becomes a full-blown burlesque of the love debate, the contrasting refrains summarizing the sentiments of the two lovers. While the first refrain, “Ȝe brek my hart, my bonny ane,” could be touching, any possible sentimentality is promptly sabotaged, as the speaker is fleshed out, a food-bespattered bumpkin intent on getting his piece of tail immediately, his urgent desire conveyed in a comment by Dunbar using the f-word, the first recorded literary use of it. The explicit nature of the peasant-lover’s longing and the effect on him of his beloved’s beauty, which makes rise aloft his willy-lilly, nicely parodies the

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refined and euphemistic languishing of the usual literary lover – who, after all, is ultimately after exactly the same thing. Dunbar’s incongruous juxtaposition of high-flown adoration with the homeliest scenes of farm life and farm animals echoes the same technique in Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale. Reminiscent of Absolon mourning as a lamb does for the teat, Dunbar’s prostrate lover is a calf newly weaned from sucking, and laughed at by his lady-love with Alison’s “tehee” (Miller’s Tale, 3704 and 3740, resp.). But Dunbar takes parody to an altogether different level. His language is dense with humour and joie-devivre, and his couple, unlike Chaucer’s vain and selfish fabliau characters, are actually rather engaging: uncouth, but affectionate. In the stanzas where the girl speaks, she reiterates in the refrain her love for his “graceless gane” (ugly mug). The pair pile on rustic endearments, giving Dunbar the opportunity to come up with an amazing number of inventive appellations and jingling epithets: “hurle bawsy,” “slawsy gawsy,” “wallie gowdye,” “crowdie-mowdie,” and “maikles munȝoun” (rhyming with “sweit as ony unȝoun”). The same virtuosity that creates a linguistic extravaganza at the other extreme is here directed to a humble register, producing a rollicking burlesque, bursting with over-the-top rusticity. These poems, like most of the Scots poetry from this period, are found in sixteenth-century manuscripts or occasionally in early prints. Of the main manuscripts, the earliest is Asloan (nls 16500), named after its compiler, Robert Sloane or Asloan, and dated between 1515 and 1525. The most famous is the Bannatyne Manuscript (nls Advocates 1.1.6), written by George Bannatyne in the last quarter of 1568, as may be inferred from his colophon on f. 375r. Bannatyne contains all five of the poems here, including the only preserved texts of “Robene and Makyne” and Done is a battell (127 and 128). The entire manuscript is edited by Ritchie in four volumes (1928–30); facsimile edition by Fox and Ringler (1980). The manuscript was rebound as two volumes ca. 1823. The Maitland Folio (Magdalene Camb Pepys 2553) contains the substantial collection compiled for Sir Richard Maitland between 1570 and 1586. Useful accounts of the major sources, manuscript and print, are included in the introductions to the complete works of Henryson and Dunbar by David Parkinson and John Conlee, respectively, in their (online) editions. On the several manuscripts that were influential in canon formation, most notably Bannatyne, see Alasdair MacDonald, “The Cultural Repertory of Middle Scots Lyric Verse.”

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roBert h e n ry s o n 127. Henryson’s down-to-earth Scots gives an added edge to this mini-drama, which turns the pastourelle upside down, and then subverts it further. The two contrasting voices engage in a love debate with a twist, Makyne noticeably more fluent, energetic, and sophisticated than the not-too-bright Robin. With this wry poem cf. the genial and boisterous wooing scene in 131. Robene sat on gud grene hill, Kepand a flok of fe. Mirry Makyne said him till, “Robene, thow rew on me. I haif the lovit lowd and still Thir ȝeiris two or thre. My dule in dern bot gif thow dill Dowtles but dreid I de.” 2 Robene ansuerit, “Be þe rude, Nathing of lufe I knaw, Bot keipis my scheip undir ȝone wid; Lo quhair thay raik on raw. Quhat hes marrit the in thy mude, Makyne, to me thow schaw. Or quhat is lufe or to be lude, Fane wald I leir that law.” 3 “At luvis lair gife thow will leir, Tak thair ane ABc . Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir, Wyse, hardy, and fre, So þat no denger do the deir, Quhat dule in dern thow dre.

keeping; sheep to him take pity on me have; loudly and quietly these years sorrow; secret; unless you lessen without a doubt

by the cross under (the trees of) yonder wood where; go in a line what has injured; mind reveal to me loved I would gladly learn

if you wish to learn from love’s teaching take an abc from it gracious; courteous; well-mannered brave; generous (lady’s) disdain; harm whatever; suffer

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

Preis the with pane at all poweir; Be patient and previe.” 4 Robene ansuerit hir agane, “I wait nocht quhat is luve. Bot I haif mervell in certane Quhat makis the this wanrufe. The weddir is fair & I am fane, My scheip gois haill aboif. And we wald play ws in this plane, They wald ws bayth reproif.” 5 *“Robene, tak tent unto my taill, And wirk all as I reid, And thow sall haif my hairt all haill, Eik and my madinheid. Sen God sendis bute for baill, And for murning remeid, I dern with the bot gif I daill, Dowtles I am bot deid.” 6 “Makyne, tomorne this ilka tyde And ȝe will meit me heir, Peraventure my scheip ma gang besyd Quhill we haif liggit full neir. Bot mawgre haif I and I byd Fra thay begin to steir. Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd. Makyn, than mak gud cheir.” 7 “Robene, thow reivis me roif and rest. I luve bot the allone.”

293

strive hard with all your might secret, discreet

I do not know I marvel; certainly causes; unrest weather; glad go about in safety if; disport ourselves blame us both

pay attention do as I advise shall; heart; intact also since; remedy; suffering redress in secret; unless; mingle only, simply

at this same time if can (may) stay nearby until we have lain (i.e., finished lying) I will have blame if I linger when they begin to move what lies in my heart; hide cheer up

deprive me of peace

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“Makyne, adew. Þe sone gois west. The day is neirhand gone.” “Robene, in dule I am so drest That lufe wil be my bone.” “Ga lufe Makyne, quhairevir thow list, For lemman I bid none.”

nearly set killer, death wherever you desire sweetheart; ask for

8 “Robene, I stand in sic a styll, I sicht and þat full sair.” “Makyne, I haif bene heir this quhyle. At hame God gif I wair.” “My huny Robene, talk ane quhill, Gif thow will do na mair.” “Makyne, sum uþir man begyle, For hamewart I will fair.”

such a state sigh; sore(ly) (long) while God grant I were at home a while no more beguile, make a fool of make my way

9 Robene on his wayis went, Als licht as leif of tre. Mawkin murnit in hir intent, And trowd him nevir to se. Robene brayd attour þe bent. Than Mawkyne cryit on hie, “Now ma thow sing, for I am schent. Quhat alis lufe at me!” 10 Mawkyne went hame withowttin faill, Full wery eftir cowth weip. Than Robene in a ful fair daill **Assemblit all his scheip. Be þat sum pairte of Mawkynis aill Outthrow his hairt cowd creip. He fallowit hir fast thair till assaill, And till hir tuke gude keip.

as light as leaf on a tree mourned in her mind believed sprang off across the field aloud destroyed what suffering love inflicts on me

afterwards wept very sadly

affliction throughout; crept followed; in order to woo paid close attention to her

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

11 “Abyd, abyd, thow fair Makyne. A word for onything. For all my luve it sal be thyne Withowttin depairting. All haill thy harte for till haif myne Is all my cuvating. My scheip tomorne quhill houris nyne Will neid of no keping.” 12 “Robene, thow hes hard soung & say, In gestis and storeis auld, The man þat will nocht quhen he may Sall haif nocht quhen he wald. I pray to Jesu every day, Mot eik þair cairis cauld Þat first preisis with the to play Be firth, forrest, or fawld.” 13 “Makyne, þe nicht is soft and dry, The wedder is warme & fair, And the grene woid rycht neir ws by To walk attour allquhair. Thair ma na janglour ws espy That is to lufe contrair. Thairin, Makyne, bath ȝe & I Unsene we ma repair.” 14 “Robene, þat warld is all away, And quyt brocht till ane end, And nevir agane þairto, perfay, Sall it be as thow wend. For of my pane thow maid it play,

295

wait i.e., “I’ll give anything for a word”

entirely; in return for having mine desire until nine o’clock watching

have heard tales; old when he has the opportunity would (like to) (that he) may increase; gloomy cares strives to have sport with you wood; fold, enclosed field

wood; very close by us around; everywhere telltale hostile unseen

quite in that respect; upon my word expected you made sport of my pain

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And all in vane I spend. As thow hes done sa sall I say, ‘Murne on! I think to mend.’”

spent (my efforts) recover (from love-sickness)

15 “Mawkyne, the howp of all my heill. My hairt on the is sett, And evirmair to þe be leill, Quhill I may leif but lett, Nevir to faill as uþiris feill, Quhat grace þat evir I gett.” ***“Robene, with the I will nocht deill. Adew, for thus we mett.” 16 Malkyne went hame blyth annewche, Attour þe holttis hair. Robene murnit and Malkyne lewche; Scho sang, he sichit sair. And so left him bayth wo & wrewche, In dolour & in cair, Kepand his hird under a huche, Amangis the holtis hair.   Quod Maister Robert Henrysone.

hope; well-being evermore; loyal live; without impediment like many others whatever fortune have dealings

enough woods; grey, cold laughed sighed sorely both; wrong? sorrow watching over; flock; crag composed by

nls Advocates 1.1.6, ff. 365r–366v (pp. 779–82) 7.8 bid] ms uncertain; 16.5 wrewche] ms uncertain

*f. 365v; **f. 366r; ***f. 366v

w Ill I a m du nBa r 128. Dunbar’s splendid Resurrection hymn pulls out all the stops to proclaim the triumph of Christ, no longer Man of Sorrows, but mighty victor storming the prison-fortress of Hell.

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

297

Done is a battell on þe dragon blak, champion Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force. The ȝettis of hell ar brokin with a crak, gates The signe triumphall rasit is of þe croce. raised The divillis trymmillis with hiddous voce, devils souls; redeemed The saulis ar borrowit and to þe blis can go. Chryst with his blud our ransonis dois indoce. ransoms; endorse Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro. the Lord has risen from the tomb 2 Dungin is þe deidly dragon Lucifer, The crewall serpent with þe mortall stang, The auld kene tegir with his teith on char, Quhilk in a wait hes lyne for ws so lang, Thinking to grip ws in his clowis strang. The mercifull lord wald nocht þat it wer so. He maid him for to felȝe of þat fang. Surrexit etc. 3 He for our saik þat sufferit to be slane, And lyk a lamb in sacrifice wes dicht, Is lyk a lyone rissin up agane And as gyane raxit him on hicht. Sprungin is Aurora, radius and bricht, On loft is gone þe glorius Appollo, The blisfull day depairtit fro þe nycht. Surrexit. 4 The grit victour agane is rissin on hicht, That for our querrell to þe deth wes woundit. The sone þat vox all paill now schynis bricht, And dirknes clerit, our fayth is now refoundit. The knell of mercy fra þe hevin is soundit, The Cristin ar deliverit of þair wo,

struck down deadly sting old savage tiger; teeth open which; in ambush; lain; us claws did not wish fail in that capture

made ready giant; stretched himself on high shining aloft separated from

great quarrel sun; became (“wax”) peal (of bells) Christians

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The Jowis and þair errour ar confoundit. S etc.

Jews

5 The fo is chasit, the battell is done ceis, The presone brokin, the jeuellouris fleit and flemit, The weir is gon, confermit is þe peis, The fetteris lowsit and þe dungeoun temit, The ransoun maid, the presoneris redemit, The feild is win, ourcumin is þe fo, Dispulit of þe tresur þat he ȝemit. Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro. Finis; quod Dunbar.

driven away; has ceased gaolers; scared away; put to flight war loosened; emptied won despoiled; guarded the end; composed by

nls Advocates 1.1.6, f. 35r (p. 129) 2.5 clowis] ms clows

129. Dunbar’s remarkable hymn to the Virgin, with its verbal pyrotechnics. The poem celebrates Mary, not as mild mother, but as Queen of Heaven. Hale, sterne superne, hale, in eterne In Godis sicht to schyne, Lucerne in derne for to discerne, Be glory & grace devyne. Hodiern, modern, sempitern, Angelicall regyne, Our tern inferne for to dispern, Helpe, rialest rosyne. Ave Maria, gracia plena. Haile, fresche flour femynyne, *Ȝerne, ws guberne, wirgin matern, Of reuth baith rute and ryne.

star; on high; eternity sight; shine lamp; darkness by; divine for today, the present age, and eternity queen infernal gloom; disperse most royal rose hail Mary, full of grace have compassion; guide us; maternal pity; root; rind, bark

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

2 Haile, ȝhyng benyng fresche flurising, Haile, Alphais habitakle. Thy dyng ofspring maid ws to syng Befor his tabernakle. All thing maling we doune thring Be sicht of his signakle, Quhilk king ws bring unto his ryng Fro dethis dirk umbrakle. Ave Maria, gracia plena. Haile moder and maide but makle, Bricht syng, gladyng our languissing Be micht of þi mirakle.

young; gentle habitation of God (Alpha and Omega) worthy

3 Haile, bricht be sicht in hevyn on hicht, Haile, day sterne orientale, Our licht most richt in clud of nycht, Our dirknes for to scale. Hale, wicht in ficht, puttar to flicht Of fendis in battale, Haile, plicht but sicht, hale, mekle of mycht, Haile, glorius virgin, hale. Ave Maria, gracia plena. Haile, gentill nychttingale, Way stricht, cler dicht, to wilsome wicht That irke bene in travale.

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malign; thrust down at the sight; sign which; kingdom death’s; dark; shadow without blemish sign by; might

cloud of night darkness; scatter strong fiends invisible anchor; great

noble straight; appointed; strong for those gone astray who are weary in their travelling

4 Hale, qwene serene, hale, most amene, kindly **Haile, hevinlie hie emprys, high empress Haile, schene, unseyne with carnale eyne, beautiful; unseen; eyes Haile, ros of paradys, wholly pure; to continue (thus) forever Haile, clene bedene, ay till conteyne, lily flower Haile, fair fresche flour delyce,

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Haile, grene daseyne, hale fro þe splene, Of Jhesu genitrice. Ave Maria, gracia plena. Thow bair þe prince of prys, Our teyne to meyne & ga betweyne, As humile oratrice. 5 Hale, more decore þan of before And swetar be sic sevyne, Our glore forlore for to restor Sen þow art qwene of hevyn. Memore of sore, stern in aurore, Lovit with angellis stevyne, Implore, adore, þow indeflore, To mak our oddis evyne. Ave Maria, gracia plena. With lovingis lowde ellevyn, Quhill store & hore my ȝouth devor, Thy name I sall ay nevyne. 6 Empryce of prys, imperatrice, Bricht polist precious stane, Victrice of wyce, hie genitrice Of Jhesu, lord soverayne, Our wys pavys fro enemys, ***Agane þe feyndis trayne, Oratrice, mediatrice, salvatrice, To God gret suffragane. Ave Maria, gracia plena. Haile, sterne meridiane, Spyce, flour delice of paradys, That bair þe gloryus grayne.

fresh daisy; from the heart (lit. “the spleen”) bearer, mother of great worth affliction; take pity on; intercede humble petitioner

beautiful sweeter by seven times lost glory mindful of (our) suffering; dawn praised; voice undeflowered make up for our shortcomings many (lit. “eleven”) loud praises until; adversity; old age shall always recite

empress victor over sin; noble mother wise; shield against the Devil’s trickery saver deputy star of midday fruit

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

7 Imperiall wall, place palestrall Of peirles pulcritud, Tryumphale hall, hie trone regall Of Godis celsitud, Hospitall riall, þe lord of all Thy closet did include, Bricht ball cristall, ros virginall Fulfillit of angell fude. Ave Maria, gracia plena. Thy birth has with his blude Fra fall mortall originall Ws raunsound on þe rude. Quod Dunbar.

301

palatial mansion peerless high throne majesty royal lodging-place chamber filled with child redeemed us on the cross composed by

nls 16500, ff. 303r–304v 1.11 matern] ms ma (final tern no longer legible)

*f. 303v; **f. 304r; ***f. 304v

130. For modern readers, this timor mortis meditation invites comparison with Audelay (Poem 16, above), with Donne’s devotional Hymne to God, My God in My Sicknesse, and with Dickinson’s elemental Because I Could Not Stop for Death. I þat in heill wes and gladnes Am trublit now with gret seiknes, And feblit with infermite. Timor mortis conturbat me. 2 Our plesance heir is all vaneglory, This fals warld is bot transitory, The flesch is brukle, þe fend is sle. Timor et cetera.

health troubled the fear of death disturbs me

enjoyment; empty pride only brittle, frail; Devil; sly

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3 The stait of man dois change and vary, Now sound now seik, now blith now sary, Now dansand mery now like to dee. Timor et cetera. 4 No stait in erd heir standis sickir. As with þe wynd wavis þe wickir, Wavis þis warldis vanite. Timor et cetera. 5 Onto þe ded gois all estatis, Princis, prelotis, and potestatis, Baith riche and pur of al degre. Timor et cetera. 6 He takis þe knychtis into feild, Anarmyt under helme and scheild. Wictour he is at all melle. Timor mortis conturbat me. 7 That strang unmercifull tyrand Takis on þe moderis breist sowkand The bab full of benignite. Timor mortis conturbat me. 8 He takis þe campion in þe stour, The capitane closit in þe tour, The lady in bour full of bewte. Timor mortis &c.

sick; sad dancing; die

earth; secure willow

death; conditions, ranks prelates both

knights armed victor; in every combat

mother’s; sucking innocence

champion; battle bower, chamber

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

9 He sparis no lord for his piscence, Na clerk for his intelligence; His awfull strak may no man fle. Timor &c. 10 Art magicianis and astrologgis, Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis, Thame helpis no conclusionis sle. Timor mortis &c. 11 In medicyne þe most practicianis, Lechis, surrigianis, and phisicianis, Thame self fra ded may not supple. Timor &c. 12 I se that makaris amang þe laif Playis heir þer pageant, syne gois to graif. Sparit is nought þer faculte. Timor &c. 13 He has done petuously devour The noble Chaucer of makaris flour, The monk of Bery, and Gower, all thre. Timor &c. 14 The gud Syr Hew of Eglintoun, And eik Heryot and Wyntoun He has tane out of þis cuntre. Timor mortis conturbat me.

303

power stroke

those skilled in art of magic rhetoricians no sophistical arguments help them

(medical) doctors from death; deliver

poets (“makers”); the rest then go to the grave spared; profession

piteously

also taken; country

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15 That scorpion fell has done infek Maister Johne Clerk and James Afflek Fra balat making and trigide. Timor mortis conturbat me. 16 Holland and Barbour he has berevit. Allace that he nought with ws lewit Schir Mungo Lokert of þe Le. Timor mortis &c. 17 Clerk of Tranent eik he has tane, That maid þe anteris of Gawane. Schir Gilbert Hay endit has he. Timor mortis &c. 18 He has blind Hary and Sandy Traill Slaine with his schour of mortal haill, Quhilk Patrik Johnestoun myght nought fle. Timor mortis &c. 19 He has reft Merseir his endite, That did in luf so lifly write, So schort, so quyk, of sentence hie. Timor mortis conturbat me. 20 He has tane Roull of Aberdene, And gentill Roull of Corstorphin. Two better fallowis did no man se. Timor &c.

cruel; has poisoned lyric (ballad); tragic poetry

snatched away alas; has not left with us Sir; Lee

adventures ended

deadly which; could not

robbed; poetry livelily, vividly lively; intellectual content; high

excellent, gracious fellows

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

21 In Dunfermelyne he has done roune With Maister Robert Henrisoun. Schir Johne þe Ros enbrast has he. Timor mortis conturbat me. 22 And he has now tane last of aw Gud gentill Stobo and Quintyne Schaw, Of quham all wichtis has pete. Timor mortis conturbat me. 23 Gud Maister Walter Kennedy In poynt of dede lyis veraly. Gret reuth it wer that so suld be. Timor mortis conturbat me. 24 Sen he has all my breþer tane, He will naught lat me lif alane; On forse I man his nyxt pray be. Timor mortis conturbat me. 25 Sen for þe ded remeid is none, Best is that we for dede dispone, Efter our deid that lif may we. Timor mortis conturbat me.   Quod Dunbar quhen he wes sek.

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whisper embraced

all whom; persons; pity

death; lies; verily, truly pity; should

since; brothers let; live; alone of necessity; must; next prey

death; remedy provide after composed by; when

Printed ca. 1507/8. 3.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2, 10.2, 11.2, 13.3, 14.2 twice, 15.2, 15.3, 16.1, 18.1, 22.2 and] P et 4.2 wickir] P witkir; 4.3 vanite] P vainte; 5.4 cetera] P cetere; 6.1 knychtis] P knythis; 7.2 takis] P Tak; 13.2 Chaucer] P thancer; 13.3 monk] P mouk; 15.2 Johne] P iohue; 16.2 that] P taht; 18.2 slaine] P Slame; 18.3 fle] P f only; 22.3 wichtis] P withtis; 25.1 none] P noue

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131. Dunbar is intoxicated with language, from the aureate to the vulgar. Here, he takes an unbuttoned delight in his characters’ uncourtly coupling. This hilarious poem is more vaudeville or pantomime than satire. The clownish speakers with their ungainly cavorting and outlandish endearments prompt amiable laughter rather than scorn. In secreit place þis hyndir nycht I hard ane beyrne say till ane bricht, “My hwny, my hart, my hoip, my heill, I have bene lang ȝour luifar leill And can of ȝow get confort nane. How lang will ȝe with danger deill? Ȝe brek my hart, my bony ane.” 2 His bony beird wes kemmit and croppit, Bot all with cale it wes bedroppit, And he wes townysche, peirt, and gukit. He clappit fast, he kist and chukkit, As with þe glaikis he wer ouirgane. Ȝit be his feirris he wald have fukkit. “Ȝe brek my hart, my bony ane.” 3 Quod he, “My hairt, sweit as þe hwnye, Sen þat I borne wes of my mynnye, I never wowit weycht bot ȝow. My wambe is of ȝour luif sa fow That as ane gaist I glour and grane. I trymble sa, ȝe will not trow, Ȝe brek my hart, my bony ane.” 4 “Tehe!” quod scho, and gaif ane gawfe. “Be still, my tuchan and my calfe,

the other night young man; to a fair lady honey; hope; well-being your faithful lover none act with disdain bonny one

combed; trimmed cabbage broth uncourtly; forward; foolish fondled; chucked (under the chin) as if; “the hots”; overcome yet; by his behaviour; wanted

said (“quoth”) mammy wooed anyone but you belly; love; so full ghost; stare; groan believe

she; gave a guffaw calf-doll

Scottish Poetry: Henryson and Dunbar

My new spanit howffing fra þe sowk, And all þe blythnes of my bowk. My sweit swanking, saif ȝow allane Na leyd I luiffit all þis owk. Full leif is me ȝowr graceles gane.” 5 Quod he, “My claver and my curldodie, My hwny soppis, my sweit possodie, Be not oure bosteous to ȝour billie, Be warme hairtit and not ewill wille. Ȝour heylis quhyt as quhalis bane Garris ryis on loft my quhillelille. Ȝe brek my hart, my bony ane.” 6 Quod scho, “My clype, my unspaynit gyane, With moderis mylk ȝit in ȝour mychane, My belly huddrun, my swete hurle bawsy, My hwny gukkis, my slawsy gawsy, Ȝour musing waild perse ane harte of stane. Tak gud confort, my grit heidit slawsy; Full leif is me ȝour graceles gane.” 7 Quod he, “My kyd, my capirculȝoun, My bony baib with þe rwch brylȝoun, My tendir gyrle, my wallie gowdye, My tyrlie myrlie, my crowdie mowdie, Quhone þat oure mouthis dois meit at ane, My stang dois storkyn with ȝour towdie. Ȝe brek my hairt, my bony ane.” 8 Quod scho, “Now tak me be þe hand. Welcum, my golk of Marieland,

307

new-weaned klutzy; from sucking delight; body fellow; except for you alone no person; loved; week dear; ugly mug

clover; daisykins (correctly, ribwort plantain) honey-soaked bread; hot posset don’t be too hard on your pal hearted; unkindly feeling heels white as ivory (whale’s bone) makes my willy rise aloft

big boy; unweaned giant mouth? big-bellied guy; rough; clumsy dope; rosy slowpoke? complaining great-headed slow one

wood-grouse? rough private place? pretty goldie twist-around?; porridge; mouldy when; (do) meet together pole; stiffen; rear

cuckoo (fool?)

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My chirrie and my maikles munȝoun, My sowklar, sweit as ony unȝoun, My strwmill stirk, ȝit new to spane. I am applyit to ȝour opunȝoun; I luif rycht weill ȝour graceles gane.” 9 He gaiff to hir ane apill rubye. Quod scho, “Gramercye, my sweit cowhubye.” And þai tway to ane play began, Quhilk men dois call þe dery dan, Quhill þat þair myrthis met baythe in ane. “Wo is me,” quod scho. “Quhair will ȝe, man? Best now I luif þat graceles gane.”   Quod Dumbar Magdalene Camb Pepys 2553, pp. 308, 311

cherry; matchless; minion suckling; onion ungainly; bullock; weaning well-disposed

gave; red apple thank you; dimwit they two; game which while; sports; both together where composed by

t e X t u A l A n D e X P l A n At o r y n o t e s

Dates beside poem titles refer to the estimated time of composition, which is likely to be earlier than the date of the transmitted text in the manuscript(s). The entry for each poem cites the previous edition(s) particularly significant for the poem as a whole or for particular points discussed. Quotations from the Bible in English follow the Kjv unless the D -r is used for the sake of closeness to the Vulgate. Where manuscripts are very numerous, only certain ones are listed. For fuller citation of manuscripts, see nimev and dimev ; the dimev also provides relatively full citation of editions. For facsimiles, see the list of “Facsimile Editions and Digitized Manuscripts” at the end of this volume.

the e ar lIest t e xts: so n g an d m e dI tat I o n 1. The Saint Godric Lyrics, mid-to-late 12th c Zupitza, “Cantus beati Godrici”; Dobson and Harrison, 103–9. Only two mss contain all three pieces: Bl Royal 5.f .vII , the versions of them selected here, and Paris Mazarine 1716, where garbled versions are incorporated in a French translation. The earliest of the manuscripts is Harley 322, probably late 12th c. In Royal the three sets of verses are written, accompanied by music, in an early-13th-c hand, on a pasted-in folio; the Vita S. Godrici by Geoffrey of Durham follows. The verses are edited, with preference to Royal, in Zupitza. A detailed commentary (in German), with diplomatic texts as in the main mss, is followed by critical texts in verse lines. On the texts, see also Barratt, “The Lyrics of St. Godric.” Crist and sainte Marie sƿa on scamel me iledde

Bl Royal 5.f .vII , f. 85r. dimev 980. With music. Also in Bodl Laud misc 413 (sc 970), f. 47r; Bl Harley 153, f. 31r; Paris Mazarine 1716, f. 212r.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

Preceded by Kyrieleyson Xriste eleyson, and followed by the same, twice. Latin rubrics indicate that these liturgical words are delivered by an angel on the right and left side of the altar. The English poem itself is preceded by the rubric Soror (“sister”). Scamel, originally “footstool,” here seems to mean the raised altar-platform; see med . The presentation and the accompanying Kyrie reflect the church setting. Sainte Marie virgine Bl Royal 5.f .vII , f. 85r. dimev 4701. With music. In 11 other mss, including the following: Bl Harley 322, f. 74v (with music); Harley 153, f. 26r; cul Mm.4.28, f. 149rb (with music); Bodl Laud misc 413 (sc 970), f. 39v; all in Reginald of Durham’s Vita et Miracula S. Godrici; Bodl Douce 207 (sc 21781), ff. 125vb–126ra; Bl Cotton Otho B .v , Part II , f. 32v; both in Roger of Wendover’s Flores Historiarum; cccc 26, p. 259, in Matthew Paris’s Chronica maiora; Paris Mazarine 1716, f. 207v. Preceded by the words “Crist and Sainte Marie.” After these four words, the Latin instruction ut supra (“as above”), presumably referring to the music. The rubric Cantus beati Godrici de Sancta Maria (“Song of the blessed Godric about St Mary”) follows. Besides Royal and Mazarine, only the Roger of Wendover and Matthew Paris mss contain the second stanza. The versions in these two chroniclers also add “clane/ clene” before “virgine” in 1.1. Sainte Nicholaes, Godes druð Bl Royal 5.f .vII , f. 85r. dimev 4734. With music. Also in Paris Mazarine 1716, f. 226r. Rubric: Cantus eiusdem de Sancto Nicholao (“Song of the same about St Nicholas”). Druð, “darling”; see med (5 citations), and cf. OE drut (Judgment Day II , line 292). 2. Đe ƿes bold ȝebyld er þu iboren ƿere, mid-to-late 12th c Bodley 343 (sc 2406), f. 170r. dimev 5543. Conlee, 4–6. Usually entitled “The Grave” by modern editors, the poem is often treated as part of the OE corpus, in spite of its late date. Preserved in a manuscript of OE and Latin sermons. The description of the grave as a house is a motif found as early as Vercelli Homily IX (10th c), and as late as the Play of Lazarus from the Towneley Cycle (15th c); see Conlee, 3. Đe ƿes bold ȝebyld contains verbal parallels with The Soul’s Address to the Body, a longer poem of similar date preserved (in fragments) in Worcester Cathedral

Textual and Explanatory Notes

311

f .174. For the correspondences, especially in lines 5, 9–10, and 13 of the present poem, see Moffat, The Soul’s Address to the Body, 41; also Buchholz (Die Fragmente der Reden der Seele an den Leichnam, iv–v), who edits the two poems together. The side glosses assume that the b- forms of the verb “to be,” as well as some other present-tense forms, here represent futurity. The poem is immediately followed by three additional lines in a slightly later, 13th-c hand: For sone bið þin hæfet faxes bireved, Al bið ðes faxes feirnes forsceden, Næle hit nan mit fingres feire stracien.

for soon will your head be bereft of hair all your hair’s fairness will be ruined no one will want to stroke it fairly with their fingers.

3. Merie sungen ðe muneches binnen Ely, 2nd half 12th c or earlier tcc o .2.1, ff. 73v–74r. dimev 3487. Quoted by a monk of Ely (fl 1175) in his Liber Eliensis. Also in the Ely Cathedral ms of le , f. 72r; Bodl Laud misc 647 (sc 1595), f. 45v. Reichl, “Beginnings of the ME Secular Lyric,” 196; Greene, xlix. le is edited from the Ely ms by Blake; account of Canute Song in 2.85 (pp. 153–4). Translation by Fairweather, Liber Eliensis, 181–2. The tcc ms is late 12th c, Ely early 13th c, Laud early 14th c. See Blake, xxiii–xxv. 4. Mirie it is while sumer ilast, early 13th c Bodl Rawlinson g 22 (sc 14755), f. 1v. dimev 3486.5. With music. Brown XIII , No. 7; Duncan, No. I .36. This lyric is written with two poems in French on a frail and damaged flyleaf from a chansonnier, inserted at the beginning of a ms of the Psalter in Latin. The final word fast, with its penitential associations, is commonly supplied and provides the expected rhyme, but is actually conjectural. 5. Ate ston casting my lemman I ches, early to mid 13th c cul Ii.3.8, f. 87r (recte 86r). dimev 728. Lines 1–2 also in tcc B .1.45, f. 41v: “Atte wrastlinge my lemman I ches, / and atte ston kasting I him forles.” Stemmler, “More English Texts from ms . cul Ii.III .8,” 9. A modern pencilled foliation numbers this folio 86; the earlier foliation, 87, after skipping from 76 to 78. cul , which contains the fuller version, is 14th c; tcc , 13th c. tcc comments, “wilde wimmen ⁊ golme i mi contreie, wan he gon o þe ring, among manie oþere songis þat litil ben wort þat tei singin, so sein þei þus” (“wild

312

Textual and Explanatory Notes

women and men in my region, when they go in the ring, among many other songs they sing that are of little worth, they say thus”). For the text of this sermon, see Förster, “Kleinere mittelenglische Texte,” 152–4. 6. Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non, first half of 13th c London Metropolitan Archives (formerly Corporation of London Records Office), Liber de antiquis legibus, lmA col /cs /01/001, ff. 160v–161v. dimev 1201. With music. Brown XIII , No. 5. Written in French and English, and located among leaves inserted at the end of the ms. The handwriting is dated by Ellis not later than 1250 (Early English Pronunciation, 429n3 [continued from 428]). The following is the French text: Eyns ne soy ke pleynte fu, Ore pleyn dangusse tressu. Trop ai mal & contreyre, Sanz decerte en prisun sui. Car maydez trespuis, Jhesu, Duz Deus & deboneyre.

Once I knew not what sorrow was; Now, full of anguish, I sweat; Too much I have of ill and misfortune; Undeservedly, I am in prison. Therefore, help me very soon, Jesus, Sweet and gracious God.

2 Jhesu Crist, veirs deu, veirs hom, Prenge vus de mei pite. Jetez mei de la prisun U je sui a tort gete. Jo e mi autre compaignun— Deus en set la verite— Tut pur autri mesprisun Sumes a hunte livere.

Jesus Christ, true God, true man, Take pity on me. Cast me from the prison Where I have wrongfully been thrown. I and my other companions— God knows the truth of it— All for the wrong-doing of others Are handed over to shame.

3 Sire Deus, Ky as mortels Es de pardun veine, Sucurez, Deliverez Nus de ceste peine. Pardonez & assoylez

Lord God, Who for mortals Are the channel of pardon, Help, Deliver Us from this suffering. Pardon And absolve

Textual and Explanatory Notes

Icel, gentil Sire, Si te plest, Par ki forfet Nus suffrun *tel martire. 4 Fous est ke se afie En ceste morteu vie, Ke tant nus contralie. Et u nad fors boydie. Ore est hoem en leesse, & ore est en tristesce; Ore le garist, ore blesce Fortune ke le guie. 5 Virgine & mere au Soverein, Ke nus jeta de la mayn Al Maufe ki par evayn Nus ont trestuz en sun heim, A grant dolur [et] peine. Requerez icel, Seignur, Ke il par sa grant dulcur Nus get de ceste dolur, U nus sumus nuyt ** & jor, & doint joye certeyne. *f. 161r; **f. 161v

313

The man, gracious Lord, If it please you, For whose crime We suffer such martyrdom.

Mad is he who puts trust In this mortal life, Which so greatly afflicts us, And where there is nothing but deceit. Now a man is in joy, And now he is in sorrow; Now heals, now wounds him Fortune, who guides him.

Virgin and mother to the Sovereign Who has cast us out of the hand Of the Devil, who by default Would have us all on his hook In great distress and pain Request that Lord, That he, by his great kindness, Cast us out from this distress, Where we are night and day, And grant us sure joy.

Both versions are contrafacta of the late-12th-c Latin Planctus ante nescia (“Previously unaccustomed to weeping”) by Godefroy of St Victor, a lament of Mary at the Cross. The French, presumably composed first, is written directly under a musical stave, with the English words below. Brown prints the two together. The stanzas, irregular in length, but each consisting of two matching halves, conform in structure to the early sequence. See Dobson and Harrison, 110–20 at 118–19. 3.7–12. In asking forgiveness for the perpetrators of his wrongs, the speaker imitates Christ on the Cross, Luke 23:34. 7. Sumer is icumen in, ca. 1240 Bl Harley 978, f. 11v. dimev 5053. With music.

314

Textual and Explanatory Notes

Brown XIII , No. 6. On the manuscript and the date, see Brown, 168 (Notes). For Sumer in its ms context, see Taylor, Textual Situations, 76–136, 234–51 (Notes). On the poem and its music, see McGuire and Planck, 284. Beside the poem are instructions for singing, in Latin. The last two lines are marked “Pes” (“foot”), a kind of burden, which would be sung in accompaniment throughout the singing of the two stanzas. For the musical rendering see Dobson and Harrison, 300. This part of the ms, folios 1r–15r, constitutes a distinct musical section, in which a parallel with Sumer and Perspice as contrafacta for the same tune may be found in two songs to the Virgin (ff. 9v–10r) set out beneath the stave in the same way as the English-Latin duo: Latin Ave gloriosa mater salvatoris (“Hail glorious mother of the Saviour”) and French Duce creature, virgine Marie, in this case the French below the Latin. It is possible, but not likely, that cuccu! suggests “cuckold.” The latter word is recorded from later in the 13th c; see med , cokewold.

Poem s on mo rtal It y 8. Man mei longe him lives wene, mid-13th c or earlier Maidstone Museum A .13, f. 93v. dimev 3370. With music. Also in Bodl Laud misc 471 (sc 1053), f. 65rab; Jesus Oxf 29, Part II , ff. 179v–180v; Bl Cot Cal A .IX , f. 246rv; and extracts elsewhere. Brown XIII , No. 10A . On Maidstone Brown comments, “The text … is written in a hand not later than 1250” (170). The Laud version (Brown, No. 10B ) may be a little later. Dobson points out Southern features and argues an origin in Kent (122–4). In Maidstone, the text, corrected in the same hand in quite a few places, is written as continuous prose, with line breaks between stanzas. The words of st. 1 are marked with neumes of varying height, indicating the musical pitches. 1.1–2. Wre(i)nch is related to words for “twist” and suggests a sharp turn in the course of events; the definitive article indicates that such “twists” are the norm. The resemblance of the opening lines to “Monymon weneþ þat he wene ne þarf, / longes lyves, ac him lyeþ þe wrench,” Proverbs of Alfred, 108–9 (Hall, 1.21), suggests that the saying is proverbial. 2.5. Vox: fox with voiced f. The word could mean “crafty,” or might be a form of fous, “ready, eager.” 3.1 ff. The mention of Solomon and his wise advice here refers to Ecclesiasticus (Sirach) 7:40: in omnibus operibus tuis memorare novissima tua et in aeternum non peccabis (“In all thy works remember thy last end, and thou shalt never sin,” D -r ). Ecclesiastes (not Ecclesiasticus) was attributed to Solomon in rabbinic tradition.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

315

4.7–8. In order to correct the rhyme without switching the word order, Dobson proposes an enjambment, “throwe / dun” (129). But this would be highly unusual. 9. Wen þe turuf is þi tuur, 2nd half of 13th c or earlier tcc B .14.39, f. 47v. dimev 6456. Brown XIII , No. 30; Reichl, Religiöse Dichtung, No. 90. The ms (formerly tcc 323), a trilingual miscellany of religious, instructive, and moralistic material, is the subject of a detailed study (in German) by Reichl, who dates it to the 2nd half of the 13th c (Religiöse Dichtung, 46–8). See also Brown, xx–xxii; Scahill, “Trilingualism in Early ME Miscellanies,” 19–23. The folio where this poem appears contains a series of short admonitory items, some in Latin, some in English. The English text of Wen þe turuf is immediately preceded by a Latin version: Cum sit gleba tibi turris / tuus puteus conclavis, / pellis et guttur album / erit cibus vermium. / Quid habent tunc de proprio / hii monarchie lucro? unde in anglice sic dicitur … (“When the sod is your tower, the pit your chamber, your skin and white throat will be for worms’ food. What of the wealth they possessed do these princes have then? Whence in English it says thus … ”). The last words suggest that the English was prompted by the Latin, rather than vice versa. W represents modern v in “wel” (fel, “skin,” with voiced f ). 10. Worldes blis ne last no þrowe, 2nd half of 13th c or earlier Bodl Rawlinson g 18 (sc 14751), ff. 105v–106r. dimev 6791. With music. Also in Bodl Digby 86 (sc 1687), ff. 163v–164r; Bl Arundel 248, f. 154r, with music, st. 6 not present, sts. 2–3 reversed. Brown XIII , No. 46B (Rawlinson), 46A (Arundel). All three mss are trilingual. On the relationship between music and words, see Butterfield and Deeming, “Editing Insular Song across the Disciplines: Worldes blis.” 4.5. Cf. Proverbs of Hendyng (dimev 2800), Digby 86, f. 141vb: “Al to dere is bouht honi / þat mon shal liken of þornes” (Schleich, “Sprichwörter Hendings,” st. 27, p. 262). Whiting, h 439, lists nine ME instances of this metaphor between ca. 1200 and ca. 1500. 11. Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren, mid-to-late 13th c Bodl Digby 86 (sc 1687), ff. 126va–127ra. Part of The blessinge of hevene king (ff. 125vb–127ra). dimev 5215. Other versions in nls Advocates 19.2.1 (the Auchinleck ms ), f. 280r; Bodl Add e .6 (roll, sc 30314a), Eng poet a.1 (sc 3938, the Vernon ms ), f. 304rc–vb (dimev 4564), and Laud misc 108 (sc 1486), ff. 198r–199r; Bl Harley 2253, ff. 106ra–107rb. The earliest mss, Digby and Laud, date from the late 13th c. Brown XIII , No. 48.

316

Textual and Explanatory Notes

Only Digby and Auchinleck treat these ubi sunt verses as a distinct poem. Elsewhere they are variously combined with the Sayings of St. Bernard. In Digby, Uuere beþ þey follows the Sayings and precedes Stond wel moder ounder rode (30). The six extant versions of the Sayings are discussed in Monda, 299–301. Parallel texts of the Vernon, Laud, and Harley versions of the Sayings are printed in Furnivall, Minor Poems, Pt. II , 511–22. 12. Wanne ich þenche þinges þre, late 13th c New Coll Oxf 88, f. 31r. dimev 6341. Also in cul Dd.4.50, f. 135r; nls Advocates 18.7.21 (the Grimestone ms ), f. 154rab; Balliol 354, f. 213v (p. 446); Bl Arundel 292, f. 3v; and other mss. More divergent versions of poems on this often-treated theme include Yche day me cumeþ tydinges þreo, dimev 1157 (Jesus Oxf 29, Part II , f. 189r, also in Maidstone A .13, f. 243v, and other mss); Sore I sye & sore I may, dimev 5004 (Rylands Lat 394, f. 13v, and other mss). Brown XIII , No. 12A . Brown 12B is Arundel; 11A&B , Maidstone and Jesus, resp. In Balliol and Rylands the poem is accompanied by a Latin version. See Brown XIII , 172. See Heffernan, “Unpublished ME Verses on the Three Sorrowful Things.” 13. Wynter wakeneþ al my care, mid-14th c or earlier Bl Harley 2253, f. 75vb. dimev 6700. Brook, No. 17; Duncan, No. I .52. 3.1 is problematic. Brook emends gren to “grein”; similarly Duncan, who translates “grain which is planted unripe”; also Fein, Harley 2253, but without emendation. However, grain is not planted green, and the contrast must be intended between the lively green and the dying dull yellow implied by faleweþ, with, therefore, graueþ for groueþ. The Sisams understand the line in a similar way, but on the basis of reading greu me (gren clearly ends in n), emended to greve; they print “Al that greve groweth grene,” translating “all the grove grows green” (Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse, 126). 14. Kyndeli is now mi coming, 2nd half of 14th c Bl Harley 2316, f. 25r. dimev 2991. Brown XIV , No. 53. Brown prints ȝ for þ, noting that the scribe always writes þ in this way (p. 263). 2. A word is needed between þis and wiht to complete the sense; no space left, or damage to the ms. 15. Whon men beoþ muriest at heor mele, late 14th c Bodl Eng poet a.1 (sc 3938, the Vernon ms ), f. 408ra–va. dimev 6379. Also in the related Bl Add 22283 (the Simeon ms ), ff. 129vb–130ra.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

317

Brown XIV , No. 101. On the late-14th-c W. Midland provenance of the two mss, see Doyle, The Vernon MS : A Facsimile, 1–16 at 11, and “Codicology, Palaeography, and Provenance,” 3–25 at 8. 7.1–6. The sentiments attributed to Solomon derive from Ecclesiastes 9:4, nemo est qui semper vivat et qui huius rei habeat fiduciam; melior est canis vivens leone mortuo (“There is no man that liveth always, or that hopeth for this: a living dog is better than a dead lion,” D -r ). 8.1–8. Attributed here to Socrates, but reminiscent of Ecclesiastes 7:3, melius est ire ad domum luctus quam ad domum convivii; in illa enim finis cunctorum admonetur hominum et vivens cogitat quid futurum sit (“It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting: for in that we are put in mind of the end of all, and the living thinketh what is to come,” D -r ). 16. Lade helpe, Jhesu merce (John Audelay), ca. 1425 Bodl Douce 302 (sc 21876), ff. 30v and 32r. dimev 1152. E.K. Whiting, Poems of John Audelay, No. 51; Greene, No. 369. This poem is the 24th of 25 carols on ff. 27vb–32rb. Although unaccompanied by music, most of them were probably intended to be sung. See Fein, John the Blind Audelay, Poems and Carols, 294. Timor mortis conturbat me (“the fear of death disturbs me”) appears in red before the opening burden. These words, or the equivalent, feature in Carols 369 (the present poem) to 372 in Greene. The source is the Response to the Seventh Reading in the third Nocturn of Matins in the Office for the Dead, in the Sarum Breviary. See Greene, 441. The refrain, Passio Christi conforta me (“Passion of Christ give me courage”) is the 5th line of a 12-line rhyming prayer, beginning Anima Christi sanctifica me (“Soul of Christ sanctify me”), No. 498 in Daniel, Thesaurus Hymnologicus, 1.345. The prayer is found on f. 9r of the ms. 9.2 echoes the last words of Jesus on the Cross, Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum (“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit”), Luke 23:46. 17. In what estate so ever I be, 2nd half of 15th c or earlier Bodl Eng poet e.1 (sc 29734), ff. 38v–39r. dimev 633. Also in Balliol 354, f. 177v = p. 374 (contains burden and sts. 1,2,4,3); printed by Richard Kele, Christmas carolles newely inprynted (London, mid-16th c, stc 5204.3), p. 41. Greene, No. 370. This lyric’s preservation in a song book (though without music), along with its light metre and carol form, suggest it was intended to be sung. On the Eng poet ms see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” On the timor mortis burden, see note on the previous poem.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

Rather similar to this carol are Man, in þi mynd loke þys be best: / Quod omnis caro fenum est (“[that] all flesh is grass,” Isaiah 40:6) and Man, be ware & wyse indede, / & asay þi frend or þou hast nede (“test your friend before you need to”). In these two carols also, a female bird delivers proverbial axioms. See Greene, Nos. 378 and 389, dimev 612 and 6098, resp. Greene, No. 378, like the present poem, is a reflection on mortality, the chanson d’aventure opening of st. 1.1 is very similar to 1.1 here. The end point of the musket’s speech, which becomes more and more humanized, is unclear. 18. Farewell, this world! I take my leve forevere, 2nd half of 15th c tcc o .2.53, f. 67r. dimev 1271. Also in Balliol 354, f. 199rv (pp. 417–18). Final stanza and epilogue form an epitaph (dimev 1265) in Bl Lansdowne 762, f. 19v, and seven funerary inscriptions, four no longer extant. Brown XV , No. 149 (tcc ); Dyboski, 87–8 (Balliol). The bracketed sections, missing from tcc , are supplied from Balliol. 2.1. Cf. the very similar line in Bi a wode as I gon ryde, 11.5 (dimev 926), one of the Vernon lyrics (Brown XIV , No. 117). The “cherry fair,” a boisterous celebration in cherry orchards, is a common symbol in the later ME period for the transient pleasures of this world. 3.7 refers to the Last Trumpet, announcing the Resurrection and Judgment; see 1 Cor 15:52. 4.1–4. The masc./neuter sg. pronouns here refer to “world,” 4.1. The penultimate line is quoted from the Apocalypse (Revelation) 14:13.

Pe r sonal de vo t Io n The Voice of Mankind 19. Nou goth sonne under wod, ca. 1240 Bodl Arch Selden supra 74 (sc 3462), f. 55v. dimev 3742. Cited as an English quotation in Edmund Rich’s Speculum Ecclesie, “a treatise probably composed 1239–40” (Brown XIII , 165). SpecE, perhaps originally composed in Latin and translated into French, as Le merure de Seinte Eglise, by Edmund or another person, is found in many mss, in Latin (16), French (16), and English (9). The French versions include, in addition to Selden supra 74 (ff. 44r–59r), Bodl Digby 20 (sc 1621, ff. 143r–157v at 155r). The English versions include Bodl Eng poet a.1 (sc 3938, the Vernon ms , ff. 356rb–359vb at 359ra). Brown XIII , No. 1.

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319

On Nou goth sonne in the context of the Merure de Seinte Eglise, see Butterfield, “The Construction of Textual Form,” 44–8. 20. Quanne hic se on rode, mid-13th c or earlier Bl Royal 12.e .I , f. 194v. dimev 6335. The variants of this text are often treated as separate poems: St. John’s Camb 15, f. 72r (dimev 6336); tcc B .14.39, f. 83v (dimev 6627); Bodley 57 (sc 2004), f. 102v (dimev 6331); Bodl Ashmole 360 (sc 6641), f. 145vb (dimev 6340); tcD 432, f. 22r (dimev 6337); Bl Harley 7322, f. 7r (dimev 6574). Less closely related to the preceding, but close to their Latin sources, are Bodley 42 (sc 1846), f. 250r (dimev 3177) and St. John’s Camb 15, f. 72r (dimev 3183, continuation of dimev 6336, above). The earliest mss, tcc and Bodley 42, date from the mid-13th c. Brown XIII , No. 35B . See Brown XIII , Nos. 34, 35A , 36, 37 for tcc , St. John’s, Bodley 57, and Ashmole, resp.; Brown XIII , 194 for Harley; Reichl, Religiöse Dichtung, No. 126.2 for tcD . For the Bodley 42 text and for the second part of St. John’s, see Brown XIV , Nos. 2A and B . These words allude to (Vulgate) Psalm 83:10, respice in faciem christi tui (“look upon the face of thine anointed,” Psalm 84:9, Kjv ). In some versions, a Latin prose respice immediately precedes the English poem; See Brown XIII , 194, and XIV , 242. 21. Suete Jhesu king of blysse, mid-to-late 13th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 75rb–75va. dimev 5075. Versions of small parts of this poem in Bodl Digby 86 (sc 1687), f. 134v (st. 1–3) and four other mss. Brown XIV , No. 7 (Harley); XIII , No. 50 (Digby); Brook, No. 15. The poem also forms part of Swete Jhesu now wol I synge (dimev 5077), a combination of Jesu suete is þe love of þe (dimev 2899) and Suete Jhesu king of blysse. The combined version is found in Bodl Eng poet a.1 (sc 3938, the Vernon ms ), f. 298rbc, Bl Royal 17.B .XvII , ff. 13v–19r, tcD 155, ff. 55r–60r, and 5 other mss. The compilers of dimev note, “The texts [of 5077] differ materially in arrangement and length in all mss .” In Harley, Jesu, suete is þe love of þe appears separately (ff. 77vb–78va), under the heading Dulcis Jesu memoria, recalling the well-known hymn attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux (translated by Edward Caswall as “Jesu, the very thought of thee / With sweetness fills the breast”). See Fein’s comments on this cluster of related hymns and meditations, in four-line stanzas, each beginning with the name of Jesus (Fein, Harley 2253, 2, Art. 58, Introduction). 22. Lutel wot hit any mon, late 13th c or earlier

Bl Harley 2253, f. 128r. dimev 3137.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

Brown XIII , No. 90; Brook, No. 31. Another, probably earlier, version of st. 1 (minus refrain) and the first two lines of st. 2 appear in Caius Camb 512 (f. 260v), dated before the end of the 13th c by Brown (p. 236). With the present poem, cf. the love-lyric with the same first line (Poem 90, below), which immediately follows it in Harley. In Bl Egerton 613, f. 2v, a stanza addressed to the Virgin closely resembles the beginning (st. 1 plus refrain) of the secular version. The Caius and Egerton texts are printed in Brown, 235–6. Caius is closer than Harley to the secular wording. On the basis of complicated evidence, Brook suggests a North Midland origin for this poem and its pair, 90. See “Dialects of the Harley Lyrics,” 59. His article uses Böddeker’s numbering: 22 = gl XvIII , 90 = Wl XIv . 1.2. In Caius this line reads “Hu derne love was fu[n]de.” The use of the word derne, “secret,” is particularly telling. Cf. “Hou derne love may stonde” in the secular poem. Secrecy is characteristic of fin’amor, but not of divine love. Almost certainly, the secular version was composed first, and the poems of divine love were inspired by it later. 23. Worldes blisce have god day, late 13th c or earlier

cccc 8, f. Ar (following f. 269v). dimev 6789. With music. Also a short extract in nls Advocates 18.7.21 (the Grimestone ms ), f. 124r. Worcester Cathedral Q .46, f. 238r (dimev 6788) has the same opening line. Brown XIII , No. 58.

The poem is written on a flyleaf taken from a 13th-c songbook and pasted in at the end of an early 14th-c ms of Vincent of Beauvais’s Speculum Historiale. Dated around 1280, “on the evidence of its musical notation,” by Bukofzer, “The First Motet with English Words,” 226. See also Stevens, with facsimiles of the flyleaf, in Cambridge Music Manuscripts, ed. Fenlon, 59–62.

24. Loverd, þu clepedest me, late 13th c New College Oxf 88, f. 181v. dimev 3230. Brown XIV , No. 5. The ms, a sermon collection in Latin, but containing bits of English and French, is described in detail by Wenzel, who characterizes it as a “notebook,” and infers that it was compiled by one or more Dominican preachers (“A Dominican Preacher’s Book from Oxford,” 178–9, 188–9). These lines are included in a sermon and immediately preceded by the Latin text of Augustine’s words: Non erat quid responderem tibi veritate convictus dicenti mihi ... nisi verba lenta et sompnolenta. modo ecce modo. sine paululum. sed modo et modo non habebant modum et sine paululum in longum ibat. (“Convinced by the truth of what you were saying to me, there was nothing that I could reply to you except slow

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and sleepy words: ‘In a minute, eh, in a minute. Wait just a bit.’ But there was no limit to the ‘minute’ and ‘wait just a bit’ was turning into a long time”). The passage alludes to St Paul, Ephesians 5:14, surge qui dormis et exsurge a mortuis (“Rise, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead,” D -r ). 25. Steddefast crosse inmong alle oþer, mid-14th c or earlier Merton Oxf 248, f. 167r. dimev 5032. Brown XIV , No. 40. The manuscript is a collection of sermons and preaching aids put together by Bishop John Sheppey in the mid-14th c. See Brown, xv–xvi; Thomson, A Descriptive Catalogue of the Medieval Manuscripts of Merton College, Oxford, 187–92. St. 8 of the Pange lingua runs Crux fidelis, inter omnes arbor una nobilis, / Nulla talem silva profert flore, fronde, germine, / Dulce lignum, dulce [sic] clavo dulce pondus sustinens (“Faithful cross, among all others uniquely noble tree, no woodland offers such a one, in flower, leaf, or fruit, sweet wood, with sweet nails holding a sweet burden”). The Crux fidelis stanza was given special emphasis in the Good Friday liturgy. For the full text, see Analecta hymnica 50.71, No. 66. 26. Al oþer love is lych þe mone, mid-14th c Eton College 36, Part II , f. 103r (238r in Ker’s continuous foliation). dimev 353. Brown XIV , No. 49. The poem is added in pencil in a blank space. On the authority of M.R. James, Brown dates the hand “very little later than 1350”; his statement (p. 263) that it follows Vegetius’s De Re Militari must be an error. What precedes it is a Gospel commentary (see Ker, Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries, 3.665–6). The pencil is now very faint, and must have deteriorated further since Brown’s time; many letters are unreadable. The manuscript text of the poem has been carefully examined by Kuczynski, “Textual and Affective Stability in Al Other Love is Like the Moon.” 1.4. Kuczynski proposes “[a]ddt,” from the verb dauen, “to dawn.” As he notes, Brown’s “[sc]w[re]t” mistakes ms dd for w. 3.1. Kuczynski: “ys ai [and] evre grene.” 3.4. Aring is unattested elsewhere. med : “all around, everywhere,” presumably from “ring.” Brown prints “a-ring,” which he understands as “continuous, unfailing” (Glossary), apparently deriving it from a, “forever.” 6.3. As in Robbins. Kuczynski: “God savve mi lef, Y sei na more”; he understands “lef ” as “beloved” (which produces difficult sense), rather than “life.” The manuscript appearance of canne versus sauue would be the same apart from the initial letter, which in this instance is very tall for a c, very curved for a long s.

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27. Jhesu Crist my lemmon swete, 2nd half of 14th c or earlier Bodl Eng poet a.1 (the Vernon ms , sc 3938), f. 114vb. dimev 2818. These lines reappear with slight variation at f. 300rb. Also in Bl Harley 2316, f. 25r; Bl Add 22283 (the Simeon ms ), f. 90v (as the final stanza of To love ichulle beginne, dimev 5988); Lambeth 559, f. 35rv. Horstmann, The Minor Poems of the Vernon MS ., Part I , No. 5; Brown XIV , No. 52 (Harley). In Vernon, the poem appears under the heading “A preyer to þe five woundes.” Horstmann treats as a part of his text the short poem immediately following in the ms, which has no rubric but begins with a decorated capital and ends with an Amen. 28. Luveli ter of loveli eyȝe, mid-14th c

nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 124vab. dimev 5850. Brown XIV , No. 69; Greene, No. 271.

The colophon, on f. 9v, by which the ms can be dated runs: Orate pro anima fratris Johannis de Grimistone qui scripsit istum librum cum magna solicitudine Anno domini 1372. Ave Maria pro anima sua pro amore dei (“Pray for the soul of Friar John Grimestone, who wrote this book with great care. The year of our Lord 1372. Hail Mary for his soul, for the love of God”). Almost nothing else is known about Grimestone’s identity. Nor is it known to what extent he was the composer, as well as transcriber, of the poems. Wilson assigns the ms to southwest Norfolk on the basis of its spellings, as analyzed by Angus McIntosh for the Linguistic Atlas of Mediaeval English. See Wilson, Descriptive Index, xiii–xvi and xix–xxn22; lalme 1. 88, and lP [Linguistic Profile] 4041. On the Grimestone collection, see also Wenzel, Preachers, Poets, and the Early English Lyric, 101–73. Woolf supposes the lovely tear to be the Virgin’s (“Later Poetry: The Popular Tradition,” 291–2). She is indeed present, but the poem is consistently addressed to Christ in his sorrow. 29. Gold & al þis werdis wyn, mid-14th c nls Advocates 18.7.21, f. 124vb. dimev 1641. Brown XIV , No. 71. This poem immediately follows Luveli ter. Brown cites parallels in Latin hymns and homilies for the conceit of entering and resting in Christ’s wounded body (267–8). The motif persists, less graphically and more metaphysically, in the 19th-c hymn beginning “Jesu, grant me this, I pray, / Ever in thy heart to stay; / Let me evermore abide / Hidden in thy wounded side” (trans. from 17th-c Latin by H.W. Baker). See Ancient and Modern: Hymns and Songs, No. 126.

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The Voice of Christ 30. Stond wel, moder, ounder rode, late 13th c or earlier Bodl Digby 86 (sc 1687), f. 127ra–va. dimev 5030. Other versions in Bl Royal 12.e .I , ff. 193r–194v, with music, and Harley 2253, f. 79rv, both with two extra stanzas; St. John’s Camb 111 (e .8), f. 106v, with music, incomplete; tcD 301, f. 194r; quotations from st. 1 in Bl Royal 8.f .II , f. 180r. Brown XIII , No. 49A (Digby); 49B (Royal). All the mss, Digby probably the earliest, date from the late 13th and early 14th centuries. See Coxe, Bodleian Quarto Catalogues, IX .2.45; Tschann-Parkes, xxxvi– xxxviii; Gray, Selection, 111 (text 18–20, from Royal). For the text of the of the 13th-c Latin hymn beginning Stabat mater dolorosa / iuxta crucem lacrimosa (“The sad mother was standing / weeping beside the Cross”), see Analecta hymnica 54.312–18, No. 201. The dialogue form of the present poem links it more closely with Latin dialogues involving the Virgin and another figure, St Anselm (pl 159, col. 271ff.) or St Bernard (PL 182, col. 1136); see Brown XIII , 204. The two added stanzas (11 and 12) in Royal and Harley are in the voice of a petitioning narrator addressing Mary with words about her joy at the Resurrection, thus softening the ending of the poem. On the differing effects of the various versions, and especially the contribution of music, see Whitehead, “Musical and Poetical Form in Stond wel, moder, under rode.” 2.3. W represents modern v in “wor” (for, with voiced f ). 2.5–6 alludes to Luke 2:35, the words of Simeon to Mary: et tuam ipsius animam pertransiet gladius (“And thy own soul a sword shall pierce,” D -r ). 8.1–3 is garbled. Cf. the Royal text: “Moder, reu of [have pity on] moder kare. / Nu þu wost [you know] of moder fare, / Þou þu be clene mayden man [virgin].” Mary was believed to have delivered the infant Jesus without pain; only with her grief at his crucifixion came understanding of the sufferings of mothers. 31. Love me brouthte, mid-14th c

nls Advocates 18.7.21 (the Grimestone ms ), f. 121ra. dimev 3282. Brown XIV , No. 66.

Ms completed 1372; see note on 28. Brown entitles this lyric “Christ’s Love-song to Man.” A two-couplet poem in the voice of Christ on f. 19r, Love made Crist in Oure Lady to lith (dimev 3281), which also dwells on the word “love,” is very similar in sensibility, though not in the voice of Christ. 32. Ȝe þat pasen be þe weyȝe, mid-14th c Advocates 18.7.21, f. 125v. dimev 6843. Another version in cul Ii.3.8, f. 59v (4 lines).

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Brown XIV , No. 74. These lines are immediately followed by Jhesu est amor meus. Amen. 1–4. O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, adtendite et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus (“O all ye that pass by the way, attend, and see if there be any sorrow like to my sorrow,” D -r ). These words were interpreted prophetically “in gloss and liturgy … as the speech of Christ” on the Cross (Woolf, 36–44 at 36). 33. O man unkynde, mid-15th c Bl Add 37049, f. 20r. dimev 3984. Another version (st. 1) on f. 24r. Also in Bodl Laud misc 330 (sc 819), f. 74v; Beinecke 410 (roll); inscription in Almondbury Church, Yorks, dated 1522, transcribed in Bl Add 37605, f. 192r; printed versions from the early 16th c (stc 20972 and 3275). Brown XV , No. 108. Dialect and contents of Bl Add 37049 point to an origin in a Carthusian monastery in Yorkshire or Lincolnshire (see Bl Archives and Manuscripts Catalogue). F. 20r is headed “Beati mundo corde qui ip[si Deum] vident,” the letters now only partially visible because the top of the folio has been trimmed. The words are taken, slightly modified, from the Beatitudes, in Christ’s Sermon on the Mount: beati mundo corde quoniam ipsi Deum videbunt (“Blessed are the pure in heart [“clean of heart,” D -r ], for they shall see God,” Matthew 5:8). The picture of Christ as Man of Sorrows – the imago pietatis – appears five times in this ms: ff. 2r, 23r, 24r, 62v, in addition to the present. See Woolf, 185–6 and Appendix e (389–91). On the history of this important theme in Western art, see the illustrated essays in Puglisi and Barcham, New Perspectives on the Man of Sorrows. 34. Revert, revert, revert, revert (James Ryman), late 15th c cul Ee.1.12 (the Ryman ms ), ff. 47v–48v. dimev 1810. Greene, No. 269. Date and author attested by a colophon on f. 80r: Explicit liber ympnorum et canticorum, quem composuit Frater Jacobus Ryman ordinis Minorum ad laudem omnipotentis dei et sanctissime matris eius Marie omniumque sanctorum anno domini millesimo [c]ccc.mᵒ [l]xxxxiiᵒ (“Here ends the book of hymns and songs which Brother James Ryman, of the Order of Friars Minor, composed to the glory of Almighty God and his most holy mother Mary, and of all the saints, in the year of our Lord 1492”). The date was later altered to 1392, perhaps to give the ms an appearance of greater antiquity. On Ryman and the Ryman ms , see Reichl, “James Ryman’s Lyrics.” 34a. Have mynd atte xxxti wynter old, late 15th c

cul Ee.1.12, f. 3r. Included in the dimev entry for the previous (dimev 1810). Reichl, “James Ryman’s Lyrics,” 198.

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Reichl comments that these two stanzas are clearly additions to Revert, and should be inserted chronologically, the first before st. 4 and the second after st. 6 (p. 199). They are not included in Greene’s version of Revert, nor mentioned by him, perhaps because they are not strictly in carol form. 35. Com home agayne, ca. 1500 Bl Royal 17.B .XlIII , f. 184rv. dimev 3394. The first 6 lines form the burden to this carol. Greene, No. 270. Royal 17.B .XlIII consists of four originally separate mss bound together. This poem is in the fourth, added at the end in a later hand dating from the early 16th c (see Farnham and DaRold, Manuscripts of the West Midlands online catalogue); somewhat carelessly written, as prose, stanza endings marked with a paragraph sign. Very probably, as Greene believes, the burden comes from love poetry, and the carol was intended to be sung to the tune of a secular song (p. 410). Greene also infers, a little more speculatively, that this is a pro-Lollard carol with implied condemnation of the use of images (pp. 411–12). Turning to idols, which are just set up to get money, is certainly dismissed rather pointedly, but may be intended only for contrast of a general, and familiar, kind between trust in vanities and faith in Christ as Saviour.

m arI an Poem s an d lu ll aB Ie s 36. Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt, mid-13th c or earlier Bl Egerton 613, f. 2r. dimev 4198. Also in tcc B .14.39, f. 24v; Bodl Rawlinson c 510 (sc 12357), f. 232r (st. 5, lines 5–9). Brown XIII , No. 17B ; Greene, No. 191B a. Regarded by Greene as a carol, but with no burden. Greene, No. 191, the 15th-c A lady þat was so feyre & briȝt (Bodl Ashmole 1393, f. 69v [sc 7589], dimev 88), is very similar. The hand in which this poem is written in Egerton, a religious miscellany in prose and verse, is dated mid-13th c by Hill (“British Library ms . Egerton 613,” 395). Although Brown prints the Egerton version with the ms stanza order (1,4,2,3,5), Greene corrects to the order printed here, as indicated, not entirely clearly, in Egerton by prefixed a,b,c marking some of the stanzas. Corroborated by the order in tcc . 1.2. The appellation “Star of the Sea” for Mary, suggesting a guide over the perilous ocean of life, goes back at least to the 9th c, and derives from a misreading of Jerome. See Maas, “The Name of Mary,” Catholic Encyclopedia 15.464 (under “The Blessed Virgin Mary”). The phrase is found in many liturgical texts, notably in the

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opening of the well-known 8th- or 9th-c hymn Ave, maris stella, / Dei mater alma, / Atque semper virgo (“Hail Star of the Sea, / kindly mother of God, / and ever virgin,” Analecta hymnica 51.140, No. 123, in Codex Sangallensis 95, 9th c, and other mss). 2.2. The rose, the most beautiful flower, is often an image for Mary, as in 45 and 48. Being without thorn, an impossibility in the normal world, implies her complete benignity and sinlessness. Forrest (“Rose Without a Thorn”), citing Basil and Ambrose, observes that “the Fathers infer a rosa sine spina of the lost Eden.” 2.8. tcc reads “Moder milde ant maiden ec” (“… maiden also”). As Brown observes (XIII , 179), the final word was probably mistaken by the Egerton scribe for es (“you are”) and taken with the next line, effecta (“made”). 4.5. The first word of the angel Gabriel’s greeting to Mary at the Annunciation, Ave gratia plena (“Hail, full of grace,” Luke 1:28, D -r ) is Eva reversed, a coincidence to which the medieval mind attached significance. The point is also made in st. 2 of the Ave maris stella: Sumens illud Ave / Gabrielis ore, / funda nos in pace / mutans Hevae nomen (“Taking that Ave from the mouth of Gabriel, establish us in peace, changing the name of Eva”). 4.9. In addition to “moral excellence,” virtutis (from virtus) also means here “special power.” 37. On hire is al mi lif ilong, mid-13th c Bl Cot Cal A .IX , f. 246vab. dimev 4270. Also in Jesus Oxf 29, Part II , f. 180v (incomplete); and, with different arrangements of the stanzas, tcc B .14.39, ff. 81v–82r; Bl Royal 2.f .vIII , f. 1v. Brown XIII , No. 32B . The ms, a miscellany beginning with Layamon’s Brut and including The Owl and the Nightingale, is dated to the 2nd half of the 13th c (Bl Archives and Manuscripts Catalogue: Cotton ms Caligula A .IX ). On hire, sometimes entitled “An Orison to our Lady,” is preceded by a version of “Death’s Witherclench” (8). 3.8. A sloe is a small, almost black, bitter berry, borne by the blackthorn, a shrub with sharp spines. 38. Levedie, ic þonke þe, 2nd half of the 13th c or earlier tcc B .14.39, f. 42v. dimev 3023. Brown XIII , No. 27. For the ms, see note on Poem 9. 2.2. “Icorinne” has both its etymological sense, “chosen,” and its extended sense, “excellent, superlative.” 39. Lollai lollai, litil child, whi wepistou so sore? early 14th c

Bl Harley 913, f. 32rv. dimev 3302.

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Brown XIV , No. 28; Turville-Petre, Poems from BL MS Harley 913, No. 22. One of 17 English poems, known as the Kildare Lyrics, in an Anglo-Irish miscellany of moralistic and satirical material including Latin and French. The ms was compiled in the 1330s and later (Turville-Petre, xxi), contains items that point clearly to a Franciscan provenance, and was probably a preaching book. A Latin translation of Lollai lollai appears at f. 63v. Verse quotations similar to sts. 1 and 2 are used in a 15th-c Latin sermon in Worcester Cathedral f .10. 1.3–4. Turville-Petre, following Brown’s suggestion (Notes, p. 255), emends the end-words ever and were to þerfore and wore in order to restore rhyme, and sees evidence of non-Irish origins in some of the poem’s rhymes (p. xxix). 3.3–4. Cf. 12 for another version of “The Three Sorrowful Things.” 4.5. A reference to the Wheel of Fortune, on which people, especially the great, rise to prosperity, and then tumble into misfortune and death. In ancient sources the capricious goddess rolls a ball; from Boethius on she turns a wheel (see Consolation of Philosophy 2, Prose 2.28–33). 5.3. Possibly the doubtful word horre should be emended to horne, in which case the other rhyme words would also end in –n(e). C. and K. Sisam, Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse, No. 61, followed by Duncan (No. I .50) and Turville-Petre, print horn and add n to the words rhyming with it. Death coming with a blast out of a dim horn would then be a variation on the Last Trumpet announcing the Resurrection and Judgment (1 Cor 15:52). 40. Lullay lullay, litel child, ca. 1372 nls Advocates 18.7.21 (the Grimestone ms ), f. 6r. dimev 3301. Also in Bl Harley 7358, f. 12v. Brown XIV , No. 59; Greene, No. 155a. Ms completed in 1372. For Grimestone and his book, see note on 28. The burden of this carol echoes the opening line of the previous poem, by which the present lullay song may have been influenced. 5.2. The infant is addressed as “little baron,” i.e., lord, but the word also suggests “bairn,” i.e., small child. 41. In a tabernacle of a toure, ca. 1400 Bodl Douce 322 (sc 21896), ff. 8vb–9va. dimev 2461. Also in Bl Harley 1706, ff. 9v– 10v. Other versions in Bodl Ashmole 59 (sc 6943), ff. 66r–67r, Rawlinson c 86 (sc 11951), ff. 69v–71r, and Bl Add 37049, ff. 25v–26r, all missing final stanza; Douce 78 (sc 21652), ff. 1v–3r, missing sts. 7 and 9; with further omissions and variations, London, Lambeth 853, pp. 4–7, Paris, BnF angl 41, f. 3v, and Manchester, Rylands Lat 395, f. 138r (stanza 11 only).

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Brown XIV , No. 132. Douce 322 contains a variety of religious materials in English and Latin, including poetry by John Lydgate and Richard Rolle. Dated 3rd quarter of 15th c by Medieval Manuscripts in Oxford Libraries. In a tabernacle focusses on Mary’s maternal role in relation to humanity, her love reiterated in the refrain “I languish with love” (Canticles 2:5 and 5:8, D -r ). As allegorized in Christian thought, the intensely erotic poetry of the Song of Songs symbolizes the love of Christ, and, by extension, of Mary, for mankind. The more specific identification of the bridegroom and bride of the Song with Jesus and his Church is not invoked in the present poem. 1.1–4. The vision of Mary as Queen of Heaven appears in a wall-niche of the kind that would accommodate a statue. In Add the poem is accompanied by a coloured drawing of a crowned Virgin and Child framed by a window and surrounded by the outline of a tower. 2.1–3. Although Mary is seen principally as humanity’s mother, other kinds of familial love come into play, as does her role of intercessor and advocate with her Son on man’s behalf. On these roles see also notes on 46 and 49. 4.3–6. Here the analogy is sexual, and mankind becomes an incontinent and faithless lover, in contrast with Mary’s chastity and steadfastness. 6.7. Suster picks up the fraternal love mentioned in st. 2. But in Middle Eastern love poetry, the word can be used figuratively in a sexual context. Cf. “my sister, my spouse” (Canticles 4:9–10). See Fowler: “‘Brother’ and ‘sister’ are terms of endearment … and imply no blood relationship” (Love Lyrics of Ancient Egypt, xiii). 7.4–7. Mary turns abruptly from mankind to Christ. 12.5–7. The double connection, both fraternal and conjugal, is particularly emphatic in this final stanza. 42. At a sprynge-wel under a þorn, late 14th to early 15th c Magdalen Oxf, Lat. 60, f. 214r. dimev 697. Brown XIV , No. 130. Quoted in a Latin exemplum on confession in a mid-15th-c ms of sermons and moral exempla in Latin, with frequent brief interventions in English. On the ms see further the Catalogue of Med. Manuscripts of Magdalen by Hanna and Rundle (in preparation). Somewhat similar motifs are found in the opening stanzas of an Epiphany carol in Bl Sloane 2593 (dimev 4333) and Balliol 354 (dimev 5566): “Out of þe blosme sprang a þorn / Quan God hymself wold be born … / Þer sprang a welle al at here [Mary’s] fot / Þat al this word it t[u]rnyd to good” (Sloane version, Greene, No. 123B ; 123A is the Balliol version). The use of this lyric by the homilist, who identifies the well with the spear wound in the crucified Christ’s side, is rather forced. Nevertheless, the collective effect of all

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the potentially Christian resonances makes it unlikely that At a sprynge-wel is simply a secular poem given religious symbolism only by its inclusion in a homily – the view of Davies (p. 350), Silverstein (Medieval English Lyrics, 72), Wenzel (Preachers, Poets, and the Early English Lyric, 230–2), and others. The central motifs certainly have implications that are not specifically Christian. Springs can be associated on the one hand with secluded maidenly purity, and on the other with communal festivities such as night-long “waking” that lead to defloration, as in Maiden in the mor lay (53) and I have forsworne hit whil I life / To wake the well-ey (105), resp. And the devotion of true love in the romantic sense is a perennial theme. On the blending of the ordinary and the transcendental in this poem, see Dronke (Medieval Lyric, 70). 43. I syng of a myden þat is makeles, late 14th c to early 15th c with earlier elements Bl Sloane 2593, f. 10v. dimev 2281. Other versions of the final couplet in Bodl Barlow 24 (sc 6470), f. 188v; tcc B .14.39, f. 81v. Brown XV , No. 81. In Barlow the couplet is quoted in a Latin sermon. In tcc it forms the second half of the 5th stanza out of 6; this is Nu þis fules singet hand maket hure blisse (dimev 3806), a 13th-c poem in praise of the Virgin. The echo of the earlier in the later poem is remarked by Brown XIII (p. 192). Sloane 2593 (first half of 15th c) includes several lyrics selected here, including the two poems immediately following. On this and other song collections, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” In I syng of a myden, the Annunciation and Incarnation (Luke 1:26–38) are given a courtly as well as a biblical resonance. Christ’s secret, reverential visit resembles a knight’s approach to his lady. Her womb becomes a lady’s bower in a castle. At the same time, the parallel implicitly conveys the infinite superiority of this encounter to the illicit adventures of sexual love, however refined. 1.2. Mary is given the status of a great lady, who actively chooses to be the mother of the “kyng of alle kynges.” See also note on 44, st. 2. 2.2, etc. The dew is suggestive of Gideon’s fleece (Judges 6:36–40), “allegorically interpreted as representing the descent of the Holy Ghost upon Mary at the Incarnation,” as Duncan comments, noting also a 15th-c iconographic representation of this interpretation (p. 349 – the painting provides the cover illustration for Duncan’s volume). 44. Lullay myn lyking, my dere sone, myn swytyng, first half of 15th c or earlier Bl Sloane 2593, f. 32rv. dimev 2257. Greene, No. 143. The words of the burden can be assumed after sts. 3–5, as well as 1–2.

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2.2. Cf. “king of kings and lord of lords,” in 1 Timothy 6:15, and Apocalypse (Revelation) 19:16; the order is reversed in Rev 17:14. 45. Of a rose, a lovely rose, first half of 15th c or earlier Bodl Eng poet e.1 (sc 29734), f. 21rv. dimev 3128. Other versions in Balliol 354, f. 220v (p. 462); Bl Sloane 2593, ff. 6v–7r, dimev 3114. Greene, No. 175A . Balliol and Sloane Nos. 175 B and c , resp. On the connection between these three mss, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” The poem’s theme is also expressed in various graphic forms. Frequently the number of joys is seven – and sometimes more, with the addition of Pentecost (the descent of the Holy Ghost), the Assumption or Coronation of the Virgin in heaven, and other scenes. The Joys counterbalance her Seven Sorrows. 1.1. ME poems, especially of a narrative kind, frequently begin with a call to the audience to pay attention; dimev lists 45 opening lines including the word “listen” (Nos. 3087–3130). 2.4. Mary’s bosom implies her womb, but also her heart and her nurturing femininity. 3.2–3. Duncan (No. II .47) reverses the order of these lines on the basis that it is the flower (i.e. Jesus), not the angel, who breaks the Devil’s bond – as in Balliol and Sloane. 4.4; 5.4. One would expect a rhyme-word ending in -ond or -ong, as in the other versions. 6.1–4. A reference to the Harrowing of Hell, when Christ rescued the righteous pagans who preceded Christianity. 46. Upon a lady my love ys lente, mid-15th c or earlier

Bl Cot Cal A .II , f. 91r. dimev 6122. Brown XV , No. 48.

This part of the ms, ff. 3–139, is a miscellany of the 2nd half of the 15th c containing various kinds of religious and instructive material in English. The conclusion of this lyric resembles the words added at the end of the immediately preceding poem, “Amen for charite” (“The Fifteen Signs of Judgment,” dimev 3000). 1.1. “My love ys lente” (from lenden, “to come to,” or “to move on”). Also found in the refrain from a well-known Harley love-lyric: “From alle wymmen mi love is lent / & lyht on Alysoun” (83). 4.2. Mary as the mother of all Christians was a widespread medieval concept. See Maas, “Mary’s spiritual motherhood,” Catholic Encyclopedia 15.468. She is associated with a “well,” in the sense of a spring of pure water, elsewhere, as in At a sprynge-wel under a þorn (42).

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5.1–4. Mary’s role as advocate and intercessor is developed more fully in 41. 6.1. As in secular, courtly tradition, love-service is an obligation like that to a feudal lord. 47. Lully, lulla, þow littell tine child, mid-15th c or earlier Sharp, Dissertation on the Pageants ... at Coventry, 113–18. dimev 4049. With music. Greene, No. 112. In 1534 Robert Croo transcribed the Shearmen and Tailors’ Pageant, and three songs from it were appended in 1591 by Thomas Mawdyke, this lullay carol being the second. However, the material is likely to precede the 16th c, since regulations survive from the 1440s governing the performance of pageants in Coventry; see Craig, Two Coventry Corpus Christi Plays, xi–xii. A transcript of Croo-Mawdyke was made by Sharp in 1825, before the ms was destroyed by fire in 1879. 48. Ther is no rose of swych vertu, mid-15th c or earlier

tcc o .3.58. dimev 5582. A carol roll with music. Also in Holkham 229, end flyleaf.

Greene, No. 173. Still handsome but now sadly damaged, the Trinity Carol Roll contains 13 items, including the Agincourt Carol celebrating that victory in 1415 (65). The ms must have deteriorated significantly since the early editions, and even since Greene (1935; 2nd ed. 1977). For the Holkham version, which adds lines at the beginning and differs in st. 5.1–2, see Griffiths, “Unrecorded ME Verse.” The Latin tags are derived from a prose (i.e., an insertion in the Mass), referred to as the Laetabundus (“joyful” – its opening word), attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux (text in Greene, xcviii–xcix; from Analecta hymnica 54.5–7, No. 2). Burden 1. First 3 words illegible. “Virtue,” suggesting the medicinal properties of plants, here refers to the miraculous power embodied in Mary, as rose extraordinaire. On the rose image, see note on 36 2.2. 1.1. First 5 words illegible. 2.2. Almost illegible, apart from lytyl. Mary, with Christ in her womb, contains the infinity of God that encompasses all things. 3.3. Illegible. Pari forma is the reading of the Laetabundus source, but pares forma (“equal in form,” i.e. in nature) might be preferable. The phrase refers to the nature of the Trinity: three persons in one substance.

49. Sodenly afraide, mid-15th c Manchester, Rylands Lat. 395, f. 120rv. dimev 6724. Also in tcc o .9.38, ff. 62v–63r. Brown XV , No. 9; Greene, No. 161a. Rylands is a late-15th-c miscellany in English and Latin. tcc text printed by Furnivall, Hymns to the Virgin and Christ, 126–7.

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A very similar refrain occurs in another, perhaps slightly later, poem, a long lament of the Virgin beginning Now late me thoughte I wolde begynn (dimev 3777). Burden 1–3. These lines must apply to the speaker, not Mary. 2.4. Calling Christ mankind’s father is a little odd, but may be justified by the unity of the three persons in the Trinity. 2.7–9. Whereas Rylands attributes these lines to the narrator, tcc , with its different text (notably 8 the, 9 me), implies that Mary continues to be the speaker. 3.2. “Jewishly” implies “savagely, barbarously.” Extravagant atrocities were frequently attributed to the Jewish community in medieval times, as in the supposed ritual murder of Little St Hugh of Lincoln, the subject of Chaucer’s Prioress’s Tale. The attribution of guilt for the crucifixion of Jesus to the Jews in general was only quite recently officially repudiated by the Catholic Church, at the Second Vatican Council (1962–65). 4.2. With this cf. 2.4. Christ as humanity’s brother is the more usual concept. 50. Lully lulley, lully lulley, early 16th c Balliol 354, f. 165v (p. 352). dimev 1820. Greene, No. 322A . On the ms, Richard Hill’s Commonplace Book, see the introduction to “Festive Songs,” 170–1. Saupe includes this poem in her Middle English Marian Lyrics (No. 82). As Duncan suggests (415, Notes to II .79), perhaps the best way into this extremely mystifying carol is to begin at the end and move back. The corpus Christi (“body of Christ”) suggests the Last Supper and the Eucharist that commemorates it, echoing Christ’s words: hoc est corpus meum quod pro vobis datur: hoc facite in meam commemorationem (“This is my body, which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me,” Luke 22:19). Other motifs in the poem support this central theme of Christ’s sacrifice, as do analogues in modern versions of this song. See Greene, No. 322A as compared with 322B , c , e (there is no explicitly Christian content in e ). Other associations are also present. Certain motifs resemble elements in some of the Grail narratives and suggest the maimed Fisher King, whose healing, along with that of his country, is effected by a questing knight in the course of his journey towards spiritual redemption. The ever-bleeding wounded knight, the richly hung hall, and the “orchard brown” have parallels – only the first of these very close – in the story of Sir Percival as told by Chrétien de Troyes (in Le Conte du Graal, ca. 1180) and others. The material is rooted in Celtic myth and legend. In Chrétien, Percival is received in the Fisher King’s sumptuous hall inside the Grail castle, near a forest, far from other habitations, and in a country which is ailing because of the ruler’s incapacity (Conte du Graal, 2966–3578). For an introductory survey of medieval

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and modern treatments of the Fisher King theme, broadly interpreted, see Annis’s essay and bibliography in the University of Rochester digital Camelot Project. In his enormously long note, Greene presents the case (previously argued in his “Meaning of the Corpus Christi Carol”) that the Balliol text, the only one that contains the burden,  refers to the displacement of Catherine of Aragon by Anne Boleyn, whose heraldic badge was a white falcon, in Henry VIII’s affections (424). But the narrow topicality of this reference, and Greene’s admission that it would not apply to Balliol’s source or very readily to the later, orally transmitted versions, make it unsatisfactory as an explanation of the poem. The burden is certainly curious, and different from the rest of the carol. The lullaby element may seem inappropriate, but lulling words do occur in love-lyrics of a melancholy kind (Greene quotes “Now may I karke and care / To syng lullay by by,” from a Skelton carol, p. 426), and ME lullabies can also be laments; cf. 39, 40, 47. In the burden the loss is personal, whereas in the rest of the poem the disembodied narrating voice plays no part in the action. Again, the speaker whose mate has been snatched away by a bird of prey suggests the possibility of a connection with the weeping maiden of stanza 5, but the resemblance is tenuous at best. The falcon motif is probably related to a tradition in which the falcon/hawk that flies away is the lost lover, as in a couple of woman’s-voice songs, one German and one Italian: Ich zôch mir einen valken (“I trained me a falcon”) and Tapina in me, c’amava uno sparvero (“Alas for me, I loved a hawk”). See Klinck, 99 and 112. In the 19th-c Polish folk opera Halka (by Stanislaw Moniuszko, libretto by Włodzimierz Wolski), the title character, a young woman, calls her lover “my falcon” and later speaks of herself as a dove torn to pieces by a falcon. See Halka, trans. Pippin, 8–10, 21–2. It is quite likely that, as Greene thinks, the burden has been somewhat arbitrarily attached to the song. 1.1. Greene argues that hym in he bar hym is merely reflexive, rather than referring to mak as the object of the verb. But if the loss of the mak (mate) is the point, the poem may well go on to say where he has been taken. 5.1–2. The weeping woman is somewhat suggestive of the mourning Mary.

anonym ous snatc he s: the r aw lI ns o n ly rIcs Bodl Rawlinson D 913 (sc 13679), f. 1rv. Burrow dates the handwriting of f. 1 to the first half of the 14th c, “perhaps somewhere near 1325” (“Poems without Contexts,” 2). The leaf is badly damaged, but more was legible when the first printed text was published by Heuser in 1907 (“Fragmente von unbekannten Spielmannsliedern”). Further deterioration must have taken place since Dronke examined the ms under ultraviolet light in 1961 and produced

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some new readings (“The Rawlinson Lyrics”). The texts below restore letters and words now obliterated or unreadable, and fill conjectured gaps, mainly where the writer seems to have eliminated repetitions. 51. Of everykune tre Item 1(a), f. 1r. dimev 4162. Robbins Sec, No. 16. 2.3. Every kinne. Nothing in euery is visible after the u, and this is uncertain. The k of kinne begins a new ms line. Earlier editors printed erþkinne. Dronke reads euery kinne. 52. Icham of Irlaunde Item 1(g), f. 1v. dimev 1647. Robbins Sec, No. 15; Greene, lii. 53. Maiden in the mor lay Item 1(h), f. 1v. dimev 3328. Also in rcB Libr, Dublin D 11.1.2 (the Red Book of Ossory, formerly in St. Canice’s Libr, Kilkenny), f. 71ra (opening line), and Worcester Cathedral f .126, f. 145r (different version of opening line st. 1; final line st. 3). Robbins Sec, No. 18. In the Red Book of records of the Irish diocese of Ossory, the quotation from Maiden is one of 12 fragments, from popular songs, inserted among Latin hymns to indicate that the latter should be sung to their tune. A memorandum at the bottom of f. 70r admonishes the reader that the Bishop [Richard de Ledrede, Bishop of Ossory 1317–60] composed these sacred songs for festal occasions so his clergy would not be singing lewd ones. Duncan, inferring that the metrical structure of the poem can be determined from Peperit virgo (“A virgin has given birth”), the Latin poem beside it in the Red Book, proposes a 9-line stanza replete with repetitions, and, rejecting the once influential interpretations as a sophisticated Christian allegory, finds Maiden to be a dance song. See “The Maid in the Moor and the Rawlinson Text.” Butterfield criticizes Greene, Duncan, and Dobson and Harrison for their preoccupation with “regularity and correctness”; she proposes a text that retains the shape of the ms, rather than expanding it with hypothetical restorations. See “Maiden … Revisited,” 185. 3.1. Nothing now visible after welle. Heuser, Welle wat was hire dryng. 3.3–6; 4.3–6. The ms omits. Supplied here on an analogy with sts. 1 and 2. 54. Wer þer ouþer in þis toun Item 1(i), f. 1v. dimev 6222. Robbins Sec, No. 9.

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5.1–2. Almost nothing is left of the first two words in 5.1; 5.2 is now virtually illegible. 55. Al nist by þe rose, rose Item 1(j), f. 1v. dimev 351. Robbins Sec, No. 17. 1. By þe unclear. 4. Away is virtually invisible. Dronke reads awey. 56. Al gold, Jonet, is þin her Item 1(k), f. 1v. dimev 327. The ms is very badly damaged here, so wording and lineation are doubtful. The bracketed words are almost totally obliterated. My text is indebted to Dronke. 57. … dronken, / Dronken, dronken Item 1(l), f. 1v. dimev 6834. Ms very damaged and metrical arrangement highly uncertain. It appears to be irregular, but this impression may be caused – as elsewhere in the Rawlinson lyrics – by omission of some repetitions. 1.1–3. The first part of 1.1 is now irrecoverable. Dronke reads Ye sir [þat is] idronken. dimev citation follows this version of the opening line. I read 4 dronken’s, Dronke and others 5. 2.1. A word or more is probably missing here. The Sisams guess “Robyne” (Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse, 169).

PoPular tr adItI on and hu mB l e l Ife 58. I have a gentil cook, late 14th to early 15th c Bl Sloane 2593, f. 10v. dimev 2167. Robbins Sec, No. 46. On the ms, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” This somewhat suggestive poem immediately follows the devout I syng of a myden (43) in the ms. 59. I have a ȝong suster, late 14th to early 15th c

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 11rv. dimev 2174. Robbins Sec, No. 45.

60. I have a newe gardyn, late 14th to early 15th c Bl Sloane 2593, f. 11v. dimev 2172.

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Robbins Sec, No. 21. 2.4. The “Jenet” or “Jonet” pear, a variety that will be ripe by St John’s Day (24 June); the Nativity of St John the Baptist is a widely celebrated feast day, traditionally associated with midsummer frolics. 6.3–4. I.e., the child is Robert’s, not John’s (the speaker’s). 61. In Aprell and in May, 15th c Bodl Laud misc 609 (sc 754), f. 170v. dimev 2475. Frankis, “Two Minor French Lyric Forms in English,” 70; Davies, No. 113. The first of three oddments, designated carmina by Quarto Catalogue 2 (cols. 431–2), at the very end of an illuminated ms of Gower’s Confessio Amantis, the ms dated 1400–25 by Mooney (Late Medieval English Scribes). Cf. Miller’s Tale, 3233–70, the old carpenter’s lusty young wife. “Buntyng” may be a real name or an appellation. The bunting is mentioned, along with the thrush and lark, in a sexually suggestive context at the end of A wayle whyt ase whalles bon (86), where the speaker wishes to be a little bird hidden between his lady’s kirtle and her smock. Cf. also I have a gentil cook (58). There may be a line missing, ending in a word that would rhyme with driery, between lines 5 and 6. 62. Bi a forrest as I gan fare, mid-15th c

nlW Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10), ff. 81v–83v. dimev 922. Also in cul

Ff.5.48, ff. 112v–113v. Halliwell, 43–6; Robbins Sec, No. 119. The ms contains a collection of prose and verse in English. See nlW ’s account of and digitization of Brogyntyn ii.1 (A Middle English Miscellany). Dated ca. 1470 on the basis of the watermarks by Huws, who regards it as somewhere between a random miscellany and a selected personal commonplace book (“ms Porkington 10 and Its Scribes,” 199–202). In the Brogyntyn text of Bi a forrest it is extremely difficult to determine whether a bar/slash over a letter and a flourish completing final (usually) r indicate an omission or not. Here, an n, m, or (usually final) e is supplied in the cases where it seems intended, and not in those where it would produce an oddity. This most frequently means adding the e if the preceding vowel is long and its length not already indicated in some way. “Wat,” short for “Walter,” is used as a common noun for a hare at 7.2, 12.1, 15.4. The present poem is the earliest oed citation for this usage, now obsolete. 4.1. The hunters skip the morning service in their eagerness. 9.3. Ȝeorne. Halliwell sees ȝe wrne; Robbins ge wyne. He emends to ȝeorne.

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9.4. Halliwell’s fere is probably right; Robbins sees flece, mistaking ff (= f ) and r for fl and c, resp. 11.1. Robbins, over-interpretively, “Forth, cure, knave!” (“Come out, cur, knave!”). Sts. 16–17. Taking a sitting hare is too unchallenging to be sportsmanlike. 63. The fals fox came unto our croft, late 15th c cul Ee.1.12, f. 80v. dimev 5253. Robbins Sec, No. 49. In the Ryman ms , but probably not by Ryman. Apart from the humorous Advent carol (68), The fals fox is the only piece in the ms which is not devout or moralistic. It is probably significant that this poem appears after the colophon attributing the preceding poems to Ryman (see Fein, “John Audelay and James Ryman,” 133). Reichl argues that this is really two poems, the second starting with st. 16, which begins a new adventure (“James Ryman’s Lyrics,” 206–9). On Ryman and his ms, see notes on 34. Sts. 5–6. The ironic use of religious language suggests a possible jibe at the rapacity of some who administer confession, i.e., priests and friars. 18.1–2. Line 2, which is added in a later hand, leaves the outcome unclear. Reichl reads this, admittedly questionable, final line as the goose’s request to the fox to take her by the feathers; changing her position would involve opening his mouth and letting her fly away.

fest I ve s o n g s 64. Adam lay ibowndyn, late 14th to early 15th c Bl Sloane 2593, f. 11r. dimev 215. Brown XV , No. 83. The term felix culpa (happy fault) occurs in the long Praeconium (proclamation) chant, beginning Exultet iam angelica turba caelorum (“Let the angelic host of heaven rejoice”), recited at the lighting of the Paschal Candle on Easter Eve, a custom that goes back at least to Augustine, who, in his City of God, records that he himself once wrote a “praise of the candle” (laus cerei, in De Civitate Dei, 15.22). The earliest mss containing the Exultet date from the 7th–8th c, but it is probably earlier; the key passage expressing the idea of the Fortunate Fall (missing from the Bobbio Missal) appears in the Gothic Missal, written around 700 in Merovingian Francia: O certe necessarium Adae peccatum, quod Christi morte deletum est! O filex [for felix] culpa, quae talem ac tantum meruit habere redemptorem! (“O certainly necessary sin of Adam, which was wiped out by Christ’s death! O happy fault, which deserved to have such and so great a Redeemer,” Missale Gothicum 300: 225 [Blessing of the Candle,

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p. 438]). A useful account of the Fortunate Fall topos is found in Arthur Lovejoy’s “Milton and the Paradox of the Fortunate Fall” (p. 176 on Adam lay ibowndyn). Duncan argues that the metre and style of the poem require the addition of wretyn at the end of st. 2.3, and the elimination of ben at the end of st. 3.1 (“Text and Verse-Form of ‘Adam lay i-bowndyn’”). 65. Deo gracias, Anglia, early to early-mid-15th c (after the Battle of Agincourt, 1415) Bodl Arch Selden B .26 (sc 3340), ff. 17v–18r. dimev 4317. Also in tcc o .3.58, recto (roll). With music in both mss. St. 3 not in tcc . Robbins Hist, No. 32; Greene, No. 426. tcc dated in “the first few decades of the 15th c,” with Selden “slightly later,” by Deeming, “The Sources and Origin of the ‘Agincourt Carol,’” 30 (Selden), 31 (tcc ). In Selden, st. 3 appears at the end, marked a, indicating its proper position before st. 4, marked b. St. 1. Burden given in full after this first stanza, with the rubric chorus in the right margin. 2.2. Harfleur, where the English landed, on the coast of Normandy. The town fell after a 5-week siege. 66. Hey, hey, hey, hey! mid-15th c

nlW Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10), f. 202rv. dimev 5219.

Wright-Halliwell, 2.30; Robbins Sec, No. 56; Greene, No. 135. For this ms, see notes on 62. This is the earliest preserved text of a boar’s head carol, of which there are several examples, dating from the 15th and early 16th c. See Greene, Nos. 132A ,B , 132c a,b (two versions of a modern survival), 133–5. The present poem and Caput apri refero (71, Greene 132A , variants in B and c ) show some marked similarities. Sts. 1.1–3 and 3.1–3 in Hey, hey and Caput apri (st. 3 in 132A only, not B and c ) constitute different versions of essentially the same thing and must be related to each other – almost certainly also to other carols no longer preserved. Stanzas 4–8, which go on to describe other festive dishes, come to no particular conclusion, and are composed in a different metre, seem to have been tacked on, perhaps in two stages: the longer and no longer monorhymed tercets (sts. 4–5), and the rhyming couplets (sts. 6–8). 1.2 porttoryng. The med understands this as related to portraien, “to make a picture.” But portering, “carrying,” would seem to make good sense. Thus Robbins Sec, Glossary. 5.2; 7.1. ms fyn̄. Wright-Halliwell fyne; Robbins fyn; Greene fynn.

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67. Bryng us in good ale, & bryng us in good ale, mid-to-late 15th c Bodl Eng poet e.1 (sc 29734), ff. 41v–42r. dimev 893 . A somewhat different version, 6 stanzas, in Harley 541, f. 214v. Robbins Sec, No. 13; Greene, Nos. 422A (Eng poet), B (Harley). On the Eng poet ms, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” Immediately before this, on f. 41v, in a different ink, is a “Nowell” song on a stave with music (in fact, the burden and opening stanza of dimev 5952, which appears in full ff. 51v–52r), and below it the note, “Thys is the tewyn for the song foloyng …” As has been pointed out, most fully by Greene (p. 469), these words do not apply to Bryng us in good ale, which does not fit the music, but to “Nowell, nowell! / This is the salutacion off the aungell Gabriell. / Tydynges trew ther be cum new …” which should have followed but by error was entered later. A note in the ms directs the reader 10 folios further on. St. 1 is written at the end, after a space – as if the writer had accidentally omitted it – marked a in the left margin; the others marked b, c, etc. 7.1. Godes good should perhaps be emended to something more disparaging. Robbins: gotes blod. 68. Farewele Advent, Cristemas is cum (James Ryman), late 15th c

cul Ee.1.12, ff. 58v–59r. dimev 6737.

Greene, No. 3. On Ryman and his ms, see 34. 9.3; 10.1. Ryman was attached to the Franciscan house in Canterbury, Kent. Boughton under Blean is a village about 6 miles away.

69. Make we mery, bothe more & lasse, early 16th c Balliol 354, f. 223v (p. 468). dimev 3059. Robbins Sec, No. 2; Greene, No. 11. On the ms, Richard Hill’s Commonplace Book, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” 1.2. The marshal took charge of the seating; the groom took his instructions from the marshal and performed duties in the hall. 3.3. Stocks are mentioned among the Lord of Misrule’s objects for confinement and (presumably not very serious) punishment – along with his stage props and costumes, in a 1551 record of his contribution to the Christmas festivities at court. See Chambers, 1.406. 70. Now have gud day, now have gud day! early 16th c Balliol 354, f. 224v (p. 470). dimev 1971. Greene, No. 141.

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Included in Greene’s Carols of Candlemas. He invites comparison with the personification of Christmas in other carols (384). 1.2. Technically, the Christmas season does not last this long, but only for the Twelve Days of Christmas, 25 Dec.–5 Jan. 3.3. Lent is personified, but may not have been actually impersonated. 71. Caput apri refero, early 16th c Balliol 354, f. 228r (p. 477). dimev 5220. Another version in Bodl Rawlinson 4to 598 (10), verso, printed by Wynkyn de Worde, 1521 (stc 5204). Balliol: Greene, No. 132A . Rawlinson: 132B . Queen’s College, Oxford: 132c a,b (both modern). Opening burden marked “fote,” meaning refrain or burden, in right margin. 1.2. The boar’s head may indeed have been accompanied by captive live birds, “a procedure not too elaborate for a Tudor feast” (Greene, 380). 3.2. The Twelfth Day (5 January) – or Twelfth Night – marks the end of the Christmas season in the liturgical year, before the Epiphany, at the visit of the Magi, on 6 January.

hum our and s at Ir e 72. Swarte smekyd smeþes smateryd wyth smoke, mid-to-late 14th c Bl Arundel 292, f. 71v. dimev 5062. Robbins Sec, No. 118. One of four later additions in a devotional miscellany of ca. 1300. It has been suggested that this poem on clangorous blacksmiths is a response to the immediately preceding one on incompetent choristers. See Schrader, “The Inharmonious Choristers and Blacksmiths.” 17–18. Sisam suggests, “The master smith lengthens a little piece [sc. of hot iron], and hammers a smaller piece, twines the two together, and strikes [with his hammer] a treble note” (Fourteenth Century Verse and Prose, 257–8, Sisam’s parentheses). 21. The only instance of the term “clothemere” cited by med , so probably a nonce-word. Schrader reads cloye merys, “mare-lamers.” 22. med also records “Brennewater” as a surname. 73. Syng we alle and sey we thus, late 14th or early 15th c Bl Sloane 2593, f. 6r. dimev 6327. Greene, No. 390. Cf. Greene, No. 391 (dimev 2496), which expresses the same sentiments and uses a very similar burden, the second line of which is proverbial. The line appears

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as refrain in a poem included in the late-15th-c Book of St Albans (stc 3308), and is mentioned in a mid-15th-c letter. A satirical Welsh poem by Siôn Cent contains essentially the same refrain line, “Fy mhwrs, gormersi am hyn.” See Greene, 447–8 (Notes); Whiting, P 442. For the Welsh text of Fy mhwrs, see Cywyddau Iolo Goch ac Eraill, 259–61; for an English translation, see Clancy, Medieval Welsh Poems, 288–9. 3.3; 4.3. The significance of the horn and the bow is unclear. Greene suggests that the impoverished speaker has taken to hunting the deer (448). 74. How, hey, it is non les, late 14th or early 15th c Bl Sloane 2593, ff. 24v–25r. dimev 6875. Robbins Sec, No. 43; Greene, No. 405. Greene, No. 404, In soro and car he led hys lyfe (dimev 6874), is similar. Other songs, Latin and English, on the subject of marriage to an intractable wife are cited in Greene’s Notes to 404 and 405 (456–7). 4.3. “Not worth a rush” is proverbial. See Whiting, r 250–1. 75. Lord, how shall I me complayn, mid-15th c Balliol 354, f. 252rv (pp. 511–12). dimev 3202. Also in nlW Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10), ff. 59v–61r. Dyboski, No. 102 (Balliol); Halliwell, No. 2 (Brogyntyn). On the Balliol ms, Richard Hill’s Commonplace Book, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” 6.4. Brogyntyn reads simply “Glowys wyll y were noon.” 76. Care away, away, away, mid-to-late 15th c Bodl Eng poet e.1 (sc 29734), f. 23rv. dimev 371. Robbins Sec, No. 44. In much the same vein as 74, but ironized by the burden. 5.2. Utley, “How Judicare Came in the Creed,” argues that knowing this implies receiving sharp and swift physical punishment, on the basis that Christ’s coming to judge means especially to punish. The Apostles’ Creed speaks of Christ coming to judge the living and the dead: inde venturus est iudicare vivos et mortuos. The phrasing of the Athanasian Creed is identical, and that of the Nicene Creed, recited in the Mass, very similar. 77. Whane thes thynges foloyng be done to owr intent, mid-to-late 15th c Bodl Eng poet e.1 (sc 29734), ff. 43v–45r. dimev 6384. Versions of sts. 1,3,5,6 in Balliol 354, f. 250v (p. 508); added in manuscript on f. 477v of Bl Printed Book IB 55242, printed by Wynkyn de Worde, 1495 (stc 1536).

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

Greene, No. 402a. Balliol and Bl : 402b and c (variants only). The opening burden is written in different ink and larger letters at the bottom of f. 43v, suggesting that it was added to make a carol of the poem. 1.1–2. See Whiting, g 421, t 223 (figs from thorns); n 94–5 (roses from nettles). And cf. “Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?” Matthew 7:16; “For of thorns men do not gather figs,” Luke 6:44. 4.1–2. Cf Whiting, A 227, “Like an Ass to the harp,” quoted in Greek by Boethius (“onos lyras,” Consolation of Philosophy 1, Prose 4.4), and found in Chaucer, Lydgate, and others. 6.3. Perhaps suggesting that the camels use snares made of their hair; that this would be a physical impossibility in the air need not be an objection in an absurdist context. 78. Of all creatures women be best, mid-to-late 15th c Bodl Eng poet e.1 (sc 29734), ff. 55v–56r. dimev 2497. Also in Balliol 354, f. 250r (p. 507). Wright, Songs and Carols Now First Printed, No. 72; Greene, No. 399a (Balliol), 399b (Eng poet, no text, major differences from 399b noted). The Balliol version has been edited more frequently. The burden appears only at the beginning. 5.3–4. These rather repetitive lines in Eng poet are more interesting in Balliol: “For they be of þe condition of curtes Gryzell / For they be so meke & mylde.” Courteous Gryzell is the impossibly patient Griselda, a most extreme example of wifely obedience, which in her case requires consent to the supposed murder of her two children. Her story, perhaps originally a folktale, is narrated by Boccaccio, and by Chaucer via his Clerk. 79. Hogyn cam to bowers dore, late 15th c Balliol 354, f. 249v (p. 506). dimev 2035. Dyboski, No. 94; Robbins Sec, No. 36. 1.4,6. “Go bell”: “ring,” imperat., addressed to the bell. Ringing the bell implies sexual climax. Cf. 102: “Wan Jak had don, þo he rong þe belle,” where the lover is indeed successful. The refrain in the present poem turns out to be ironic. 6.1–3. Like Absolon, Hogyn realizes his mistake.

ref Ine d love: the m an s Pe aks 80. Foweles in þe frith, mid-to-late 13th c Bodl Douce 139 (sc 21713), f. 5r. dimev 1442. With music.

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Brown XIII , No. 8; Dobson and Harrison, No. 8, pp. 142–3 (text), 246 (music). Douce 139 consists of several mss bound together, dating from the 13th c with later additions, and containing legal and miscellaneous pieces in Latin, French, and English. Most editors print “mulch,” line 4, but the unusual letter is an s, supported by the alliteration, and found also on f. 157r, sitit delicias (“thirsts for pleasures”), in the Latin version of Love is a selkud wodenesse (dimev 3272.5). For the error, see Revard, “‘Sulch sorw I walke with.’” Correction adopted by Reichl, “Beginnings,” 221n64. Revard dates the poem “later thirteenth century,” partly on the basis of this s form. 81. Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere, late 13th c King’s Camb sjP /50 (formerly Muniment Roll 2 W .32), verso. dimev 852. With music. Robbins Sec, No. 147. Written on the back of a roll copying a papal grant. See Saltmarsh, “Two Medieval Love-Songs,” for his discovery of the poem in the Muniment Room at King’s. A grant of privileges to St James’s Priory, Exeter, was made by Pope Innocent III in 1200; in 1444 the priory and its lands were granted to King’s College by Henry VI. Printed with detailed commentary, but questionably emended to improve rhyme, metre, and musical structure, in Dobson and Harrison (183–8, 305–6). Dobson suggests an origin “in the East Midlands, towards the south of the area” (185). 1.1. With the formulaic opening words cf. the little fragment, probably the burden of a carol, included in a ms note on 103: “Bryd on brere, / y tell yt to none oþur— / y ne dare”; also in a lyric addressed to the Virgin (Haill, glaid and glorius): “Als blith as bird on brer” (3.2). For these, see, resp., dimev 853 and 1711. 1.3. Biryd could mean either “bird” (brid) or “young woman” (birde). The former interpretation is supported by the previous lines and following stanzas; the latter by lef (“dear”) and the nature of the request: have pity on me or prepare my grave. The “blissful bird” suggests its near homonym, and thus prompts an impetuous interruption directed towards the lady. Love Lyrics of Harley 2253 (Poems 82–90) 82. Ichot a burde in a bour ase beryl so bryht, late 13th or early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 63rv. dimev 2324. Brown XIII , No. 76; Brook, No. 3. On the ms, see the introduction to “Refined Love.” This poem begins a new quire, 7, and a new booklet, which runs to the end of quire 11, f. 105.

344

Textual and Explanatory Notes

The allusions to figures in romance are investigated in some detail by Brown in his Notes (225–8). 2.1–2. The word leres (“cheeks”), chosen for the sake of alliteration, must mean complexion, not cheeks, here. 3.1. Parrots are brightly coloured, and of course exotic, but not, by any sober reckoning, much use in soothing pain. However, Hough’s “Parrot in a pine-tree” (thus med and Fein, Harley 2253) is less likely; it would make the phrase less emphatic and more bizarre. See Hough, “A Note on Harley Lyric 3.” 3.3. The þrustle þryven in þro is, apart from being driven by the demands of the alliteration, probably a reference to the insistent repetitiveness of the thrush’s song. Cf. 87 1.7; also Browning’s “wise thrush” that “sings each song twice over” in the well-known Home-Thoughts from Abroad. 3.7. The River Wye marks the border with South Wales. The Wirral Peninsula, opposite Liverpool, lies between the estuaries of the Dee, marking the edge of North Wales, and the Mersey. 4.1. The mandrake, a member of the nightshade family, has a long history as a drug with medicinal and magical applications. Probably because the plant’s forked root somewhat resembles a pair of human legs, it was thought to be aphrodisiac or fertility-promoting. 4.3. The River Lyn is in Devon, the Lune in Cumbria and Lancashire. 4.6. A rather awkward line, which as it stands makes the first verb sg. Brook emends to dedis in day. 4.7. The seeds of gromwell were thought to relieve kidney stones. 5.2–8. Brown suggests that Regnas is Ragna, a wise woman in the Orkneyinga saga. Byrne would be Bjorn, a hero in the same saga. Hilde is identified by Brown as the daughter of King Artus (Arthur) in Thiðrekssaga. Most of the remaining mysterious names (probably familiar to the poet and his audience) derive from Celtic lore as preserved in the Mabinogion and other Middle Welsh sources. Tegeu is Welsh Tegeu Eurvron, the chaste wife of Caradoc, in line 7, who proved his wife’s fidelity by being the only one of Arthur’s knights able to carve the boar’s head. Wyrwein may be Garwen, daughter of Henen Hen. Wycaldoun sounds Celtic but has not been identified. Floyres is Floris (Brown’s Floripas is less probable); he is found in romance as the childhood sweetheart of Blancheflour. 5.10. Jon must be the speaker. The other person remains a mystery. Brown notes Jonaans, in the Queste del Saint Graal, as a candidate, but is doubtful. Although Jonas is the Latin form of “Jonah,” the Old Testament prophet who was swallowed by a whale, that identification hardly fits the “gentil” character here. Breeze suggests rearranging the letters to “Jason,” who was well known in medieval England; he attributes the mistake to scribal error. See “Jonas, Jason, and the Harley Lyric Annot and John.”

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83. Bytuene Mersh & Averil, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 63v. dimev 842. Brook, No. 4. Immediately follows 82. 1.8. Baundoun belongs to the language of courtly love, which itself uses the vocabulary of political power. The lover’s devotion to his lady is that of a vassal to his feudal lord. 4.2. The sense of wore is uncertain, but the alliterative phrase may recur in Bodl Digby 86, ff. 134v–136v Herkneþ to mi ron (Le regret de Maximian, dimev 1769), 13.7: “Ich walke as water in wore[?]” (ms ȝore). The word would be derived from OE war, meaning sea-shore or the seaweed on it – both churned by the sea – and would be related to the verb woren, “to become troubled.” 4.8. A formula. “Hearken,” indicating an oral situation, is an extremely common introduction, beginning over 30 poem citations in dimev (1767–97). 84. Wiþ longyng y am lad, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 63v. dimev 6732. Brook, No. 5. Immediately follows 83. 2.7. Deer are skittish and thus restless animals. With this line, cf. a phrase in Harley 2253, ff. 70r–71r Of a mon Matheu þohte (dimev 4127; Brook, No. 10), 5.2: “rooles ase þe roo,” an apparently proverbial saying that plays on incompatible homonyms. Roo means both “rest” and “roe-deer.” 85. Mosti ryden by Rybbesdale, late 13th to early 14th c

Bl Harley 2253, f. 66v. dimev 3550.

Brook, No. 7. Although modern readers are likely to find the lovely lady’s perfections hard to swallow, the list closely follows the specifications set out in artes poeticae. See, for example, the detailed itemization in Geoffrey of Vinsauf ’s Poetria Nova, lines 562–99 (Faral, Les Arts poétiques du XII e et du XIII e siècle, 214–15), summed up in its final two lines: A summo capitis descendat splendor ad ipsam / Radicem, totumque simul poliatur ad unguem (“Let the splendour descend from the top of the head to the very foot [lit. “root”], and let the the whole together be exquisitely polished”). Geoffrey’s account is conveniently summarized by Duncan, who finds that the present lyric handles this topos “brilliantly” (323, Notes). For a different view, see Burton, “‘The Fair Maid …’ and the Problem of Parody.” 1.1. Ribblesdale is the upper valley of the River Ribble in a wild region of the Pennines. The name adds local colour, but the depiction of the lady in this poem has little to do with any real-life setting.

346

Textual and Explanatory Notes

1.12. Since Mosti ryden speaks of the woman’s natural beauty at this point, fyldor can be taken as her hair rather than the fillet that binds it, as understood by Brook and others. 4.3. The speaker imagines the pleasure of watching, as well as listening to, a pretty mouth reading aloud. The reading of romances was regarded as an oral activity and a polite pastime. Cf. Criseyde sitting with two other ladies while they “Herden a mayden reden hem the geste / Of the siege of Thebes” (Troilus and Criseyde, 2.83–4). 4.11. One might expect this protestation to be made with a secular referent, perhaps the king. The Pope here is the first of the religious allusions that close this and the following stanzas. 5.11. The apples of Paradise suggest not just charm but temptation. 6.10–11. An allusion to Christ’s first miracle, changing the water into wine at the wedding in Cana of Galilee ( John 2:11). 7.10–12. The usual sentiment that sexual satisfaction is heaven on earth. However, in the present poem the religious allusions are more than usually pointed. 86. A wayle whyt ase whalles bon, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 67r. dimev 183. Brook, No. 9; Duncan, No. I .2. An ingenious but rather speculative rearrangement is adopted in Duncan, earlier proposed in his “Textual Notes on Two Early ME Lyrics” and adopting suggestions first made by J.A. Gibson in an unpublished London mA thesis of 1914. This restructuring produces 10 stanzas, all, except the last, containing 6 lines; a 3-line lacuna is assumed at the poem’s opening; the ordering is sts. 6 (lines 7–8 only, treated as 3 lines), 7–8, 1–5, 6 (lines 1–6 only), 9. Duncan also makes a few small changes in the wording. Fein, Harley 2253, endorses this rearrangement, but takes the poem as a carol, with the final stanza as the burden, and st. 6.8 serving as a heading, rather than an opening line. 3.2. The situation is not entirely clear, but bedding the desirable lady is probably hypothetical here, rather than something the speaker was fortunate enough to do in the past. 4.5. An imperative addressed to people in general – perhaps an assumed audience. 5.5. The referent of myn is left deliberately vague. It has been taken to refer to the speaker’s wife, but this would be rather mundane and it adds an unnecessary scenario. If the speaker had a companion (fere) of a romantic kind, he would gladly exchange her for that of him who is her partner now. The partner’s existence is assumed but left undefined; a lover would be more intriguing than a husband. 6.3. Again, a playfully imagined exchange. Presumably the speaker does not actually have three feres.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

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9.1–2. The thrush, bunting, and lark are three little birds. There is certainly a sexual innuendo here, but the usage of cock for penis is probably post-medieval. The med does not record it and the earliest oed citation is 1618. For parallels to this kind of suggestive implication see Poem 58 and comments on it in the introduction to “Popular Tradition and Humble Life.” 9.3. A play on words. Bryd means both “bird” and “lady.” 87. Lenten ys come wiþ love to toune, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 71va. dimev 3050. Brook, No. 11. That some at least of this lyric existed before the 14th c is indicated by the strong similarity between its first six lines and the opening stanza of the debate poem Somer is comen wiþ love to toune (“The Thrush and the Nightingale,” dimev 5052) in Bodl Digby 86 (ff. 136vb–138rb), a ms which dates from the late 13th c. 1.7. Probably prompted by the repetitiveness of the thrush’s song. Cf. note on 82 3.3. 3.5. The sounds made by birds are communications, but derne (secret) because incomprehensible to humans. 3.12. Wyht could also be a noun, “wight,” here meaning “fellow.” Fleme (“put to flight”) refers to outlawry, whereby a person was declared outside the protection of the law and had to flee to the forests. The tragi-comic rejected lover announces his intention to flee society in the same way – a classic topos of courtly love poetry. Cf. 96. 88. Blow, northerne wynd, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, ff. 72va–73rb. dimev 2325. Brook, No. 14; Greene, No. 440. 2.3. Under mengen sense 3c, “join with,” med includes meng you with mirthe, “be happy!” Sts. 7–9. As in the Roman de la Rose and many other works, including Charles d’Orléans’s sequence of poems, the vagaries of the lover’s career are allegorized into persons and places. In the present lyric, the speaker appeals formally to Love, the presiding authority, to compensate him for the theft of his heart, and rescue him from his repining state – represented as harassment at the hands of the gracious lady’s bullying knights. Cf. Poems 117–26, by Charles, below; some of the other poems in his collection use allegory more elaborately. 9.1. The shift here from Love in general to the lady’s Love in particular muddles the allegory slightly, but anticipates the concluding transition out of allegorical narrative into emphatic statement.

348

Textual and Explanatory Notes

89. When þe nyhtegale singes þe wodes waxen grene, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, ff. 80v–81r. dimev 6445. Brook, No. 25. Unlike the preceding Harley love-lyrics, this one is not in alliterative verse nor of a West Midland provenance. 5.1. These places are all in the East Midlands: Lincoln, the well-known cathedral city; Lindsey, a part of Lincolnshire; Northampton, county town of its shire; Lound probably the village in Nottinghamshire, rather than the one in Suffolk. 5.4–5. Brook suggests that the substitution of a short couplet for the final line reflects the influence of the envoy. 5.5. “About (the one) whom it is dependent on,” in this instance meaning the person who, by inspiring the speaker with love, gave rise to his song. 90. Lutel wot hit any mon, late 13th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 128rv. dimev 3136. Brown XIII , No. 91; Brook, No. 32. For the relationship between this poem and the similar devotional poem that precedes it, and for associated questions of date and dialect, see Brown, 236 (Notes), and note on Poem 22, above. 1.2. One of the typical requirements for courtly love is that it should be derne (secret). 1.3. Although fre can also mean “wanton,” a disparaging double-entendre of that kind would be out of keeping with the lady’s dignity, and with the speaker’s consistently devoted stance. 1.7. The formulaic ever & oo also begins the refrain in 22. 2.1–2. Since fin’amor must be discreet, convention requires that the lover must not name his lady in his poetry. 3.2–4. Still more courtly conventions are encapsulated here: the lover’s humility, his position as his lady’s vassal, his plea for her (sexual) favour, his complaint against those who have maligned him – corresponding to the lausangiers (malicious tatttletales) of troubadour poetry. 4.1–4. Among the courtly lady’s expected refinements is her contribution to festive merriment by skilful participation in dance, music, and other polite recreations. 91. Me þingkit þou art so loveli, 2nd half of 14th c

Bl Harley 7322, f. 162v. dimev 3459.

Robbins Sec, No. 142. These lines are preserved in a collection of theological and moral excerpts in Latin prose, interspersed with verses in English and French, largely mnemonics of

Textual and Explanatory Notes

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an unsophisticated kind. The ms is characterized as a preacher’s notebook, and dated by Wenzel, Preachers, Poets and the Early English Lyric, 258 (Index of Manuscripts). Other poems in the ms may also be interpreted as human reflections of divine love: Love, þou art of mikel mit (dimev 3286), and Þey love be strong & mikel of mith (dimev 5776) describing the idealized love between friends (ff. 154r and 155v, resp.). 92. My lefe ys faren in a lond, before ca. 1380 tcc r .3.19, f. 154r. dimev 3623. Robbins Sec, No. 160. First line quoted in the Nun’s Priest’s Tale (B 2 2879). “Chaucer” added in a later hand in the left margin beside the opening line. The ms, copied ca. 1480, contains a good deal of Chaucerian material; “the better part of the rest of the poems is either in the courtly, rhetorical style … or … in obvious reaction to it.” See Fletcher, Manuscript Trinity R .3.19, xv (style), xxix (dating). The present poem forms the concluding stanza to a longer poem, the extent of which is uncertain: possibly 6 stanzas on f. 154r (Nothyng shuld greve me half so sore, dimev 3713), as argued by Mooney (“A Woman’s Reply to Her Lover”), who disputes the previously accepted 30-stanza poem Go lytyl boke for dredefull ys thy message (nimev 928.5), filling folios 7rv, 8rv, and (on account of misbinding) 154r. 93. Alone walkyng, 15th c or earlier tcc r .3.19, f. 160ra. dimev 453. Robbins Sec, No. 173. Attributed to Chaucer in the same way as the previous. A virelai of 8-line stanzas rhyming aaabaaab; b rhyme of each stanza becomes a rhyme of next. The scribal arrangement suggests 4-line rather than 8-line groups: lines 4 and 8 of each stanza placed to the right beside lines 1–3 and 5–7, resp. Not as common in French poetry as the other formes fixes, the very difficult virelai is rare in English. 94. Now wolde y fayne sum merthis mak, mid-15th c Bodl Ashmole 191, Part Iv (sc 6668), f. 191r. dimev 3822. With music. Also in cul Ff.1.6 (the Findern ms ), f. 137v. Robbins Sec, No. 171. Ashmole 191 is dated ca. 1445–60 by the Digital Image Archive of Medieval Music (diamm ), reproducing Census-Catalogue of Manuscript Sources of Polyphonic Music, 1400–1550, 2.271. The ms consists of four mss bound together, Now wolde y being the first of seven little songs (the last without words) in the fourth of these. The first stanza is set out for two voices with instrumental interludes (see Hughes, Medieval Polyphony, 6).

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

95. Go, hert hurt with adversite, mid-15th c Bodl Ashmole 191, Part Iv (sc 6668), ff. 192v–193r (text 192v only). dimev 1531. With music. Robbins Sec, No. 155. In the same group of songs as the previous. Set out with one line for voice and two for instruments (see Hughes). Poets often send as messenger a personified object, usually the poem itself, a convention going back to the ancient world, and found in Martial’s I nostro comes, i, libelle, Flavo (“Go, little book, as a companion to my Flavus,” Epigrams, 10.104.1) as well as many late ME poems, including Chaucer’s “Go, litel bok, go, litel myn tragedye,” towards the end of Troilus and Criseyde (5.1786). For other examples from antiquity, see Tatlock, “The Epilog of Chaucer’s ‘Troilus.’” And, for the heart as messenger, cf. Poem 123. 96. I must go walke þe woed so wyld, late 15th or early 16th c San Marino, cA , Huntington el 34.B .60 (formerly el [Ellesmere] 1160), f. 11v. dimev 2229. Fragmentary versions in Bl Add 22718, ff. 14v, 54r. Another version in tcD 160, Part II , f. 108rv, is sometimes treated as a separate poem. Robbins Sec, No. 20. Huntington el contains a 15th-c treatise written in law French, Thomas Littleton’s Tenures. I must go walke is one of two lyrics added later, a little carelessly, the other being “Sir John” (Poem 110). The handwriting of these additions is dated to the first half of the 16th c by Wakelin (Scribal Correction, 139–41). Stanzas 1, 2, and 3 are repeated with variations in different parts of the ms: st. 1 on f. 108v, sts. 2–3 on f. 107v, st. 2 lines 1–4 on f. 109r. For the poem’s themes, see also notes on 87, 3.12 (banishment) and 90, 3.2–4 (malicious slander). 2.2. & false is supplied from f. 107v. 3.5. The refrain has been added in fainter ink between 3.3 and 3.4. 4.5. The final line is obscured by a stain. 97. O mestres, whye, late 15th or early 16th c Bl Harley 2252, f. 84v. dimev 3997. Robbins Sec, No. 137. The ms is the personal collection (commonplace book) of John Colyns, a London mercer and bookseller in the reign of Henry VIII. For background information about Colyns, see Meale, “John Colyns” (2014, with references to her earlier work). On the features of this kind of volume, see the introduction to “Festive Songs.” As Parker notes, the inclusion of love poems in a commonplace book is unusual (The Commonplace Book in Tudor London, 162).

Textual and Explanatory Notes

351

The first part of Colyns’s book, up to folio 133v, consists of two romances (Ipomydon and Morte Arthur), copied between 1460 and 1480; to these Colyns added miscellaneous pieces that struck his fancy. According to his colophon on f. 133v, he purchased the book (i.e., the first part) in 1517. The later additions must have been copied before 1541, by which time Colyns was dead (Parker, 95–6). O mestres, whye is written on the verso of the ending of Ipomydon, along with other items. 3.5–8. Savoy was a duchy from 1416 to 1860; the specific title is probably chosen fairly arbitrarily to suggest delusions of grandeur. 4.4. Medlen, “to mingle,” has a sexual as well as a social implication in this line. 98. Westron wynde, when wyll thow blow, ca. 1500 or earlier Bl Royal Appendix 58, f. 5r. dimev 6224. With music. Robbins Sec, xxxviii. The manuscript is a small Tudor songbook, designed for a variety of songs and instruments, and embracing a wide range of subjects. The most ambitious item is a madrigal celebrating the marriage of Henry VIII’s sister Margaret to James IV of Scotland in 1503 (f. 17v). One of the most modest, but certainly the most evocative, is Westron wynde. The music was used by three Tudor composers – John Taverner, Christopher Tye, and John Sheppard – as a basis for their settings of the mass; see Phillips, Western Wind Masses. On the common practice of setting the same melodies to very different subjects, see Introduction, 36, above.

de sI r e and se duc tIon: the wo m an s Pe aks 99. Alas, hou shold y synge? early 14th c Dublin, Representative Church Body Library D 11.1.2 (formerly Kilkenny, St. Canice’s Library), The Red Book of Ossory, f. 71v. dimev 2091. Robbins Sec, xxxvii; Greene, The Lyrics of the Red Book of Ossory, 24. This section of the ms contains sacred songs in Latin, and with them the openings of secular lyrics, their music transferred to religious lyrics by Richard de Ledrede, Bishop of Ossory. On the Red Book, and on Ledrede’s project of composing hymns that his clergy could sing to the tunes of popular songs, see notes on 53, and Greene, Lyrics, ii–iv. Fragment of a malmariée. Greene rejects Robbins’s (former) view that the poem must have been a carol, and points out that the 5-line stanza form is exactly that of the Latin poem to the Virgin which immediately follows it. See Lyrics, xiii. 100. “Kyrie, so kyrie,” late 14th – mid-15th c

Bl Sloane 2593, f. 34rv. dimev 635.

352

Textual and Explanatory Notes

Greene, No. 457. For the setting and medieval context, see Greene’s very long note (492–4) The action of this poem resembles the behaviour of the loose girls and clerks called Jankin criticized in A lutel soth sermun (dimev 1773), preserved in two mss dating from the 2nd half of the 13th c, Cot Cal A .IX , ff. 248v–49r, and Jesus Oxf 29, Part II , f. 185rv. 6.1. As Greene explains, the “pax-brede” is “the disc of silver or gilt with a handle and a sacred symbol used in giving the ‘kiss of peace’ to the congregation” (494). 101. Rybbe ne rele ne spynne yc ne may, early-to-mid 15th c Caius Camb 383, p. 41. dimev 393. Robbins Sec, No. 29; Greene, No. 452. Caius 383 is a student’s commonplace book, trilingual, containing memoranda, Latin exercises, and other instructive and practical material, as well as nine English carols in various parts of the ms. The original owner must have been Wymundus London, whose name appears in several places, including a personal note on p. 149. Since the book mentions several places in Oxfordshire, it is likely that this man was at Oxford (not Cambridge). Greene suggests he is the London who is mentioned in the bursary lists of Magdalen College for 1484–85 (325). Again, the conventional story of a seduced girl. Jack’s identity is unspecified, but he seems to belong to the same type as Jolly Jankin in the previous lyric. In the present carol the speaker is clearly a serving maid. 2.1. Vleth: flet, “floor,” with voiced f and silent h. 3.2,4. Predele is obscure. The context seems to require the meaning “fasten.” Greene understands the word as “adorn, trim,” deriving it from pride as a verb (488, Notes). Robbins reads þredele, “tie (with thread).” 4.4. Dowge. Probably related to dowgen, “to soften” (one citation in med ), and French douce. Robbins glosses it “useful,” presumably as in douen, “to be of use.” 7.1–2. The ale-schoth was a particular kind of drinking party. Under scot-ale, the oed defines it as “a festivity or ‘ale’ held by the lord of a manor or a forester or other bailiff, for which a contribution was exacted and at which attendance was probably compulsory”; also “a festivity held by a church to raise money.” med similarly. 102. Alas, ales þe wyle, early-to-mid 15th c Caius Camb 383, p. 41. dimev 3044. Greene, No. 453. This carol immediately follows the previous in the ms. The full burden is written after stanza 1; only the last two lines are written at the head of the poem. The course of events is very similar to that in the preceding song, and, like Poem 100, reminiscent of A lutel soth sermun.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

353

6.3. “Prick” and “prance” are words taken from the vocabulary of riding a horse. See med priken, 4b: priken and prauncen, (g), fig. “to have sexual intercourse.” 7.1. “Ringing the bell” amounts to congratulating oneself on sexual climax. See notes on Poem 79. 7.3. “Served the shaggy devil of Hell”: presumably yet another lively metaphor for “had sex.” 9.4. There is a play on words here: yarn that is not properly spun “will ever [come] out,” meaning “come apart” for the yarn, but “come to light” for the misbehaviour it symbolizes. Cf. Proverbs of Hendyng (dimev 2800), Digby 86, f. 142va: “Evere comeþ out uvel sponnen wolle” (Schleich, Sprichwörter Hendings, st. 35, p. 266), cited in Whiting, W 571, along with six other ME examples of this saying about ill-spun wool, yarn, or weft. The Hendyng stanza refers to many a man and woman indulging in derne senne (“secret sin”), i.e. illicit sexual relations. 103. Were it undo þat is ydo, early-to-mid 15th c Caius Camb 383, p. 210. dimev 2222. Greene, No. 455. The words “bryd on brere y telle yt to non oþer y ne dar,” presumably the burden of another carol, are written immediately above the opening burden, presumably to indicate that the present song has the same tune. 104. Wolde God that hyt were so, mid-to-late 15th c cul Add 5943, f. 178v. dimev 5386. Robbins, Sec, No. 22; Greene, No. 451. cul Add 5943 is an early-to-mid-15th-c preaching miscellany, including a musical section (ff. 161r–172v); this lyric is added in a later hand. See Ringrose, Summary Catalogue of the Additional MSS in cul , 213. Wolde God is messily written, with many crossings out and changes. Masculine references have been interlined with feminine as follows: 1.1 The man] sche; 1.3 he] sche; 2.1,2,3,4 he] sche; 3.1,3 hym] hyre; 4.1,2,4 he] sche; 5.3,4 he] sche; 6.1 hym] hyre; 6.2 he hyt knewe] sche were trywe. 2.2–3. The repetition looks like an error. Robbins replaces 2.2 with “[He maketh haste fro me to go].” Greene retains the ms in his text, but suggests “He maketh haste to go me fro” (488, Notes). 105. I have forsworne hit whil I life, 2nd half of 15th c cul Ff.5.48, f. 114v. dimev 5369. Robbins Sec, No. 25; Greene, No. 456. The ms is a miscellany of very diverse religious and secular material, the latter including the bawdy “Tale of the Basin” (dimev 4213), ff. 58r–61v, and the animal-

354

Textual and Explanatory Notes

voice “Mourning of the Hunted Hare,” f. 109v (62). For date and brief description of contents, see Greene, 322. Below this carol is written, indicating the name of the owner/user of the ms, “bryan hys my name iet.” On well-waking, see Greene, 491–2 (Notes); also Colwell, Rivermen: A Romantic Iconography of the River and the Source, 43. 1.2. The title “Sir” indicates the parish priest. Greene understands croke as “crock” or “pitcher” (to get water). But the maiden is not visiting the well for that practical purpose. 1.3. A common phrase. The words “bell” and “book” refer to the bell rung at points of the Mass and to the Bible, resp. and hence imply a particularly binding oath. 2.4. Most editors read belley. However, the initial letter looks to me like a k (also read by Robbins). Both readings can be interpreted as “maidenhead” or “vulva,” as by med (but with question marks), glossing bell. The b-spelling would refer to bele chose, as used by the Wife of Bath in the Prologue to her tale (line 447). Kelley could be a form of the word for “keel,” which would also be a euphemism. Greene’s bell meaning “cloak” or “tunic” is less likely. 106. A, dere God, qwat I am fayn, 2nd half of 15th c St. John’s Camb s .54 (259), ff. 2v–3r. dimev 5679. Robbins Sec, No. 24; Greene, No. 454. See also Cartlidge, “‘Alas, I go with chylde.’” The ms is a small collection of 19 carols. Distinctive spellings point to a Norfolk origin; see lalme , lP 8680, and map for Item 22 (xal(l) representing shall, as in 2.2, 3.4, 4.1). Final n is assumed here in the last words of stanzas 2, 3, 4, in order to restore rhyme with the burden, presumably the original intention. Thus Robbins; Greene does not restore in this way, but does recommend it for may in 2.4 (491, Notes). Cartlidge argues that the speaker is congratulating herself on getting away with her illicit pregnancy; see “‘Alas, I go with chylde,’” 395 (text) and 395ff (commentary). Burden 1. Fayn here is probably “vain,” meaning “useless,” with f representing v. The spelling is very odd, but the reverse, vain for fain, “glad,” is attested. Cartlidge understands “glad.” Burden 2. Cartlidge: [a]gane. His interpretation of the poem depends on taking this line as “I am now a maiden again.” 2.1. gramery. The word is derived from grammar, and here suggests that the wily clerk’s seductive powers are at least partly the product of his book-learning. See oed under gramarye. 2.2. Robbins inserts telle to improve metre and syntax; Greene retains ms.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

355

4.2. As Greene notes, pregnancy was one of the perils of pilgrimage. Cartlidge, however, finds different implications: “having gone away in order to conceal the pregnancy and birth from her own community, she has used pilgrimage as the pretext for her absence” (396). He cites in support of this interpretation another seduced-maiden song from the same period or slightly later, In wyldernes / Ther founde I Besse (dimev 2666), the opening of which “implies temporary exile … as a strategy of social rehabilitation” (397). 107. Whatso men sayn, late 15th c cul Ff.1.6, f. 56r. dimev 6255. Robbins, “The Findern Anthology,” No. 17 (632–3). This ms, copied in up to 39 hands, mostly of the late 15th c, contains some wellknown poems by Chaucer and others, along with miscellaneous short items added later, some of them written, and probably composed, by women. 1.1–3. “Men,” referred to by the 3rd person pronoun here and subsequently, indicates that the speaker is not a man. 1.7–8. I.e., they pretend to be disconsolate lovers. 2.5–8. Men’s “doubleness” consists in their swearing oaths one way and leading their lives another. The syntax of these lines is a little contorted, but can be explained without emendation if the subject of proferith is understood as whych, referring to the exemplification of “variance” in the previous stanza. 108. Yit wulde I nat the causer faryd amysse, late 15th c

cul Ff.1.6, ff. 153v–154r. dimev 6863.

Robbins, “The Findern Anthology,” No. 52 (638–9). 1.1. The causer (of the speaker’s pain) must be her lover – in this case very likely her husband. 1.4. Identifying herself as “she” who has forsaken all joys, indicates that the speaker is a woman. 2.1. Ye addresses the poem’s wider public. 2.5–6. “Fortunate would be she who could please Fortune so much that she could stand in complete security.” Not the most elegant phrasing, but the contrast with a more fortunate woman is significant. 3.3–5. The sentence is unclear; the sense seems to be that the speaker will keep her sweetheart (i.e., her husband?) constantly in her thoughts while he is away. 109. So well ys me begone, late 15th or early 16th c Bl Sloane 1584, f. 45v. dimev 4208. With music. Greene, No. 446. The burden is written out in full at the beginning and end of the poem.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

In the commonplace book of John Gysborn, a canon of the abbey of St Mary, at Coverham in Yorkshire. The ms is written mainly in his hand. See f. 12r: Scriptum per me Johannes Gysborn Canonicus de Coverham. His collection is eclectic, including a substantial amount of religious material, some of a practical kind, along with other practical material like medical recipes and instructions for various purposes, as well as two love poems, one popular and the other courtly: the present light-hearted song and an extravagantly mournful woman’s-voice love lament, Grevus ys my sorowe (ff. 85r–87r; dimev 1669). 5.3. The pound sign appears as a superscript l with abbreviation mark. 110. Hey noyney, I wyll love our Ser John & I love eny, late 15th or early 16th c San Marino, cA , Huntington el 34.B .60 (formerly el [Ellesmere] 1160), f. 11r. dimev 3971. Greene, No. 456.1. For the ms see note on Poem 96. The burden is written, somewhat differently, in the margin of f. 73v: “hey troly loly hey troly loly I must loue our sur John & I loue eny o lord.” dimev takes “hey troly loly hey troly loly” as the second line of a two-line burden.

the love d e Bat e 111. [Nou sprinkes] þe sprai, late 13th c London, Lincoln’s Inn, Hale 135, f. 137v. dimev 614. Greene, No. 450. Written, as continuous prose, on one of the flyleaves of a ms of Bracton’s legal treatise De legibus et consuetudinibus Angliae (“On the Laws and Customs of England”), in the same hand as some personal memoranda immediately following it, which mention dates, the first being the 31st year of Edward I’s reign, i.e. 1302–03. Nou sprinkes must have been copied close to this time. The owner of the ms was apparently Alan de Thornton, a Lincolnshire land-owner. See Ker, Medieval Manuscripts, 1.132. The top left-hand corner of this folio is very badly faded, so the words there are now virtually lost. Nou sprinkes in the opening burden is illegible, the large capital N and the rest of Nou completely gone, unclear traces of sprinkes still present. St. 1.2 pleyinge completely gone; 1.3 traces of seih i visible; 1.6 longinge shows traces of some letters. St. 2.3 in gone, traces of an; 2.7 n in sinkes virtually completely gone. Nothing visible after k in sprinkes of final burden. This lyric is perhaps the oldest English carol preserved complete. For the OF poem which may be its source, see Bartsch, Romanzen und Pastourellen, No. 2; a somewhat different version is found in Paden, Medieval Pastourelle, No. 117.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

357

112. As I stod on a day, meself under a tre, late 13th or early 14th c London, College of Arms, Arundel 27, fol. 130v. dimev 628. Wright-Halliwell, 2.19–20; Conlee, 301–2. Found on the end leaf of an early-14th-c ms of Guy of Warwick in Anglo-French verse. As I stod is set out as prose in three stanzas, with line 1 forming a heading of sorts. The poem is interrupted in two places by a line of earlier material, crossed out. Letters sometimes uncertain; the problematic sections of 2.9 and 3.9 appear to represent the same words. 1.1. This line is suspect, because it is separated on the page, lacks alliteration, and makes the stanza 11 lines instead of 10. Conlee suggests a burden (300); Duncan, a later addition (321, Notes to I .23). 1.8. Possibly bad, “prayed” (from bidden, “to ask or petition”), should be emended to rad, “read”; thus Duncan. 2.5. By asking to be accepted into the lady’s love-service in a quasi-feudal relationship, the man adopts the conventional posture of the courtly lover. 2.9; 3.9. Wright-Halliwell and Conlee print quaer gospellis (2.9) and quaer ... ri (3.9), the former meaning “what is your preaching aimed at?” Reichl’s war o rier (“Look out behind!”) for both accords well with the ms indications and the similar appearance of 2.9 and 3.9, although this call for attention is not exactly the round dismissal that the context seems to require. See Reichl, “Popular Poetry and Courtly Lyric,” 42–3; med ware arrere under waren. 3.6. Bird has the double meaning “bird” and “lady.” Billin, “peck(ing),” seems to have its modern meaning, “kissing,” here, but the oed records no usage in this sense before Shakespeare. 3.7. The man looks respectable and well-conducted. Conlee infers from this line and 2.9 (reading gospellis, “preaches”) that he is a clerk. 113. In a fryht as y con fare fremede, late 13th to early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, ff. 66v–67r. dimev 2446. Brook, No. 8. Preserved among the courtly love-lyrics in Harley 2253, In a fryht is preceded by Mosti ryden by Rybbesdale (85) and followed by A wayle whyt (86). The present text adopts Woolf ’s suggestion (“The Construction of In a fryht,” 57) that st. 6, picturing the girl’s future with an abusive husband, should be assigned to the man, thus maintaining a responsive pattern, with the male and female voices occupying alternate stanzas. This arrangement requires two small emendations in 6.4. Brook gives sts. 5–7 to the maiden; Fein similarly, but with 6.5–8 assigned to the man, and acknowledging the possibility of alternation stanza by stanza in an earlier version; Duncan, No. I .22, assumes a missing stanza between 5 and 6. 3.5. Unwraste implies sexual infidelity here.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

5.3. Vachen, “fetch,” with voicing of initial f. 6.4. Based on the emendation to þe and myhtu: “Though he beat you, you couldn’t give him the slip.” The stanza contrasts the pleasure of union with an attractive partner – as offered by the man – to the horror of marriage to an ogre. Cf. Poem 99. 7.4. Literally, “Dear to me would be a man without guile.” Were indicates improbability, if not impossibility. 114. “My deþ y love, my lyf ich hate, for a levedy shene,” late 13th or early 14th c Bl Harley 2253, f. 80v. dimev 3592. Brook, No. 24. In the Harley ms this poem is preceded by a sombre religious meditation and followed by a love-lyric (89). 3.4. The line sounds proverbial. Whiting includes it in his collection (f 464), but this is his only citation. Riding a horse can be a sexual metaphor, but one would expect the male to be the rider. Cf. 102, st. 6. 8.1. Lore implies book-learning, but here mainly savoir faire in all the things a courtly lover needs to know. 8.3. The desperate fate of an outcast in the woods is a common motif in love complaints, usually as a present or future consequence, rather than a past suffering, as here. Cf. 87 and 96. 115. Throughe a forest as I can ryde, late 15th or early 16th c Bodl Rawlinson c 813 (sc 12653), ff. 56v–57v. dimev 5908. Child, English and Scottish Popular Ballads, No. 111 (2.478–9); Jansen and Jordan, No. 48. Rawlinson c 813 contains two separate mss bound together. The first, ff. 1–98, is the Welles Anthology, named for Humphrey Welles, for whom or by whom the items in it were copied in the early-to-mid 16th c (some possibly composed by him). His ownership is stated on f. 98v. The collection contains a variety of material, including love poems and three pastourelles: the two here and When that byrdes be brought to rest (dimev 6417). On Welles and his anthology, see Jansen and Jordan, 1–16. The two refrains are probably both proverbial. See Whiting, c 573, “to have the crow bite one,” and P 173–82, for (mag)pie proverbs. 1.4. Bryde only fleetingly understandable as “bird,” since the other meaning, “maiden,” is taken up in the next line. 15.1–4. Here assigned to the maiden addressing her peers. Thus Harris, “Rape Narratives,” 265–6. Conlee assigns these lines to the man (307). 116. Come over the woodes fair & grene, late 15th or early 16th c Bodl Rawlinson c 813 (sc 12653), ff. 58v–59v. dimev 1052.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

Jansen and Jordan, No. 50. Although the ms indicates quatrains (followed in Jansen and Jordan’s semidiplomatic text), the refrain-effect of lines emphasizing alone supports an arrangement in 8-line stanzas, as here (also Zupitza, “Under the Greenwood-Tree”). 3.4. See med tripet, 2(b): “a wrong, trespass.” Here the word must mean a penalty for trespass. 5.2. Courtes, “of the court” is a play on words, echoing courte in 5.1, where the noun means “law court.” 5.3–4. The man now speaks in legal language, invoking the Common Law tenet that an established customary rule becomes legally binding if it has been observed for long enough. See Salmond, Jurisprudence, 216–20 (section 67 on Local Custom), with reference to Littleton’s 15th-c Treatise on Tenures. 7.7–8. For the sake of rhyme, this is rearranged by Padelford and Benham to “choyse of þe beste of all þat I have / yn my arme gathered all alone.” See “The Songs of Rawlinson ms . c .813,” 379. Jansen and Jordan make the suggestion in a note, but do not incorporate into their text.

an author e d c olle c tI on: char le s d’ or l é ans Harley 682, the English ms, was probably produced under Charles’s supervision not long before 1440. Elegant but undecorated, and perhaps awaiting decoration, the manuscript is generous in its use of space, especially in the presentation of short poems (the roundels), which occupy only the bottom half of the page. Throughout, space is left for large capitals at the beginning of stanzas, sometimes with faint small guide letters. BnF, the French ms – with one or two English items – contains mainly poems composed by Charles, some copied in his own hand, but there are also many other identified contributors and many other hands. As Arn observes, the book represents “both an author-collected manuscript and a cross-section of the poetry of his contemporaries” (The Poet’s Notebook, 167). A substantial part of the ms was written by the first scribe, probably in the closing months of the poet’s captivity; thereafter the project was added to throughout his remaining lifetime. 117. Ofte in my thought full besily have y sought, ca. 1420–40 Bl Harley 682, f. 42rv. dimev 4246. Arn, lines 2169–97 (B 63); Fox-Arn, B 59 (pp. 122, 124; French version). Balade 59 Je me souloye pourpenser Au commencement de l’annee Quel don je pourroye donner

I was wont to consider At the beginning of the year What gift I could give

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

A ma dame la bien amee. Or suis hors de ceste pensee, Car Mort l’a mise soubz la lame, Et l’a hors de ce monde ostee. Je pry a Dieu qu’il en ait l’ame. Non pour tant pour tousjours garder La coustume que j’ay usee, Et pour a toutes gens moustrer Que pas n’ay ma dame oubliee, De messes je l’ay estrenee, Car ce me seroit trop de blasme De l’oublier ceste journee. Je pry a Dieu qui’il en ait l’ame.

To my beloved lady. Now I am without that thought, For Death has put her under the slab, And removed her out of this world. I pray God have her soul. Nevertheless, in order still to keep The custom that I have used, And to show all people That I have not forgotten my lady, I have provided Masses as a New Year’s gift, For I would be too much to blame If I forgot this day. I pray God have her soul.

Tellement lui puist prouffiter Ma priere que confortee Soit son ame, sans point tarder, Et de ses bienfais guerdonnee En Paradis, et couronnee Comme la plus loyalle dame Qu’en son vivant j’aye trouvee. Je pry a Dieu qu’il en ait l’ame.

So much may it profit her, My prayer, that comforted Shall be her soul, immediately, And rewarded for her good deeds In Paradise, and crowned As the most faithful lady In her life that I have found. I pray God have her soul.

  L’envoy Envoy Quant je pense a la renommee When I think about the renown De grans biens dont estoit paree, Of the noble qualities with which she was adorned, Mon povre cueur de dueil se pasme; My poor heart faints with grief; De lui souvent est regrettee. Often, it misses her. Je pry a Dieu qu’il en ait l’ame. I pray God have her soul. BnF fr 25458, p. 85.

If prompted by the death of Bonne d’Armagnac, Charles’s wife, this and the following two lyrics must date from the 1430s; if not, they could be earlier. 4.3. Arn understands to day as “to die”; i.e., the poet’s sorrow fills his heart to the point of death. 118. I have the obit of my lady dere, ca. 1420–40 Bl Harley 682, ff. 44v–45r. dimev 2191.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

361

Arn, lines 2297–2333 (B 67); Fox-Arn, B 69 (pp. 138, 140; French version). Balade 69 J’ay fait l’obseque de ma dame Dedens le moustier amoureux, Et le service pour son ame A chanté Penser Doloreux. Mains sierges de Soupirs Piteux Ont esté en son luminaire. Aussi j’ay fait la tombe faire De Regrez, tous de lermes pains, Et tout entour, moult richement, Est escript: Cy gist vrayement Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

I have had the anniversary service for my lady In the lovers’ minster, And the service for her soul Has been sung by Sad Thought. Many candles of Piteous Sighs Have been the lights for her. Also I have made her tomb Out of Regrets, all painted with tears, And all around, very richly, Is written: Here lies, verily, The treasure of all earthly good.

Dessus elle gist une lame Faicte d’or et de saffirs bleux, Car saffir est nommé la jame De Loyauté, et l’or eureux. Bien lui appartiennent ces deux, Car Eur et Loyauté pourtraire Voulu, en la tresdebonnaire, Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains Et fourma merveilleusement. C’estoit, a parler plainnement, Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

Over her lies a tomb Made of gold and of blue sapphires, For sapphire is named the gem Of Faithfulness, and gold “fortune-favoured.” These two suit her well, For He wished Good Fortune and Faithfulness To be portrayed in that most gracious one— God, who made her with his two hands And formed wondrously. That was, to speak plainly, The treasure of all earthly good.

N’en parlons plus; mon cueur se pasme Quant il oyt les fais vertueux D’elle qui estoit sans nul blasme, Comme jurent celles et ceulx Qui congnoissoyent ses conseulx. Si croy que Dieu la voulu traire Vers lui pour parer son repaire De Paradis ou sont les saints. Car c’est d’elle bel parement Que l’en nommoit communement Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

Let’s say no more; my heart faints When it hears the good deeds Of her who was without any blame, As they, both women and men, swear Who knew her purposes. Thus I believe God wished to draw her To himself, to adorn his home In Paradise where the saints are. For it is because of her loveliness That all in common name her The treasure of all earthly good.

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Textual and Explanatory Notes

  L’envoy De riens ne servent plours ne plains. Tous mourrons ou tart ou briefment. Nul ne peut garder longuement Le tresor de tous biens mondains.

Envoy Of no avail are tears and laments. We shall all die, late or soon. No one can keep for long The treasure of all earthly good.

BnF fr 25458, pp. 96–7.

The personification of Love as a deity signals the allegorical mode. Sighs puts up and Sorrow lights torches to burn around the tomb, which the speaker has constructed of sad cries and adorned with tears; the “here lies” inscription identifies not a dead person but a (metaphorical) treasure hoard. 119. In the Forest of Noyous Hevynes, ca. 1420–40 Bl Harley 682, ff. 46v–47r. dimev 2604. Arn, lines 2395–2423 (B 70); Fox-Arn, B 63 (p. 130; French version). Balade 63 En la Forest d’Ennuyeuse Tristesse, Un jour m’avint qu’a par moy cheminoye, Si rencontray l’Amoureuse Deesse, Qui m’appella, demandant ou j’aloye. Je respondy que par Fortune estoye Mis en exil en ce bois, long temps a, Et qu’a bon droit appeller me povoye L’omme esgaré qui ne scet ou il va. En sousriant par sa tresgrant humblesse Me respondy: «Amy, se je savoye Pourquoy tu es mis en ceste destresse, A mon povair voulentiers t’ayderoye, Car ja pieça je mis ton cueur en voye De tout plaisir, ne sçay qui l’en osta. Or me desplaist qu’a present je te voye L’omme esgaré qui ne scet ou il va.»

In the Forest of Vexing Sadness, One day it happened, as by myself I went along, I met the Goddess of Love, Who greeted me, asking where I was going. I replied that that by Fortune I had for long been placed in exile in this wood And with good reason could call myself The lost man who does not know his way. Smiling, with great modesty, She replied to me, “Friend, if I knew Why you are placed in this distress As far as I am able, I would willingly help you. For a while ago I put your heart in the way Of every pleasure. I know not who has deprived it of that. Now it displeases me to see you at this time The lost man who does not know his way.”

Textual and Explanatory Notes

«Helas!» dis je, «souverainne princesse, Mon fait savés; pourquoy le vous diroye? C’est par la Mort qui fait a tous rudesse, Qui m’a tollu celle que tant amoye, En qui estoit tout l’espoir que j’avoye, Qui me guidoit, si bien m’accompaigna En son vivant que point ne me trouvoye L’omme esgaré qui ne scet ou il va.

363

“Alas!” I said, “sovereign princess, You know my plight; why should I tell it to you? It was brought about by Death, who treats all people roughly, Who has taken away the woman that I loved so much, In whom was all the hope that I had, Who guided me, accompanied me so well, While she lived, that I never found myself The lost man who does not know his way.

  L’envoy Envoy Aveugle suy, ne sçay ou aler doye. I am a blind man, know not where I must go, De mon baston, affin que ne forvoye, With my stick so I do not go astray, Je vois tastant mon chemin ça et la. I go, feeling my path, this way and that. C’est grant pitié qu’il couvient que je soye Great pity it has been decided I should be L’omme esgaré qui ne scet ou il va.» The lost man who does not know his way. BnF fr 25458, pp. 89–90.

Presenting an unexpected encounter that takes place in the natural world and in springtime, the poem’s opening casts its allegory as a chanson d’aventure, with the difference that here the forest is malignant, a frighteningly dark and pathless wilderness. 120. My gostly fadir, y me confesse, ca. 1430–40 Bl Harley 682, f. 88v. dimev 3602. Arn, lines 3969–82 (r 57). 11. Arn supplies to before God; similarly Duncan (II .8). 12. Duncan emends to foryefenes to correct the metre, following the Sisams (Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse, 424). 121. The smylyng mouth and laughyng eyen gray, ca. 1430–40

Bl Harley 682, f. 94v. dimev 5468. Arn, lines 4137–50 (r 69).

1–4. The details of the woman’s figure suggest that she is naked. 5, 11. With this comment on the power of the poet’s “craft” to bring his beloved before his sight, cf. Ballade 90, where, in a different mood, he compares himself to “the gret kerver” Pygmalion, who with divine assistance brought to life the perfect

364

Textual and Explanatory Notes

woman he had sculpted out of stone (lines 5508–13), while Charles is still trying to soften the stony heart of his living mistress. 122. Honure, joy, helthe, and plesaunce, ca. 1439 Bl Harley 682, ff. 141v–142r. dimev 2055. Arn, lines 6227–54 (B 111). The refrain imitates De cueur, de corps et de puissance, which is the refrain of FoxArn B 129, a political poem addressed to the Duke of Burgundy, with whose help Charles was trying to negotiate a return to France. The line also forms the opening of Burgundy’s reply (Fox-Arn B 130), and is translated more exactly in the opening of Arn B 113, With hert, body, and my hool puysshaunce (line 6283). It is also possible, if less likely, that the two love poems were composed first, and the political pair were the borrowers. 3.2. Sekis (“seek[s]”) is odd. Steele-Day take the word as an imperative plural; i.e., “seek out some pretty little corner for me.” It is more natural that the pleading speaker should be doing the seeking. Possibly the francophone Charles is using an anomalous impersonal construction: “(it) seeks to me,” meaning “I seek.” In either sense one would expect a -th ending, the form Charles regularly uses. 123. Go forth, myn hert, wyth my lady, mid-15th c BnF fr 25458, p. 310. dimev 1528. Also in Bl Royal 16.f .II , f. 69rv. Robbins Sec, No. 183; Fox-Arn, r 361 (p. 718). In BnF, this is the second of seven English poems, the first six of them roundels, between pp. 310 and 313. 1. On the poetic convention of personified object as messenger, see notes on 95. 6. As Steele points out, the form quippe (“keep”) “must have been due to a French author writing English phonetically” (Steele-Day, xxv). 7. The present text assumes, with Fox-Arn, that only line 1 is repeated. Robbins inserts a repeated line 2 in brackets. 124. So fayre, so freshe, so goodely on to se, mid-15th c BnF fr 25458, p. 312. dimev 4931. Robbins Sec, No. 182; Fox-Arn, r 365 (p. 722). The sixth English roundel in this group. Again, Robbins assumes a 2-line refrain. 10–12. Although the primary sense of grevance is “distress, suffering,” and that of adversite, “misfortune,” a secondary meaning is suggested. Charles’s position is like that of a vassal who has a legal grievance, for which he seeks redress. 125. My hertly love is in your governans, mid-15th c Bl Royal 16.f .II , f. 118rv. dimev 3612.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

365

Arn, Appendix I , No. 10. Royal 16.f .II is an almost entirely French manuscript, over half of it devoted to Charles; a luxury product, carefully lettered, richly illuminated, and featuring a series of very beautiful miniatures. Headed Chancon. A roundel, but lacking the characteristic midpoint repetition. The francophone scribe does distinguish u from m and n, though this distinction is not always clear; they would probably have appeared identical in his copy text. 4. Charles’s hope is, presumably, for a romantic friendship, not a marriage, but calling it a trouthfull alyans elevates it to that level. 126. Bewere, my trewe, innocent hert, mid-15th c Bl Royal 16.f .II , f. 131r. dimev 3687. Arn, Appendix I , No. 11. Headed Chancon. 1, 7, 12. Ne were makes no sense. Arn favours Croft’s emendation to bewere (“beware”), adopted here (“Early English Poetry,” Retrospective Review 1 [1827]: 147–56 at 153). 2, 5, 6. Scribal errors involving n and u, as in 125.

sc ottI sh Poetry: h e nry s o n and du nB ar The mss containing these poems display some typical features: þ is written as y; both initial f and elaborate Scottish final s resemble a double letter; the latter also occasionally represents sis or ser. Robert Henryson, floruit ca. 1450 – ca. 1500 127. Robene sat on gud grene hill nls Advocates 1.1.6 (the Bannatyne ms ), ff. 365r–366v (pp. 779–82). dimev 4510. Fox, 175–9 and 469–75 (Commentary). “Robene and Makyne” is the penultimate poem in the Bannatyne collection. 1.5. The formulaic lowd and still, “spoken out and silent,” is not to be taken too literally; Robin seems not to have heard Makyne’s confession before. 1.7. In dern is ambiguous here, with the implication that Makyne is asking for sex in secret, as well as suffering love. Her desire becomes explicit in 5.7. 3. With this stanza’s conventional advice, cf. one of the “Ballattis of Lufe” in Bannatyne (f. 213rv), beginning thus: “Off luve quhay lyikis to haif joy or confort, / Ȝe man begin and leir this ABc . / … / First to be courtes, wyis, gentill, and fre; / Lairge, honest, gentill, bayth secreit and preve” (Ritchie, 3.245), attributed to Mersar, who is mentioned by Dunbar in 130, 19.1. As Fox notes, Henryson “is clearly parodying poems of this type” (472).

366

Textual and Explanatory Notes

7.8. In bid, although the first letter resembles l more than b, the base of l is not joined to the next letter, as it is in lu- elsewhere in this poem. Fox reads bid, “ask for”; Elliot lue, “love.” 9.8. These words might also be understood as a rhetorical question, meaning “why is love making me suffer?” 12.3–4. Proverbial and extremely well attested. For a long list of variants on this theme, see Whiting, W 275. 12.6–7. Meaning “Woe betide the next person who wants you as a lover.” 13.5–6. Robene alludes to the tattle-tales typically feared by the courtly lover. 16.5. Wrewche, which would be a nonce-word, ends uncertainly. Apart from two horizontal sweeps (hasty pen strokes?), h and e are hardly indicated at all. Citing this instance, dost enters wrewche as an error for wewche, a variant spelling of wouch, “wrong, injury, harm.” Fox emends to wewche. William Dunbar, floruit ca. 1500–13 or later 128. Done is a battell on þe dragon blak

nls Advocates 1.1.6 (the Bannatyne ms ), f. 35r (p. 129). dimev 1143.

Bawcutt, no. 10. The scene is the Harrowing of Hell, which took place between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection, when Christ descended into Hell and brought out the souls of the righteous. This event is dramatically described in the non-canonical Gospel of Nicodemus. The refrain of Done is a battell is taken from the Easter mass. 1.1. The concept of the Devil as dragon, equated with the serpent of Genesis, is found in the account of the Fall of the Angels; see Apocalypse (Revelation) 12:9: et proiectus est draco ille magnus, serpens antiquus, qui vocatur Diabolus et Satanas ... (“And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan …”). 1.7. Metaphorically, the document of our ransom has been confirmed by signature on the back. 2.1. Lucifer, “light-bearer,” was in post-biblical tradition the name of the Devil before his fall. 3.1–3. Sacrificial lamb in his death, Christ becomes triumphant lion in his resurrection. The “Lamb that was slain” is also the “Lion of the tribe of Judah” who alone can open the book sealed with seven seals (vicit leo de tribu Iuda ... aperire librum et septem signacula eius, Apocalypse 5:5). Christ as Lion is celebrated in Resurrection hymns such as the Chorus novae Jerusalem (early 11th c) by Fulbert of Chartres, st. 2, invictus leo (“unconquered lion,” text in Analecta hymnica 2.93, No. 131). 3.4. The comparison to a giant, giga(n)s, may be derived ultimately from Psalm 18:6 in Jerome’s translation from the Septuagint; in his later, Hebraic, version the

Textual and Explanatory Notes

367

word is fortis, “strong”: ipse quasi sponsus procedens thalamo suo, exultavit ut fortis ad currendam viam (“Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race,” Psalm 19:5 Kjv ; D -r “hath rejoiced”). The subject in its psalm context is the sun; in Christian exegesis regarded as prefiguring Christ as hero. 4.7. The Jews were long regarded as collectively responsible for the crucifixion of Christ. See notes on 49. 129. Hale, sterne superne, hale, in eterne

nls 16500 (the Asloan ms ), ff. 303r–304v. dimev 1756. Bawcutt, No. 16; Duncan, No. II .55.

The ms is dated ca. 1515 – ca. 1525 by MacDonald (“Lyrics in Middle Scots,” 246). Hale, sterne is the final item, preceded by other Marian poems. Entitled “Ane Ballat of Oure Lady” in the ms contents list. For the patristic background that lies behind some of the symbols for Mary, see Duncan, 399–400 (Notes to II .55), and Raby, History of Christian-Latin Poetry, 363–75 (with Latin quotations). For a more laboured Marian poem in the aureate style, see The infinite power essenciall (dimev 5343), along with D’Arcy’s exhaustive explication of that poem’s resonances, both in the use of rich jewellery in the contemporary plastic arts and in the motifs of Christian doctrine; see “‘Written in gold upon a purple stain.’” The refrain, repeated at line 9 of every stanza, echoes the Angel Gabriel’s Annunciation to the Virgin (Luke 1:28, “Hail, full of grace,” D -r ). 1.1; 3.2; 5.5; 6.10. Mary is often called a star; stella maris (“star of the sea”) is one of her conventional epithets. See note on 36, 1.2. But the day or morning star is usually Jesus, identified as stella splendida et matutina in Apocalypse (Revelation) 22:16. 1.8; 4.4; 7.7. For Mary as rose, cf. 45, 48, and 36 2.2 (note). 2.2. Alluding to Apocalypse 1:8, where God declares himself Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. 3.5–6. Here Mary resembles St Michael, who, with his angels, cast out the dragon (Satan) and his angels (Apocalypse 12:7–9). 4.6; 6.11. Another flower regularly associated with Mary. The white lily, symbolizing her purity and virginity, often appears in paintings of the Annunciation. 4.12; 6.7. These lines reflect Mary’s traditional role as intercessor for sinful humanity. 5.10. The number 11 seems arbitrary. Bawcutt thinks ellevyn here might mean an indeterminate number. It is used elsewhere by Dunbar in a similar way; see Bawcutt, Nos. 75.89 and 77.21, in both cases rhyming with “seven” – as it does, along with other words, here. Even Dunbar (pace Bawcutt) must be affected by such constraints. 7.1–6. Mary’s womb, enclosing the unborn Christ, is represented as a royal fortress around a king.

368

Textual and Explanatory Notes

7.8. The strange image of Mary as a container of angels’ food reflects a patristic interpretation that finds the sanctified Eucharistic bread – the body of Christ – in Psalm 77:25: panem angelorum manducavit homo, cibaria misit eis in abundantiam (“Man ate the bread of angels; he sent them provisions in abundance,” D -r ). Christ as angels’ food appears in Bawcutt, No. 1, line 54; also in the anonymous Jhesu, god sone, lord of mageste (dimev 2854), line 33. Both occurrences in the context of the Crucifixion. 130. I þat in heill wes and gladnes Printed ca. 1507–08. Location and printer uncertain (referred to as “P” in Bawcutt, and in the present textual apparatus and notes). stc 7350. dimev 2291. Also in nls Advocates 1.1.6 (the Bannatyne ms ), ff. 109r–110r; Magdalene Camb Pepys 2553 (the Maitland Folio), pp. 189–92. Bawcutt, No. 21. In the Bibliographical Note prefaced to his facsimile edition, Beattie comments, “The numerous misprints and, in particular, the frequent expansion in Scots passages of ‘&’ to ‘et’ … may indicate foreign origin [perhaps Pierre Violete, Rouen], but equally well the employment … of foreign workmen in Scotland” (Chepman and Myllar Prints, xv). The poem can be dated to “shortly after July 1505”; see Bawcutt, 333, 337, and note on st. 22, below. The well-known refrain is derived from the Office of the Dead. See note on Poem 16. St. 13. Modern readers will probably agree with Dunbar in giving Geoffrey Chaucer (ca. 1343–1400) pride of place, over John Gower (ca. 1330–1408) and “the monk of Bery,” i.e. John Lydgate (ca. 1370 – ca. 1450), who was attached to the abbey at Bury St Edmunds. St. 14. Sir Hugh Eglinton of that Ilk (14th c) is not otherwise recorded as a poet. Heryot unidentified. Andrew Wyntoun (ca. 1350 – ca. 1425) wrote, in verse, The Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland. St. 15. See Bawcutt for proposed identifications of Johne Clerk and James Afflek (“Auchinleck” in the Maitland Folio). St. 16. Richard Holland (died ca. 1482), best known as the author of the comic moral poem The Buke of the Howlat (“Owl”), written ca. 1450. John Barbour (ca. 1320–1395), author of the famous historical verse romance The Bruce on the deeds of Robert I of Scotland. The poetry of Sir Mungo Lokert does not survive; the Lockharts were a well-known family in Lanarkshire. St. 17. Tranent: a town near Edinburgh. Clerk and his romance of Sir Gawain unknown. Sir Gilbert Hay (early-to-mid 15th c) wrote a verse romance on Alexander the Great.

Textual and Explanatory Notes

369

St. 18. “Blind Hary” authored the well-known later-15th-c verse romance on William Wallace. Sandy Traill unidentified. Patrick Johnston produced interludes for the court; none of his works survives. St. 19. Merseir unidentified. Several of Dunbar’s contemporaries had this surname. St. 20. Presumably 15th-c poets. Neither Roull has been identified. One may have been the author of the poem named The Cursing. Corstorphine was a village and is now a suburb west of Edinburgh. St. 21. This stanza provides a location for Henryson and indicates he was dead at the time of composition. Sir John Ross was a friend of Dunbar’s, and appears as his supporter in The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy. St. 22. Stobo: John Reid; possibly he came from Stobo, a hamlet near Peebles in south Scotland. Records indicate that he died not long before 15 July 1505; no poems by him are known. Quentin Shaw, like Reid, worked in the royal secretariat alongside Dunbar. A short verse satire by Shaw survives. Bawcutt rejects the identification of him with the Quintin that Kennedy refers to as his cousin and his commissar in the Flyting; see her note (430–1). St. 23. Walter Kennedy, author of The Passioun of Christ and other poems, is the antagonist of Dunbar in the well-known Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, in which each tries to outdo the other in vituperation. He actually lived until 1518. 131. In secreit place þis hyndir nycht Magdalene Camb Pepys 2553 (the Maitland Folio), pp. 308, 311. dimev 2574. Also in nls Advocates 1.1.6 (the Bannatyne ms ), ff. 103v–104r (pp. 268–9); cul Ll.5.10 (the Reidpeth ms ), ff. 34v–35r; Beinecke Music ms 13 (the Osborn ms ), ff. 50v–51r. Bawcutt, No. 25. A misplaced leaf intervenes at pp. 309–10. 1.6. The speaker’s fear of “danger,” the lofty disdain with which the lady conventionally keeps her courtly suitor at bay, is, of course, absurdly inappropriate here. 2.3. The young man is certainly not “townish” in the sense of “urbane.” Being associated with the town implies a contrast with someone better educated and better bred, as in “town and gown,” or, in the context of early-16th-c Edinburgh, the population of the city and the, more polished, members of the court. 2.6. Fukkit here is the earliest instance of the word in the oed , but this verb is undoubtedly far older. 4.2. Tuchan, from Gaelic tulachan, is defined by dost as “a calf-skin stuffed with straw to induce a cow to let down her milk.” 4.3. Howffing, possibly meaning a clumsy person, may be a nonce-word. 4.7. “Graceles gane” also appears in Sir David Lyndsay (early-to-mid 16th c); see dost under gane, “an ugly face.”

370

Textual and Explanatory Notes

6.3. Bawcutt observes that “‘Hurlbasie’ is the name of a demon in The Freiris of Berwick, 514 [comic poem]” (345). 6.4. snd defines gawsie as “plump, fresh-complexioned and jovial-looking,” citing a usage from 1720. Slawsy, found only here and in 6.6, may be a nonce-word meaning “slow” or “slowish.” 7.2. Brylȝoun is mysterious. Kinsley, reading brilȝeane, comments, “obscure; in the context probably obscene,” 258 (Notes). 7.4. Tyrlie must be related to Scots tirl, “to twirl or spin,” the noun meaning “the act of rotation,” snd II .1 (citations, all modern, including a sexual sense). 8.2. Marieland’s location is unknown and probably fanciful. Bawcutt glosses golk “cuckoo,” but “fool” would also be appropriate. See snd under gowk, and cf. ME goky, “fool.” Bawcutt cites another instance of golk of Maryland in a comic wooing poem, King Berdok, 14.20 (p. 346). 9.4. Dery dan is probably in origin a meaningless phrase used in song, like “derry down.” Here it must refer to the sexual act. Dunbar in another poem speaks of himself wildly dancing the “dirrye dantoun,” with sexual implications (Bawcutt, No. 75, line 25).

fAc s I m I l e e D I t I o n s A n D DIgItIzeD mAnuscrIPts Compiled February 2019

Items are alphabetized by name, or by repository and number/shelfmark. Poem numbers (referring to the 131 items in the Texts and Notes) are in bold typeface; where the facsimile represents a poem, mentioned for comparison, that is not one of these 131, page numbers are supplied, in roman. The Asloan Manuscript (National Library of Scotland, ms 16500). Digitized version. (129) https://digital.nls.uk/early-scottish-manuscripts/archive/74458663 The Auchinleck Manuscript (National Library of Scotland MS Advocates 19.2.1): A Facsimile. Edited by Derek Pearsall and I.C. Cunningham. London: Scolar, 1979. (11) The Auchinleck Manuscript. On-line facsimile edition. Edited by David Burnley and Alison Wiggins. Edinburgh: National Library of Scotland, 2003. (11) https://auchinleck.nls.uk Balliol College, Oxford, ms 354 (Richard Hill’s Commonplace Book). Early Manuscripts at Oxford University. Digital facsimile. Photography by Gretchen Hucklesby. Oxford, uK : Balliol College, 1997. (12, 17, 18, 45, 50, 69–71, 75, 77–9) http://image.ox.ac.uk/show?collection=balliol&manuscript=ms354 The Bannatyne Manuscript. National Library of Scotland, Advocates’ MS . 1.1.6 The Bannatyne Manuscript. Edited by Denton Fox and W.A. Ringler. London: Scolar, in association with the National Library of Scotland, 1980. (127, 128, 130, 131) The Bannatyne Manuscript. Digitized version. https://digital.nls.uk/ early-scottish-manuscripts/archive/74466548

372

Facsimile Editions and Digitized Manuscripts

Bodl Digby 86. Facsimile of Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Digby 86. Edited by Judith Tschann and M.B. Parkes. eets ss 16. Oxford, uK : Oxford University Press, 1996. (10, 11, 21, 30) Bodleian Library, Oxford, Digitized Manuscripts. Arch. Selden. B .26. Early Manuscripts at Oxford University. Photography by Julius Smit. Bodleian Library, 2000. (65) http://image.ox.ac.uk/show?collection= bodleian&manuscript=msarchseldenb26 Ashmole 191. Selections. (94, 95) https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ 3a04760a-a462-4d4c-bf28-a41810bb0193 Ashmole 1393 (325). Selections. https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ cc102f20-cf42-4b3f-9f82-2e97b06318e8 Digby 86. (10, 11, 21, 30) https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/88abdb11-9b844e59-b759-eade1964b5ca Eng. poet. a.1. (11, 15, 19, 21, 27; 319) https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ 52f0a31a-1478-40e4-b05b-fddb1ad076ff Laud misc 471. F. 65r only. (8) https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ 334d7b83-22e2-4df0-b8c7-89604dc42a9b Rawlinson g 18. Ff. 105v–107v. (10) https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ 1fb5779a-a780-4668-b6c1-626c0d701f7d Rawlinson g 22. F. 1rv only. (4) https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ 05e05bf2-118b-4a09-805a-f3d139e5fcd0 Bodleian Musical Manuscripts. See above and Early Bodleian Music, below.

Bl Harley 2253. Facsimile of British Museum MS . Harley 2253. Edited by N.R. Ker. eets os 255. London: Oxford University Press, 1965. (11, 13, 21, 22, 30, 82–90, 113,

114)

British Library, London, Digitized Manuscripts Add ms 22283. (15, 27) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Add_ MS_22283 Add ms 37049. (33, 41) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Add_ MS_37049 Cotton ms Caligula A .IX . (8, 37; 332) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay. aspx?ref=Cotton_MS_Caligula_A_IX Egerton ms 613. (36; 320) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref= Egerton_MS_613 Harley ms 978. (7) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref= Harley_MS_978

Facsimile Editions and Digitized Manuscripts

373

Harley ms 1706. (41) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref= Harley_MS_1706 Harley ms 2253. (11, 13, 21, 22, 30, 82–90, 113, 114) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/ FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Harley_MS_2253 Royal ms 16.f .II . (123, 125, 126) http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref= royal_ms_16_f_ii_f118v Bryd one brere (81). See King’s College, Cambridge, ms sjP /50. Charles d’Orléans. See Royal ms 16.f .II , above. The Chepman and Myllar Prints: Nine tracts from the first Scottish press, Edinburgh 1508, followed by the two other tracts in the same volume ... A Facsimile with a Bibliographical Note by William Beattie. Edinburgh: Bibliographical Society, 1950. (130) Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, ms 8. Parker 2.0. Parker Library on the Web. (23) https://parker.stanford.edu/parker/catalog?utf8=%E2%9C%93&exhibit_id= parker&search_field=search&q=Worldes+blisce Early Bodleian Music. Vols. 1 and 2, edited by Sir John Stainer, with E.W.B. Nicholson, J.F.R. Stainer, and C. Stainer. London: Novello, 1901. Vol. 3, edited by E.W.B. Nicholson, 1913. 3 vols. repr. Farnborough, uK : Gregg, 1967. (10, 65, 67, 94, 95) The Findern Manuscript: Cambridge University Library MS Ff.1.6. Edited by Richard Beadle and A.E.B. Owen. London: Scolar, 1978. (94, 107, 108) The Grimestone Manuscript (John Grimestone’s Preaching Book). National Library of Scotland, ms Advocates 18.7.21. Digitized version forthcoming. (12, 23, 28, 29, 31, 32, 40) Huntington, ms el 34.B .60 (formerly el 1160). Digitized selections. Huntington Library, San Marino, cA . Regents of the University of California, 2006. (110) http://dpg.lib.berkeley.edu/webdb/dsheh/heh_brf?Description=&CallNumber= EL+34+B+60 King’s College, Cambridge, ms sjP /50. Digital Image Archive of Medieval Music, Faculty of Music, University of Oxford. (81) https://www.diamm.ac.uk/sources/ 988/#/images?p=verso

374

Facsimile Editions and Digitized Manuscripts

Merton College, Oxford, ms 248. Early Manuscripts at Oxford University. Photography by Bodleian Digital Team. Oxford, uK : Bodleian Library, 1998. (25) http://image.ox.ac.uk/show?collection=merton&manuscript=ms248

nlw Brogyntyn ms ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10). Description and digitized facsimile. Aberystwyth, uK : National Library of Wales, 2017. (62, 66, 75) http://www.llgc.org.uk/en/discover/digital-gallery/manuscripts/the-middle-ages Osborn Music ms 13 (The Osborn Manuscript). Description and digitized facsimile. Beinecke Digital Collections, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, New Haven, ct . (131) https://brbl-dl.library.yale.edu/vufind/Record/3435118? image_id=1038860 The Red Book of Ossory. Representative Church Body Library D 11.1.2, Dublin, 2017. (53, 99) https://issuu.com/churchofireland/docs/redbookossory St John’s College, Cambridge, ms s .54. University of Cambridge Digital Library. (106) https://cudl.lib.cam.ac.uk/view/MS-SJC-S-00054/4 The Simeon Manuscript. See Add ms 22283, under British Library, London, Digitized Manuscripts. Trinity College, Cambridge, Digitized Manuscripts B .1.45. (5) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=40 B .14.39. (9, 20, 36, 37, 38, 43) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/ viewpage.php?index=1708 o .2.1. (3) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=629 o .2.53. (18) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=677 o .3.58. (48, 65) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=749 o .9.38. (49) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=985 r .3.19. (91) http://trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=1370 Trinity College, Cambridge, ms r .3.19. Manuscript Trinity R .3.19: A Facsimile. Ed. Bradford Y. Fletcher. The Facsimile Series of the Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, general editor Paul G. Ruggiers, 5. Norman, oK : Pilgrim Books, 1987. (92, 93) The Vernon Manuscript: A Facsimile of Bodleian Library, Oxford, MS Eng. Poet. a.1. Edited by A.I. Doyle. Cambridge: Brewer, 1987. (11, 15, 19, 20, 21, 27; 318)

Facsimile Editions and Digitized Manuscripts

375

The Vernon Manuscript, digitized. See Eng. poet. a.1, under Bodleian Library, Oxford, Digitized Manuscripts. Worldes blisce have god day. See Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, ms 8.

InDeX of mAnuscrIPts cIteD

All manuscripts cited in this volume are indexed here, arranged alphabetically under “British Isles,” “France,” and “United States,” followed by city/town and repository. Poem numbers (referring to the 131 items in the Texts and Notes) are in bold typeface; where the citation occurs apart from the text of a particular poem or the note on it, page numbers are supplied, in roman.

BrI tI sh Is le s Aberystwyth National Library of Wales Brogyntyn ii.1 (formerly Porkington 10): 62, 66, 75; 171 Cambridge Cambridge University Library Add. 5943: 104 Dd.4.50: 12 Ee.1.12 (James Ryman’s Manuscript): 34, 34a, 63, 68; 72, 97, 170 Ff.1.6 (The Findern Manuscript): 94, 107, 108; 236–7 Ff.5.48: 62, 65, 105 Ii.3.8: 5, 32 Ll.5.10 (The Reidpeth Manuscript): 131 Mm.4.28: 1 Corpus Christi College 8: 23

Index of Manuscripts Cited

377

Gonville and Caius College 383: 101–3; 171, 237 512: 22 King’s College sjP /50 (formerly Muniment Roll 2 W .32): 81; 35 Magdalene College Pepys 2553 (The Maitland Folio): 130, 131; 291 St John’s College A .15 (15): 20 e .8 (111): 30 s .54 (259): 106 Trinity College B .1.45: 5 B .14.39: 9, 20, 36, 37, 38, 43; 41, 53, 71 o .2.1: 3 o .2.53: 18 o .3.58 (The Trinity Carol Roll): 48, 65; 41–2, 119 0.9.38: 49 r .3.19: 92, 93; 205, 206 Dublin Representative Church Body Library

D 11.1.2 (The Red Book of Ossory; formerly in Kilkenny, St Canice’s Library): 53, 99; 26, 146, 237

Trinity College 155: 21 301: 30 432: 20 Edinburgh National Library of Scotland 16500 (The Asloan Manuscript): 129; 291

378

Index of Manuscripts Cited

Advocates 1.1.6 (The Bannatyne Manuscript): 127, 128, 130, 131; 291 Advocates 18.7.21 (John Grimestone’s Preaching Book): 12, 23, 28, 29, 31, 32, 40; 71, 95–6 Advocates 19.2.1 (The Auchinleck Manuscript): 11 Ely Ely Cathedral Liber Eliensis: 3 Eton Eton College 36: 26 Holkham, Norfolk Holkham Hall Holkham ms 229: 48 London British Library Add. 22283 (The Simeon Manuscript): 15, 27; 18 Add. 22718: 96 Add. 37049: 33, 41; 14–15, 96–7 Add. 37605: 33 Add. 46919 (William Herebert’s Manuscript): 71–2 Arundel 248: 10 Arundel 292: 12, 72 Cotton Caligula A .II : 46 Cotton Caligula A .IX : 8, 37; 71, 352 Cotton Otho B .v : 1 Egerton 613: 36; 320 Harley 153: 1 Harley 322: 1 Harley 541: 67 Harley 682 (Charles d’Orléans’s English manuscript): 117–22; 18, 273–4 Harley 913: 39

Index of Manuscripts Cited

Harley 978: 7 Harley 1706: 41 Harley 2252 (John Colyns’s Commonplace Book): 97; 171, 206 Harley 2253: 11, 13, 21, 22, 30, 82-90, 113, 114; 18, 28, 34, 71, 201, 204, 206 Harley 2316: 14, 27 Harley 7322: 20, 91; 204–5, 206 Harley 7358: 40 Lansdowne 762: 18 Royal 2.f .vIII : 37 Royal 5.f .vII : 1 Royal 8.f .II : 30 Royal 12.e .I : 20, 30 Royal 16.f .II : 123, 125, 126; 276–7 Royal 17.B .XvII : 21 Royal 17.B .XlIII : 35 Royal Appendix 58: 98; 206 Sloane 1584 (John Gysborn’s Commonplace Book): 109; 171, 237 Sloane 2593: 43–5, 58–60, 64, 73, 74, 100; 72, 152, 155, 170, 328 College of Arms Arundel 27: 112; 258 Lambeth Palace Library 559: 27 853: 41 Lincoln’s Inn Hale 135: 111; 258 London Metropolitan Archives (formerly Corporation of London Records Office) Liber de antiquis legibus, lmA col /cs /01/001: 6 Maidstone, Kent Maidstone Museum

A .13: 8, 12

379

380

Index of Manuscripts Cited

Manchester Rylands Library Lat. 394: 12 Lat. 395: 41, 49 Oxford Balliol College 354 (Richard Hill’s Commonplace Book): 12, 17, 45, 50, 69–71, 75, 77–9; 72, 170–1, 328 Bodleian Library Add. e .6: 11 Arch. Selden. B .26: 65 Arch. Selden. supra 74: 19 Ashmole 59: 41 Ashmole 191: 94, 95; 206 Ashmole 360: 20 Ashmole 1393; 325 Barlow 24: 43 Bodley 42: 20 Bodley 57: 20 Bodley 343: 2 Digby 20: 19 Digby 86: 10, 11, 21, 30; 71, 315, 345, 347, 353 Douce 78: 41 Douce 139: 80; 37–8, 53, 206 Douce 207: 1 Douce 302 (John Audelay’s Manuscript): 16; 70, 72 Douce 322: 41 Eng. poet. a.1 (The Vernon Manuscript): 11, 15, 19, 21, 27; 18, 69, 71, 318, 319 Eng. poet. e.1: 17, 45, 67, 76–8; 72, 170, 233 Jesus College 29: 8, 12, 37; 71 Laud misc. 108: 11 Laud misc. 330: 33 Laud misc. 413: 1 Laud misc. 471: 8

Index of Manuscripts Cited

Laud misc. 609: 61 Laud misc. 647: 3 Rawlinson c 86: 41 Rawlinson c 510: 36 Rawlinson c 813 (The Welles Anthology plus an unrelated volume): 115, 116; 256 Rawlinson D 913 (containing the Rawlinson Lyrics): 51–7; 7, 16, 38, 45, 144–51 Rawlinson g 18: 10 Rawlinson g 22: 4 Jesus College. See under Bodleian. Magdalen College Lat. 60: 42 Merton College 248: 25 New College 88: 12, 24; 71 Worcester Worcester Cathedral Library f .126: 99 Q .46: 23

fr ance Paris Bibliothèque Mazarine Mazarine 1716: 1 Bibliothèque nationale de France Fonds anglais 41: 41 Fonds français 25458 (Charles d’Orléans’s French manuscript): 123, 124; 273, 276

381

382

Index of Manuscripts Cited

un Ited stat e s New Haven, CT Beinecke Rare Book and Music Library, Yale University 410: 33 Music ms 13 (The Osborn Manuscript): 131 San Marino, CA The Huntington Library el 34.B .60 (formerly el 1160): 96, 110; 206 Huntington 1051: 39, 53

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InDeX

The entries in the index aim to cover items that are significant to the concerns of the book. Items that are commonplace or ubiquitous are not covered. Titles of the 131 poems edited in this volume are included and identified by number in bold typeface; the accompanying page citations refer to editorial remarks only (for pagination of the actual texts see Table of Contents). Middle English poems – those edited here and others – are cited by opening line (for carols, first line of the burden), and by modern title if well known. Pre- and post-medieval works are listed by author or editor, not title. Some representative scholars are included. For manuscripts see the Index of Manuscripts Cited. A celuy que plus eyme en mounde, 27–8 A, dere God, qwat I am fayn (106), 235, 354–5 A lutel soth sermun, 234 A wayle whyt ase whalles bon (86), 203, 346–7 Abrams, M.H. (Glossary of Literary Terms), 24, 36 Adam, 109, 118, 125, 128, 129, 166, 167, 171–2 Adam de la Halle (Fi, maris de vostre amour, car j’ai ami), 234 Adam lay ibowndyn (64), 166–7, 337–8 Adorno, Theodor, 6 Advent, 168–9, 176 affective piety, 93, 94, 101, 110 Agincourt, Battle of, 167 Agincourt Carol, 24, 41–2, 44, 167, 172–3, 338 Al nist by þe rose, rose (55), 145, 335 Al oþer love is lych þe mone (26), 93, 321 Alas, ales þe wyle (102), 234, 352–3

Alas, hou shold y synge (99), 234, 351 Alcaeus, 10 allegory: Christian, 63; in love poetry, 34–5, 273–4, 278, 280–1 alliterative metre, 27, 56, 201, 256 Alone walkyng (93), 205, 349 “Alysoun” (83), 202–3, 345 Ambrose, Saint, 51n70 Ambrosian hymns, 26, 57 “amour courtois,” 22, 200 Andreas Capellanus, 201 Anglo-French, 16, 59 Anglo-Saxon: oral culture, 26; poetry, 199; times, 56, 66; traditions, 184. See also Old English “Annot and John” (82), 202, 343–4 Annunciation, to the Virgin Mary, 120 Antigone’s song (in Troilus and Criseyde), 51n74 Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non (6), 26, 59, 312–13

410 Aristotle, 11, 12, 168 artes poeticae, 15, 345 Arthour and Merlin, 28–9 As I stod on a day, meself under a tre (112), 255–6, 357 Ascension, of Christ, 120 At a sprynge-wel under a þorn (42), 122–3, 328–9 Ate ston casting my lemman I ches (5), 23, 34, 56–7, 58–9, 311–12 Atonement, of Christ, 122 Atte wrastlinge, 26, 34, 56–7, 58–9 Au douz mois de mai joli, 49n34 Audelay, John, 14, 66, 69–70, 72, 87–9 Augustine (Confessions), 32–3, 44, 94, 103 aureate language, 288, 367 autobiography: in Audelay, 69–70; in Augustine, 32–3, 94 Ave Maria, gracia plena (repeated in Dunbar’s Hale, sterne superne), 298–301 Ælfric, 57 balada, 233 ballad, 6, 10, 18, 21–2, 256, 265 ballad metre, 287 ballade, 13, 23, 41 Ballade des dames du temps jadis (François Villon), 32 ballette: 233 Bartlett, Anne, and Thomas Bestul (Cultures of Piety), 97 Bawcutt, Patricia (Dunbar the Makar), 288 Bayless, Martha (on Anglo-Saxon depictions of dance), 51n66 Beadle, Richard, and A.E.B. Owen (The Findern Manuscript), 237 beast fable, 154 Bec, Pierre, 48n30, 49n38, 49n40 Bele Aelis songs, 154 Beowulf, 52n87 Bernard of Clairvaux, Saint, 95. See also Sayings of St. Bernard

Index “Bess Bunting” (61), 154, 336 Bestul, Thomas. See Bartlett, Anne, and Thomas Bestul Bewere, my trewe, innocent hert (Charles d’Orléans, 126), 275–6, 365 Bi a forrest as I gan fare (62), 154, 159–62, 336 Bietris de Romans, 200 bird: as confidant, 35–6, 201, 207; as purveyor of wisdom, 70, 89–91; with play on “bird” or “brid” meaning “maiden,” 256 Blow, northerne wynd (88), 204, 347 Blow the Wind Southerly, 37 boar’s head carols, 24, 168, 338 Boffey, Julia, 9, 18, 22, 23, 46, 46n4, 48n27, 170, 171 Boklund-Lagopoulou, Karin, 154, 155 Boleyn, Anne, 122 Bradstreet, Anne (poems to her husband), 236 Brantley, Jessica, 96 Britten, Benjamin (Ceremony of Carols), 119, 166 Brown, Carleton, 31, 41, 50n57, 53n94, 53n98, 59, 95; as editor, 311–31, 337, 343–4, 348 Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere (81), 35–6, 38, 201, 343 Bryng us in good ale (67), 168, 339 Burgwen (Guthlac’s sister), 57, 60 Burns, Robert (O my luve’s like a red, red rose), 185 Burrow, John, 7, 21, 46n4, 69, 144, 145, 146 Bury St Edmunds, Abbey of, 170 Butterfield, Ardis, 17, 22, 38, 46n3–4, 47n10, 47n16, 49n42, 50n43, 53n98, 67 Bytuene Mersh & Averil (83), 202–3, 345 Cambridge (university), 169 canso, 23 cantiga de amigo, 200 “Canute Song,” 57 Caput apri refero (71), 168, 338, 340

Index Care away, away, away (76), 184–5, 341 carol, 13, 14, 20, 21-2, 42, 204 Carthusian monastery, 324 Cartlidge, Neil (on the interpretation of A, dere God), 235, 354–5 Celtic elements, 145, 208, 332, 344 chanson d’aventure, 13–14, 15, 154, 255 chanson de délaissée, 14 chanson de femme, 200, 232 chanson de malmariée, 14, 233, 238 chanson de toile, 233 chansonniers, 58 Charles d’Orléans, 3, 18, 44, 144, 205, 272–85, 359–65 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 13, 16, 23, 29–30, 152, 206, 225, 236, 303 – Canterbury Tales, 13, 27, 28; Wife of Bath, 184, 203 – Complaint to His Purse, 186 – Merchant’s Tale, 153, 238 – Merciles Beaute (attribution to Chaucer uncertain), 34, 189 – Miller’s Tale: Absolon, 234, 291; Alisoun, 154, 291; misplaced kiss, 39, 186, 197 – Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe, 29–30 – Nun’s Priest’s Tale, 153; Chauntecleer in, 155, 205 – Pardoner’s Tale, 53n100 – Parliament of Fowls, 29–30 – Troilus and Criseyde, 51n74, 346 Child, Francis James (ballad collection), 41, 256 choral poetry, 24 Christ, as lover, 94. See also Jesus, as sweetheart Christmas, 140, 166, 168–9, 176, 180; Twelve Days of, 169 Church: as bride of Christ, 93; medieval, 17 Cicero (Dream of Scipio), 29 classic triad (of genres), 11 clerics, 14, 233, 235, 248, 255, 258, 265, 303 clothing, fine, 68, 255, 260, 262

411

Colyns, John (owner of commonplace book), 171, 206 Com home agayne (35), 93, 325 “Come over the woodes fair & grene” (116), 257–8, 358–9 commonplace books, 170–1 complaint, love, 13, 33–7, 189, 205 Comtessa de Dia (Estat ai eu en greu cossirier), 37 contemptus mundi, 30–1, 66 contrafacta, 9, 26 “Corpus Christi Carol” (50), 119, 122, 332–3 Councils of the Church: Council of Auxerre, 49n39; Council of Chalons, 49n39; Council of Rome, 49n39 courtly love, 34–5, 46, 199–200, 348; and adultery, 201; requirements of, 200. See also fin’amor; refined love “Coventry Carol” (47), 119, 122, 331 Crist and sainte Marie sƿa on scamel me iledde (1), 309–10 Croce, Benedetto, 5 Cross, of Christ, 14, 33, 52n81, 95, 96, 97, 119, 313; address to, 94; Adoration of, 104, 321; last words of Christ on, 317 Crucifixion, of Christ, 94–6, 97–8, 104, 106–11 “Cuckoo Song.” See Sumer is icumen in Culler, Jonathan, 5, 6–7, 41, 45, 46n3 dance song, 21–2, 26, 51n66, 145, 147 danger (disdain), 292, 306 Dante Alighieri, 12 Davies, R.T. (Medieval English Lyrics), 40, 46n4, 50n56, 51n69, 53n98 De amico ad amicam, 27 De Certeau, Michel, 15 “De clerico et puella” (114), 258, 358 death: fear of, 69, 70, 87–9; personified, 67, 72, 87, 91, 280–1 “Death’s Witherclench.” See Man mei longe him lives wene Deeming, Helen, 167

412

Index

Deo gracias, Anglia (65), 41–2, 167, 338 Deor, 26, 33, 50n48 Devil, the, 58, 59, 110 devotion, religious, 93–117 Dickinson, Emily (Because I Could Not Stop for Death), 301 Dido, 233 Dobson, E.J., 57 Dobson, E.J., and F.Ll. Harrison, 47n14, 51n71 Done is a battell on þe dragon blak (Dunbar, 128), 288–9 Donne, John, 20, 29, 44, 290 Douglas, Gavin, 287 Doyle, A.I., 71 Dragonetti, Roger, 52n82 Dream of the Rood, 94 drinking song, 151, 175–6 Dronke, Peter, 20, 33, 49n37, 146 ... dronken, / Dronken, dronken (57), 146, 335 Dum ludis floribus velud lacivia, 28 Dunbar, William, 3, 255, 287. See also under poem titles Duncan, Thomas, 9, 58; as editor, 311, 316, 329, 330, 332, 334, 338, 345, 346, 357, 363, 367 Dunstan, Saint, 26 Dyboski, Roman, 171 Đe ƿes bold ȝebyld er þu iboren ƿere (2), 31, 57, 310–11 Earp, Lawrence, 49n40 Edda, Poetic, 10 Eden, Garden of, 167 Edmund Rich, Saint (Merure de Seinte Eglise), 33, 94–5 Edward (ballad), 41 Eliot, T.S., 19 English language, status of, 17–18, 71 epic poetry, 11 epideictic poetry, 24 epigram, 39

Epiphany: as one of Mary’s Five Joys, 120; in the Christian calendar, 168 epistle, verse, 27 erotic motifs, 202, 203, 217–18, 290. See also song: erotic Eucharist, 95, 122, 368 Eve, 118, 125, 129, 167 Everyman, 66 fabliau, 39 “Fair Maid of Ribblesdale” (85), 203, 345–6 falcon motif, 122, 333 Fall: of the Angels, 366; Fortunate Fall, 167; of Man, 122, 127, 301 Farewele Advent, Cristemas is cum (68), 169, 339 Farewell, this world! I take my leve forevere (18), 66, 70–1, 318 Fein, Susannah, 52n78, 70, 72, 206, 258 felix culpa, 337–8 Fensterlied, 258 fin’amor, 199, 200, 320, 348. See also courtly love; refined love Findern Manuscript, 237 first-person, 21 Fisher King, 122, 332–3 Five Joys, of Mary, 120, 136, 330 Five Wounds, of Christ, 95, 106 Fletcher, Alan, 38, 50n58 flowers, in association with attractive young women, 145, 269–71 flyting, 254, 289, 369 folksongs, 154. See also orality; popular style/register formes fixes, 23 Fortune’s Wheel, 70–1, 128 Foweles in þe frith (80), 36, 38, 201, 342–3 Fowler, Alistair, 7 France, Northern, 58, 233, 254 Frauenlied, 200, 232 French language, 17 French, Old, 10, 23, 48n29, 255 Frye, Northrop, 7, 19

Index Gabriel (angel), 119 Galician-Portuguese, 37 Gaunt, Simon, and Sarah Kay (The Troubadours), 200 gay love, 200 genres, in poetry, 13–15, 145 George, Stefan, 6 Germany, medieval, 200, 201, 232 Giraldus Cambrensis, 17, 26 gnomic poetry, 28–9 Go forth, myn hert, wyth my lady (Charles d’Orléans, 123), 275–6, 364 Go, hert hurt with adversite (95), 205, 350 Godefroy of St Victor, 26 Godric. See Saint Godric Lyrics Goethe, 12; Heidenröslein, 145; Wanderers Nachtlied II , 6 Gold & al þis werdis wyn (29), 95, 322 Gower, John, 303 Grail legends, 122, 332 grand chant courtois, 33 Gravdal, Kathryn, 255 “Grave, The,” 31, 57, 310–11 Gray, Douglas, 21, 24, 32, 40 Greece: Archaic, 8, 10, 184; Classical, 11; Hellenistic, 10, 11 Greek love, 199 Greek poetry, 4–5, 9–10, 18, 21, 24, 67–8, 69, 258; woman’s-voice lament in, 233 Greene, Richard Layton: as editor, 21, 23, 26, 53n98, 69, 120, 122, 167, 169, 170, 234; on the Red Book of Ossory, 351 Greentree, Rosemary, 21, 22, 46n4 Grimestone, Friar John (Preaching Book), 72, 95–6, 322 Guerraro, Gustavo, 8, 12, 48n23 Guillaume de Dole (Jean Renart; also entitled Roman de la Rose), 28 Guillaume de Lorris (Roman de la Rose), 34, 347 Guillaume de Machaut (Blanche com lis, plus que rose vermeille), 202 Guinevere. See Lancelot and Guinevere Gysborn, Canon John, 171, 237, 355–6

413

Hale, sterne superne, hale, in eterne (Dunbar, 129), 289 Hallowtide (All Souls’ Day), 169 Hamburger, Käte, 25 Hardy, Thomas (Far from the Madding Crowd), 206 Harley lyrics, 13, 35, 56, 68, 71, 201–4, 206, 256, 258; love lyrics, 34, 185, 201–2, 208–23 Harris, Carissa, 48n31, 255, 257, 259 Harrowing of Hell, 120, 167, 366 hate lyric (Laurence Minot), 42 Have mynd atte xxxti wynter old (34a), 324 headpieces, in romance, 28 Henry V, 41, 167 Henry VIII, 122, 170 Henryson, Robert, 255, 287, 292–6, 305 Herbert, George, 20, 44 Herebert, Friar William, 71–2 Herod, 122 Herrick, Robert, 29 Hey, hey, hey, hey! (66), 168, 338 Hey noyney, / I wyll love our Ser John & I love eny (110), 235, 356 Hill, Richard (owner of commonplace book), 39, 72, 170–1 Hit wes upon a Scere Þorsday þat ure loverd aros, 41 Hogyn cam to bowers dore (79), 39–40, 186, 342 Holy Family, 122 homosexual love, 200 Honure, joy, helthe and plesaunce (Charles d’Orléans, 122), 275, 364 Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus), 10, 24, 44 “How Christ Shall Come,” 38 How, hey, it is non les (74), 184–5, 341 Huc usque, me miseram, 234 Huntington Manuscript, practical verse in, 39 Husband’s Message, 33, 50n48, 52n87 I Gave My Love a Cherry, 153

414

Index

I have a gentil cook (58), 153, 335 I have a newe gardyn (60), 153, 335–6 I have a ȝong suster (59), 153–4, 335 I have forsworne hit whil I life (105), 234–5, 353 I have the obit of my lady dere (Charles d’Orléans, 118), 275, 360–2 I must go walke þe woed so wyld (96), 205, 350 I syng of a myden þat is makeles (43), 120, 329 I þat in heill wes and gladnes (Dunbar, 130), 289–90 Icham of Irlaunde (52), 145, 334 Ichot a burde in a bour ase beryl so bryht (82), 202, 343–4 illustration, in manuscripts, 96–7 imago pietatis, 14–15, 96–7 impossibilia, 156 In a fryht as y con fare fremede (113), 256, 357–8 In a tabernacle of a toure (41), 120–1, 130–4 In Aprell and in May (61), 154, 336 In secreit place þis hyndir nycht (Dunbar, 131), 290–1 In somer quhen flouris will smell, 290 In the Forest of Noyous Hevynes (Charles d’Orléans, 119), 275, 276, 362–3 In what estate so ever I be (17), 66, 69, 70, 317–18 Innocents, Massacre of, 122, 139 Inns of Court, 169 “Irish Dancer” (52), 145, 334 Iseult. See Tristan and Iseult Jackson, Virginia, 5, 8, 12 James IV of Scotland, 288 Jansen, Sharon, and Kathleen H. Jordan (The Welles Anthology), 257 Jarvis, Simon, 5 Jean Renart (Roman de la Rose or Guillaume de Dole), 28 Jeanroy, Alfred, 22, 50n53

Jesus, as sweetheart, 93, 95, 98, 106. See also Christ, as lover Jews, 298, 332 Jhesu Crist my lemmon swete (27), 95, 322 John (Jankin, Jack, Sir John), in sexual contexts, 14, 153, 202, 208, 233, 235, 238, 246, 252 John Chrysostom, Saint, 20 John of Garland, 12 “Jolly Jankin” lyrics, 14, 233, 234, 236 Jonson, Ben, 24 Judas, 41 Judas (poem), 41 Katherine, Saint, 52n7 Kennedy, Walter (Dunbar’s rival in flyting), 290, 305 Kildare Lyrics, 327 King’s College, Cambridge, 35 Kyndeli is now mi coming (14), 68, 316 Kyng Alisaunder, 28–9 “Kyrie, so kyrie” (100), 48n31, 234, 351–2 Lade help, Jhesu merce (Audelay, 16), 69–70, 317 lament, 26, 68; of hunted hare, 159–62; lover’s, 189–92, 216–18, 225–31; in lullaby, 127–9; of Mary, 119, 130–4, 313, 332; at Massacre of the Innocents, 122; in Mirie it is and “Prisoner’s Prayer,” 56, 63–5; woman’s, 233 “Lament for the Makars” (Dunbar, 130), 14, 286, 289–90 Lamentations of Jeremiah, 14, 111 Lancelot and Guinevere, 201 Latin language: in hymns, 26, 57; literary, 24; models, 123; and trilingualism, 17–18 Lent, 169 Lesbia, 199 lesbian desire, 200 Lewis, C.S., 200 Levedie, ic þonke þe (38), 120, 326

Index Lieder, 9 lily: in itemizing women’s beauty, 202, 208, 212; of the Virgin Mary, 299 literacy, 9, 48n27, 255, 232 Lollai lollai, litil child, whi wepistou so sore (39), 121, 326–7 Lord, how shall I me complayn (75), 185, 341 Lord of Misrule, 169–70, 179 Lord Randall (ballad), 41 Love, Goddess of, 280 Love is a selkud wodenesse, 37–9 love lyrics: in Harley 2253, 185, 201–2, 206 (see also under poem titles); in Old English, 20, 50n48 Love me brouthte (31), 94, 96, 323 Love Rune (Thomas of Hales), 31–2, 52n78 Loverd, þu clepedest me (24), 32–3, 71, 94, 320 lullabies, 121–2, 127–30 Lullay lullay, litel child, / Qui wepest þu so sore? (40), 327 Lullay myn lyking, my dere sone, myn swytyng (44), 121–2, 329–30 Lully lulla, þow littell tine child (47), 122, 139, 331 Lully lulley, lully lulley (50), 122, 332–3 Luria, Maxwell S., and Richard L. Hoffman (Middle English Lyrics), 44, 53n98 Lutel soth sermon, 234 Lutel wot hit any mon (22 and 90): on both poems, 93–4; on Poem 22, 319–20; on Poem 90, 204, 348 Luveli ter of loveli eyȝe (28), 95–6, 322 Lydgate, John, as “the monk of Bery,” 206, 303 lyric, as a concept, 4–8; courtly, 35, 144, 200, 206; definition of, 8–11; devotional, 32–3; from early modern to modern times, 18–22; embedded, 28–30; festive, 22, 23–4; form, 9–10, 25–6, 31; French, 13; genre of, 4–8, 12, 19, 47n11; in the ancient world, 11–12; in the “classic triad” of genres, 11–12; in Middle English, 13–18,

415

43–4; Occitan, 23; as song, celebration, or personal poetry, 22–5; theory of, 5, 8. See also poetry; song “lyrical,” use of, 6, 18 lyrics, Harley. See love lyrics and under poem titles lyrics, number of in Middle English, 44 macaronic verse, 27, 119, 123, 181 Maiden in the mor lay (53), 16, 26, 55, 145–6 Make we mery bothe more & lasse (69), 169–70, 339 malmariée. See chanson de malmariée Man mei longe him lives wene (8), 67, 72–4, 314–15; voice of, 97–108, 318–22 Man of Sorrows, 97, 296, 324 mankind: and Christ’s Atonement, 106; as Christ’s sweetheart, 96; in relation to the Virgin Mary, 133 Mannyng of Brunne, Robert, 51n67 marinha, 204 Marvell, Andrew (On a Drop of Dew), 120 Mary, the Virgin, 96, 105; as counterpart of Eve, 118, 119, 167; Five Joys of, 120, 136; in Marian lyrics, 72, 96, 118–43; as Queen of Heaven, 120, 171, 298–301; as rose, 118, 119, 120, 123, 136, 140, 298; as rose without thorn, 326, 331 Mass, 36, 140 Me þingkit þou art so loveli (91), 204–5, 348–9 “Meeting in the Wood” (113), 256, 357–8 melic verse, 12 Merciles Beaute, 34–5 Merie sungen ðe muneches binnen Ely (3), 57–8, 311 Merure de Seinte Eglise (St Edmund (Rich)), 33, 94–5 Mery tyme it is in Maii, 29 Michelangelo, 120 Middle English, 13–18; manuscripts, 16 Middle Scots, 3, 259 Midsummer Day. See Saint John’s Day

416 Mill, John Stuart, 19 Miller, Paul Allen, 24–5 Milton, 9, 27, 48n24 Minot, Laurence (Skottess out of Berwik and of Abirdene), 42 Mirie it is while sumer ilast (4), 56, 58, 311 misogyny, 42, 183–4, 193–7 money. See purse moralizing, 29, 31, 45, 71, 74, 315, 327 morality play, 66 mortality, 66–92. See also death Mosti ryden by Ribbesdale (85), 203, 345–6 “Mourning of the Hunted Hare” (62), 154, 159–62, 336 multiculturalism, 3–4 multilingualism, 3–4, 49n36, 49n42 music, 9, 23, 50n56 “My deþ y love, my lyf ich hate, for a levedy shene” (114), 258, 358 My gostly fadir, I me confesse (Charles d’Orléans, 120), 275, 363 My hertly love is in your governans (Charles d’Orléans, 125), 276, 364–5 My lefe ys faren in a lond (92), 205, 348–9 mystery play, 139 mysticism, 95 Nativity, of Christ, 118, 120 New Criticism, 5, 8, 22, 46 Nicholas, Saint, 57 Niles, John, 48n28 Norman Conquest, 35, 57 Norse poetry and mythology, 10, 70, 208, 344 Nou goth sonne under wod (19), 33, 94–5, 318 Nou sprinkes þe sprai (111), 13–14, 15, 255, 356–7; French source of, 15, 255, 357 Now have gud day, now have gud day (70), 169–70, 339–40 Now welcome, somer (Chaucer), 29–30 Now wolde y fayne sum merthis mak (94), 205, 349

Index O man unkynde (33), 15, 72, 96, 324 O mestres, whye (97), 205–6, 350–1 Occitan: genres in, 17, 23, 49n40, 53n89, 233; fin’amor, 199 Odin, 70 Of a rose, a lovely rose (45), 120, 136–7, 330 Of all creatures women be best (78), 183–4, 185, 342 Of everykune tre (51), 145, 334 Of on þat is so fayr and briȝt (36), 28, 119, 325–6 Office for the Dead, 14, 69, 368 Ofte in my thought full besily have y sought (Charles d’Orléans, 117), 274–5, 359–60 Old English, 13, 45, 56; alliterative metre, 56; elegies, 33; heroic poetry, 94; laments, 34; literary culture, 57; poetry, 35; tradition, 57 Old French, 10; chanson de femme, 200, 232; chansons de geste, 23; pastourelle, 255, 258 Old Norse, 10 On hire is al mi lif ilong (37), 119, 326 orality, 16, 20, 25, 26, 58, 122, 145, 152–5, 202, 232, 238, 333, 345, 346 Owen, A.E.B. See Beadle, Richard, and A.E.B. Owen Oxford (university), 169 Paden, William, 15, 49n40, 50n55, 53n99 Page, Christopher, 51n66, 57 paraclausithuron, 258 Paradise, 32, 92, 123; two apples of, 202, 203, 215, 346; as God’s home, 275, 360, 361 Paris, Gaston (“amour courtois”), 22, 200 parody, 185, 185–92, 203, 287, 290–1 Passio Christi conforta me, 87–9, 317 pastourelle, 254–9; in Middle English versus French, 15, 258; in late Middle English, 48n31; in Scots, 287–8, 290 p’Bitek, Okot, 254 Pearl, 27

Index Peire d’Alvernha, 199 Peperit virgo, 26 personification, 276; of the heart, 228–9, 283–4 Peter (disciple), 41 Perspice Christolica, 26, 59 Petrarch, Francesco, 12 Piers Plowman, 30 Pietà, 121, 141 Pindar, 10, 24, 44, 69 Planctus ante nescia, 26 Plato, 11, 12, 19 poetry: meditative, 22; personal, 22, 24–5, 32–3 Pope, the, 170, 203, 214, 343, 346 popular style/register, as opposed to aristocratic or learned, 16–17, 24, 26, 49n38, 144, 152 post-Romantic: readers, 146; writers on lyric, 19, 23 prayer, 59, 89, 120; penitential, 119, 125; themes of, 95 precious stones: in catalogue of female beauty, 208; applied to the Virgin Mary, 300 “Prisoner’s Prayer” (6), 59, 312–13 proverbs. See Whiting, Bartlett Jere Protestantism, 116 purse, praise of, 183, 186, 340–1 Puttenham, George, 18 Quanne hic se on rode (20), 71, 95, 319 Queen’s College, Oxford (“The Queen’s Carol), 168 quia amore langueo, 121, 131–4 Radegund, Saint, 104 Rawlinson lyrics, 7, 16 Reading Abbey, 26 Red Book of Ossory, 26, 146, 237, 238, 334, 351 refined love, 120, 199–231. See also courtly love; fin’amor

417

Reformation: in England, 19, 170; in Scotland, 287 Reichl, Karl, 48n28, 49n37, 49n41, 50n57, 53n90, 53n94, 58, 59, 154, 155 religious poetry, 21 Resurrection hymn, 59 Resurrection, of Christ, 120, 289, 296–8 Revard, Carter, 206 reverdie, 13, 48n29, 203 Revert, revert, revert, revert (James Ryman, 34), 96, 324 Ribblesdale, 203 Richard I, 17 Richard de Ledrede, Bishop, 26 Richard Lord Strange of Knockin, 70 Rigg, A.G., 170 Riming Poem, The, 26 Robbins, Rossell Hope, as editor, 11, 39, 41, 44, 46n4, 48n31, 53n98, 146, 167, 185, 233, 236–7 “Robene and Makyne” (127), 287–8 Robertson, D.W., Jr, 145–6 Roman de la Rose (Guillaume de Lorris), 34, 347 Roman de la Rose (Jean Renart; also entitled Guillaume de Dole), 28 Roman poetry, 10, 24–5, 258 romances, medieval, 202, 287, 344, 368, 369. See also under poem titles rondeau, 13, 23 rondet de carole, 154 rose: as image for Mary (see under Mary, the Virgin); as motif associated with a young girl, 145, 185, 202, 208, 212, 213, 218; as a young girl’s bower, 148–9, 150 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel (“Where are the snows of yesteryear?”), 32 roundel, 29, 34 Ruskin, John, 25 Rybbe ne rele ne spynne yc ne may (101), 234, 352 Ryman, Friar James, 72, 96, 97, 113, 155, 169, 170, 176, 324

418

Index

Saint Godric Lyrics, 26, 57, 58, 62 Saint John’s Day/Eve (Nativity of St John the Baptist), 234, 235, 242, 246 Sainte Marie virgine (1), 310 Sainte Nicholaes, Godes druð (1), 310 Sappho, 10, 25, 44, 67 Sayings of St. Bernard, 31, 68 scaldic poetry, 10 Schubert, Franz, 145 Scots dialect, 3, 286, 292, 370 Scottish poets, 3, 286–308, 365–70 Seafarer, 52n87 sea-song, 204 secular lyric, 16, 236. See also under Robbins, Rossell Hope, as editor seduction, 254–71 Semonides, 184 serving maids, 240–4 Shakespeare, William, 200; As You Like It (“The Seven Ages of Man”), 290; Henry V, 167; Love’s Labour’s Lost, 59; Measure for Measure, 235; Romeo and Juliet, 258; Sonnet 129, 38 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 6, 19 Sidney, Sir Philip, 18 singing. See song Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 168 sirventes, 23 So fayre, so freshe, so goodely on to se (Charles d’Orléans, 124), 276, 364 So well ys me begone (109), 236, 355–6 Sodenly afraide (49), 120–1 song, 9, 19, 20, 22–3, 25, 255; erotic, 17 Song of Lawino and Song of Ocol, 254 Song of Roland, 23 Song of Songs, 121 songbooks, 71; early Tudor, 50n45 “Soul to the Body,” 31 Spearing, A.C., 12, 45 spice: in catalogue of female beauty, 209; applied to the Virgin Mary, 300 Spitzer, Leo, 32 “Spring” (87), 203–4, 205, 347 “Spring Song on the Passion,” 68, 80

Stevens, John, 9, 19, 23, 46n4, 47n14, 48n28, 50n44–5 Steddefast crosse inmong alle oþer (25), 94, 321 Stond wel, moder, ounder rode (30), 96, 323 Suete Jhesu king of blysse (21), 71, 319 Sumer is icumen in (7), 26, 29, 35, 56, 313–14 Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro (refrain of Dunbar’s Done is a battell on þe dragon blak), 297–8 Swarte smekyd smeþes smateryd wyth smoke (72), 40, 184, 340 Syng we alle and sey we thus (73), 186, 340–1 tenso, 254 Testament of Cresseid (Henryson), 287 The fals fox came unto our croft (63), 154–5 The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, 289 The smylyng mouth and laughyng eyen gray (Charles d’Orléans, 121), 276, 363–4 theorists: Occitan, 17; Renaissance, 10, 12, 18–19, 48n24 Ther is no rose of swych vertu (48), 119–20, 331 Thomas of Hales (Love Rune), 31–2 “Three Sorrowful Things,” 80, 316 Throughe a forest as I can ryde (115), 41, 256–7, 358 timor mortis conturbat me: in Audelay and Dunbar, 14; in I þat in heill wes and gladnes (Dunbar), 301–5; in In what estate, 89; in Lade help (Audelay) and In what estate so ever I be (anon.), 69; in Lade help, 87, 317 Todorov, Tzvetan, 5, 7 townish, 306 Trinity Carol Roll, 41 Tristan and Iseult, 201 troubadours: and courtly love, 200; women troubadours, 200 ubi sunt motif, 31–2, 68, 77–9 Upon a lady my love ys lent (46), 120, 330–1 Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren (11), 31–2, 66, 68, 315

Index Vaughan, Henry, 44, 95 Venantius Fortunatus, 104 Vernon lyrics, 69 verse, practical, 39 Villon, François (Ballade des dames du temps jadis), 32 virelai, 13, 23, 205, 226–7, 349 Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro), 233 voice, 44, 45, 66, 145; and authorship in Charles d’Orléans, 273, 276; male or female, 206, 235; in Old English poetry, 199–200; in a popular style/register, 200; spoken voice, 202; woman’s, 232–3; woman’s, in the Findern Manuscript, 236 Wace, 23 Walther von der Vogelweide, 201 Wanderer, 31, 52n79 Wanne ich þenche þinges þre (12), 68, 316 “Way of Christ’s Love” (22), 93–4, 204, 320 “Way of Woman’s Love” (90), 93–4, 204, 320, 348 Wechsel, 254 Wellek, Rene, 5 Welles Anthology, 256, 257 Welles, Humphrey, 256, 258 well-waking, 235 Welsh poetry, 4 Wen þe turuf is þi tuur (9), 31, 41, 67, 68, 315 Wenzel, Siegfried, 38, 71, 320, 322, 329, 349 Wer þer ouþer in þis toun (54), 146 Were beþ þey biforen us weren. See Uuere beþ þey biforen us weren Were it undo þat is ydo (103), 235, 353 Western European literary tradition, 7, 46 Westron wynde (98), 36–7, 44, 45, 206, 351 Whane thes thynges foloyng be done to owr intent (77), 185, 341–2 Whatso men sayn (107), 236 When þe nyhtegale singes þe wodes waxen grene (89), 204, 348 When y se blosmes springe, 68, 80

419

Whiting, Bartlett Jere (collection of proverbs), 315, 341, 342, 353, 358, 366 Whiting, Ella Keats, as editor, 317 Whitman, Walt, 24 Whon men beoþ muriest at heor mele (15), 69, 316 Wife’s Lament, 33, 50n48 William of Malmesbury, 23 “Winter Song” (13), 68–9, 316 Wittgenstein (Familienähnlichkeiten), 7 Wiþ longyng y am lad (84), 203, 345 wives, dominating, 184 Wolde God that hyt were so (104), 235–6, 353 Wolfram von Eschenbach (Parzival), 201 “woman’s song,” as technical term, 33, 52n83, 53n89, 232–3 woman’s voice. See under voice women troubadours, 200 women’s vices, 195–7 women’s writing, 237–8 Woolf, Rosemary, 20–1, 23, 59, 70, 95, 96, 123 Wordsworth, William, 19; Lyrical Ballads, 6, 40–1; Prelude, 9, 25 “worldly bliss,” 67–8, 278–80 Worldes blis ne last no þrowe (10), 67–8, 75–7, 315 Worldes blisce have god day (23), 68, 71, 95, 320 Wulf and Eadwacer, 33, 37, 50n48 Wulfstan of Worcester, Saint, 57 Wyatt, Thomas, 122 Wynter wakeneþ al my care (13), 68–9, 316 “Yesterday.” See Whon men beoþ muriest at heor mele Yit wulde I nat the causer faryd amysse (108), 236 Zumthor, Paul, 48n29, 49n40, 52n82 Ȝe þat pasen be þe weyȝe (32), 14, 96, 323