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St Patrick's Purgatory
& liued in dedeli sinne. {f.25ra}
 Seyn Patrike hadde rewþe
Of hir misbileue & vntrew[þ]e,
Þat þai weren inne.
500 ¶ Oft he proued sarmoun to make, Þat þai schuld to God take
& do after his rede.
Þai were fulfild of felonie;
Þai no held it bot ribaudie
1000 Of noþing þat he sede.
¶ & al þai seyd commounliche,
Þat non of hem wold sikerliche
Do bi his techeing,
Bot ȝif he dede þat sum man
1500 Into helle went þan,
To bring hem tiding
¶ Of þe pain & of þe wo
Þe soulen suffri euermo,
Þai þat ben þerinne;
2000 & elles þai seyd þat nolden hye
Of her misdede nouȝt repenti,
No her folies blinne.
¶ When sein Patrike herd þis,
Michel he card forsoþe, ywis,
2500 & sore he gan desmay.
Oft he was in aflicc[i]oun,
In fasting & in orisoun,
Ihesu Crist to pray
¶ Þat he him schuld grace sende,
3000 Hou he miȝt raþest wende
Out of þe fendes bond,
& do hem com to amendement
& leue on God omnipotent,
Þe folk of Yrlond.
3500 ¶ & als he was in holy chirche, Godes werkes for to wirche,
& made his praier,
& bad for þat ich þing,
Sone he fel on slepeing
4000 Toforn his auter.
¶ In his chapel he slepe wel swete,
Of fele þinges him gan mete
Þat was in heuen-blis.
As he slepe, forsoþe him þouȝt
4500 Þat Ihesu, þat
ous dere bouȝt, {f.25rb}
To him com, ywis,
¶ & ȝaf him a bok þat nas nouȝt lite:
Þer nis no clerk þat swiche can write,
No neuer no schal be.
5000 It spekeþ of al maner godspelle,
Of heuen, & erþe, & of helle,
Of Godes priuete.
¶ More him þouȝt, þat God him ȝaf
In his hond a wel feir staf,
5500 In slepe þer he lay;
& Godes Staf, ich vnderstond,
Men clepeþ þat staf in Yrlond
ȝete to þis ich day.
¶ When God him þis ȝif hadde,
6000 Him þouȝt þat he him ladde
Þennes þe way ful riȝt
Into an gret desert;
Þer was an hole michel apert,
Þat griseliche was of siȝt.
6500 ¶ Rounde it was about & blak; In alle þe warld no was his mack,
So griselich entring.
When þat Patrike yseye þat siȝt,
Swiþe sore he was afliȝt
7000 In his slepeing.
¶ Þo God almiȝten him schewed & seyd,
Who þat hadde don sinful dede
Oȝaines Godes lawe,
& wold him þerof repenti,
7500 & take penaunce hastily,
& his foliis wiþdrawe,
¶ So schuld in þis ich hole
A parti of penaunce þole
For his misdede;
8000 A niȝt & a day be herinne,
& al him schuld [be] forȝiue his sinne,
& þe better spede.
¶ & ȝif he ben of gode creaunce,
Gode & poure wiþouten dotaunce,
8500 & stedfast [of] bileue,
He no schuld nouȝt be þerin ful long,
Þat he ne schal se þe paines strong –
Ac non no schal him greue –
¶ In wiche þe soules ben ydo, {f.25va}
9000 Þat haue deserued to com þerto,
In þis world, ywis;
& also þan sen he may
Þat ich ioie þat lasteþ ay,
Þat is in paradis.
9500 ¶ When Ihesu had yseyd alout, & yschewed al about
Wiþ wel milde chere,
God, þat bouȝt ous dere in heuen,
Fram him he went wiþ milde steuen,
1000 & Patrike bileft þere.
¶ When Seyn Patrike o slepe he woke,
Gode token he fond & vp hem toke
Of his sweuening:
Bok & staf þer he fond,
1050 & tok hem vp in his hond,
& þonked heuen-king.
¶ He kneld & held vp his hond,
& þonked Ihesu Cristes sond
Þat he him hadde ysent,
1100 Wharþurth he miȝt vnderstond
To turn þat folk of Yrlond
To com to amendement.
¶ In þat stede wiþouten lett
A fair abbay he lete sett
1150 Wiþouten ani dueling,
In þe name of Godes glorie,
Seyn Patrike & our leuedy,
Forto rede & sing.
¶ Seyn Patrike maked þe abbay:
1200 Þat wite wele men of þe cuntray,
Þat non is þat yliche.
Regles is þat abbay name,
Þer is solas, gle & game
Wiþ pouer & eke wiþ riche.
1250 ¶ White chanounes he sett þerate To serue God, arliche & late,
& holy men to be.
Þat ich boke & þat staf,
Þat God Seyn Patrike ȝaf,
1300 ȝete þer man may se.
¶ In þe est ende of þe abbay
Þer is þat hole, forsoþe to say,
Þat griseliche is of siȝt, {f.25vb}
¶ Wiþ gode ston wal al abouten,
1350 Wiþ locke & keye þe gate to louken,
Patrike lete it diȝte.
¶ Þat ich stede, siker ȝe be,
Is ycleped þe riȝt entre
Of Patrikes Purgatorie:
1400 For in þat time þat þis bifelle,
Mani a man went into helle,
As it seyt in þe storie,
¶ & suffred pein for her trespas,
& com oȝain þurth Godes gras,
1450 & seyd alle & some,
Þat þai hadde sen sikerliche
Þe paines of helle apertliche,
When þai were out ycome.
¶ & also þai seyd wiþ heye,
1500 Apertliche þe ioies þai seiȝe
Of angels singing
To God almiȝti & to his.
Þat is þe ioie of paradys;
Ihesu ous þider bring.
1550 ¶ When alle þe folk of Yrlond Þe ioies gan vnderstond,
Þat Seyn Patrike hem sede,
To him þai com euerichon,
& were ycristned in fonston,
1600 & leten her misdede.
¶ & þus þai bicom, lasse & more,
Cristen men þurth Godes lore,
Þurth Patrikes preier.
Now herknes to mi talking:
1650 Ichil ȝou tel of oþer þing,
ȝif ȝe it wil yhere.
Bi Steuenes day, þe king ful riȝt,
Þat Jnglond stabled & diȝt
Wel wiselich in his time,
1700 In Norþhumberland was a kniȝt,
A douhti man & swiþe wiȝt,
As it seyt in þis rime.
¶ Oweyn he hiȝt, wiþouten les,
In cuntre þer he born wes,
1750 As ȝe may yhere.
Wel michel he couþe of batayle,
& swiþe sinful he was saunfayle {f.26ra}
Oȝain his creatour.
¶ On a day he him biþouȝt
1800 Of þe sinne he hadde ywrouȝt,
& sore him gan adrede,
& þouȝt he wold þurth Godes grace
Ben yschriue of his trispas,
& leten his misdede.
1850 ¶ & when he hadde þus gode creaunce, He com, as it bifel a chaunce,
To þe bischop of Yrlond,
Þer he lay in þat abbay,
Þer was þat hole, forsoþe to say,
1900 Penaunce to take an hond.
¶ To þe bischop he biknewe his sinne,
& prayd him, for Godes winne,
Þat he him schuld schriue,
& legge on him penaunce sore:
1950 He wold sinne, he seyd, no more,
Neuer eft in his liue.
¶ Þe bischop þerof was ful bliþe,
& for his sinne blamed him swiþe,
Þat he him hadde ytold,
2000 & seyd he most penaunce take,
ȝif he wald his sinne forsake,
Hard & manifold.
¶ Þan answerd þe kniȝt Owayn,
‘Don ichil’ he seyd ‘ful feyn,
2050 What God me wil sende.
Þei þou me wost comandy
Into Patrikes Purgatori,
Þider ichil wende.’
¶ Þe bischop seyd ‘Nay, Owain, frende.
2100 Þat ich way schaltow nouȝt wende;’
& told him of þe pine,
& bede him lete be þat mischaunce,
& ‘Take’ he seyd ‘sum oþer penaunce,
To amende þe of sinnes þine.’
2150 ¶ For nouȝt þe bischop couþe say, Þe kniȝt nold nouȝt leten his way,
His soule to amende.
Þan ladde he him into holy chirche,
Godes werkes for to wirche,
2200 & þe riȝt lawe him kende.
¶ Fiften days in aflicc[i]oun, {f.26rb}
In fasting & in orisoun
He was, wiþouten lesing.
Þan þe priour wiþ processioun,
2250 Wiþ croice & wiþ gonfanoun,
To þe hole he gan him bring.
¶ Þe priour seyd ‘Kniȝt Oweyn,
Her is þi gate to go ful gain,
Wende riȝt euen forþ;
2300 & when þou a while ygon hast,
Liȝt of day þou al forlast,
Ac hold þe euen norþ.
¶ Þus þou schalt vnder erþe gon;
Þan þou schalt finde sone anon
2350 A wel gret feld, apliȝt,
& þerin an halle of ston –
Swiche in world no wot y non –
Sumdele þer is of liȝt.
¶ Namore liȝtnesse nis þer yfounde
2400 Þan þe sonne goþ to grounde
In winter sikerly.
Into þe halle þou schalt go,
& duelle þer tille þer com mo
Þat schul þe solaci.
2450 ¶ Þritten men þer schul come, Godes seriaunce alle & some,
As it seyt in þe stori;
& hye þe schul conseily
Hou þou schalt þe conteyni
2500 Þe way þurth purgatori.’
¶ Þan þe priour & his couent
Bitauȝt him God, & forþ hy went;
Þe gate þai schet anon.
Þe kniȝt his way haþ sone ynome,
2550 Þat into þe feld he was ycome
Þer was þe halle of ston.
¶ Þe halle was ful selly diȝt,
Swiche can make no erþeliche wiȝt;
Þe pilers stode wide.
2600 Þe kniȝt wonderd þat he fond
Swiche an halle in þat lond,
& open in ich side.
¶ & when he hadde long stond þerout,
& deuised al about,
2650 In he went þare.
{f.26va}
Þritten men þer come,
Wise men þai war of dome,
& white abite þai bere,
¶ & al her crounes wer newe schorn;
2700 Þer most maister ȝede biforn
& salud þe kniȝt.
Adoun he sat, so seyt þe boke,
& kniȝt Owain to him he toke,
& told him resoun riȝt.
2750 ¶ ‘Ichil þe conseyl, leue broþer, As ichaue don mani anoþer
Þat han ywent þis way,
Þat þou ben of gode creaunce,
Certeyn & poure wiþouten dotaunce
2800 To God þi trewe fay;
¶ For þou schalt se, when we ben ago,
A þousend fendes & wele mo,
To bring þe into pine.
Ac loke wele, bise þe so,
2850 & þou ani þing bi hem do,
Þi soule þou schalt tine.
¶ Haue God in þine hert,
& þenk opon his woundes smert,
Þat he suffred þe fore.
2900 & bot þou do [as] y þe telle,
Bodi & soule þou gos to helle,
& euermore forlore.
¶ Nempne Godes heiȝe name,
& þai may do þe no schame,
2950 For nouȝt þat may bifalle.’
& when þai hadde conseyld þe kniȝt,
No lenge bileue he no miȝt,
Bot went out of þe halle;
¶ He & alle his fellawered
3000 Bitauȝt him God & forþ þai ȝede
Wiþ ful mild chere.
Owein bileft þer in drede,
To God he gan to clepi & grede,
& maked his preier.
3050 ¶ & sone þerafter sikerly He gan to here a reweful cri;
He was aferd ful sore.
Þei alle þe warld falle schold,
Fram þe firmament to þe mold, {f.26vb}
3100 No miȝt haue ben no more.
¶ & when of þe cri was passed þe drede,
Þer com in a grete ferrede
Of fendes fifti score
About þe kniȝt into þe halle;
3150 Loþly þinges þai weren alle,
Bihinde & eke bifore.
¶ & þe kniȝt þai ȝeden abouten,
& grenned on him her foule touten,
& drof him to heþeing,
3200 & seyd he was comen wiþ flesche & fel
To fechen him þe ioie of helle
Wiþouten ani ending.
¶ Þe most maister-fende of alle
Adoun on knes he gan to falle
3250 & seyd ‘Welcome, Owein.
Þou art ycomen to suffri pine
To amende þe of sinnes tine,
Ac alle gett þe no gain,
¶ For þou schalt haue pine anouȝ,
3300 Hard, strong, & ful touȝ,
For þi dedli sinne.
No haddestow neuer more meschaunce
Þan þou schal haue in our daunce,
When we schul play biginne.
3350 ¶ Ac no for þan’ þe fendes sede, ‘ȝif þou wilt do bi our rede,
For þou art ous leue & dere,
We schul þe bring wiþ fine amour
Þer þou com in fram þe priour,
3400 Wiþ our felawes yfere.
¶ & elles we schul þe teche here,
Þat þou has serued ous mani ȝer
In pride & lecherie;
For we þe haue so long yknawe,
3450 To þe we schul our hokes þrawe,
Alle our compeynie.’
¶ He seyd he nold wiþouten feyle,
‘Ac y forsake ȝour conseyle;
Mi penaunce ichil take.’
3500 & when þe fendes yherd þis,
Amidward þe halle, ywis,
A grete fer þai gun make.
¶ Fet & hond þai bounde him hard, {f.27ra}
& casten him amidward.
3550 He cleped to our driȝt;
Anon þe fer oway was weued,
Cole no spark þer nas bileued
Þurth grace of God almiȝt.
¶ & when þe kniȝt yseiȝe þis,
3600 Michel þe balder he was, ywis,
& wele gan vnderstond,
& þouȝt wele in his memorie,
It was þe fendes trecherie,
His hert for to fond.
3650 ¶ Þe fendes went out of þe halle, Þe kniȝt þai ladde wiþ hem alle
Intil an vncouþe lond.
Þer no was no maner wele,
Bot hunger, þrust & chele;
3700 No tre no seiȝe he stond.
¶ Bot a cold winde þat blewe þere,
Þat vnneþe ani man miȝt yhere,
& perced þurth his side.
Þe fendes han þe kniȝt ynome
3750 So long þat þai ben ycome
Into a valay wide.
¶ Þo wende þe kniȝt he hadde yfounde
Þe deppest pit in helle-grounde.
When he com neiȝe þe stede
3800 He loked vp sone anon;
Strong it was forþer to gon,
He herd schriche & grede.
¶ He seiȝe þer ligge ful a feld
Of men & wimen þat wern aqueld,
3850 Naked wiþ mani a wounde.
Toward þe erþe þai lay deueling,
‘Allas! allas!’ was her brocking,
Wiþ iren bendes ybounde;
¶ & gun to scriche & to wayly,
3900 & crid ‘allas! merci, merci!
Merci, God almiȝt!’
Merci nas þer non, forsoþe,
Bot sorwe of hert & grinding of toþe:
Þat was a griseli siȝt.
3950 ¶ Þat ich sorwe & þat reuþe Is for þe foule sinne of slewþe,
As it seyt in þe stori. {f.27rb}
Who þat is slowe in Godes seruise
Of þat pain hem may agrise,
4000 To legge in purgatori.
¶ Þis was þe first pain, apliȝt,
Þat þai dede Owain þe kniȝt:
Þai greued him swiþe sore.
Alle þat pain he haþ ouerschaken;
4050 Vntil anoþer þai han him taken,
Þer he seiȝe sorwe more
¶ Of men & wimen þat þer lay,
Þat crid ‘allas & waileway!’
For her wicked lore.
4100 Þilche soules lay vpward,
As þe oþer hadde ly do[u]nward
Þat ytold of bifore.
¶ & were þurth fet, & hond, & heued,
Wiþ iren nailes gloweand red,
4150 To þe erþe ynayled þat tide.
Owain seiȝe sitt on hem þere
Loþli dragouns alle o fer;
In herd is nouȝt to hide.
¶ On sum sete todes blake,
4200 Euetes, neddren & þe snake,
Þat frete hem bac & side.
Þis is be pain of glotoni:
For Godes loue, be war þerbi.
¶ It rinneþ al to wide.
4250 ȝete him þouȝt a pain strong Of a cold winde blewe hem among,
Þat com out of þe sky;
So bitter & so cold it blewe,
Þat alle þe soules it ouerþrewe
4300 Þat lay in purgatori.
¶ Þe fendes lopen on hem þare,
& wiþ her hokes hem al totere,
& loude þai gun to crie.
Who þat is licchoure in þis liif,
4350 Be it man oþer be it wiif,
Þat schal ben his bayli.
¶ Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt,
‘Þou hast ben strong lichoure, apliȝt,
& strong glotoun also:
4400 Into þis pain þou schalt be diȝt,
Bot þou take þe way ful riȝt {f.27va}
Oȝain þer þou com fro.’
¶ Owain seyd ‘Nay, Satan.
ȝete forþermar ichil gan,
4450 Þurth grace of God almiȝt.’
Þe fendes wald him haue hent:
Þe cleped to God omnipotent,
& þai lorn al her miȝt.
Þai ladde him forþer into a stede
4500 Þer men neuer gode no dede,
Bot schame & vilanie.
Herkneþ now & ben in pes.
In þe ferþ feld it wes,
Al ful of turmentrie.
4550 ¶ Sum bi þe fet wer honging, Wiþ iren hokes al brening,
& sum bi þe swere,
& sum bi wombe & sum bi rigge,
Al oþerwise þan y can sigge,
4600 In diuers manere.
¶ & sum in forneise were ydon,
Wiþ molten ledde & quic brunston
Boiland aboue þe fer,
& sum bi þe tong hing,
4650 ‘Allas!’ was euer her brocking,
& no noþer preiere.
¶ & sum on grediris layen þere,
Al glowand oȝains þe fer,
Þat Owain wele yknewe,
4700 Þat whilom were of his queyntaunce,
Þat suffred þer her penaunce:
Þo chaunged al his hewe.
¶ A wilde fer hem þurthout went,
Alle þat it oftok it brent,
4750 Ten þousend soules & mo:
Þo þat henge bi fet & swere,
Þat were þeues & þeues fere,
& wrouȝt man wel wo.
¶ & þo þat henge bi þe tong,
4800 Þat ‘allas’ euer song,
& so loude crid,
Þat wer bacbiters in her liue.
Be war þerbi, man & wiue,
Þat lef beþ forto chide.
4850 ¶ Alle þe stedes
þe kniȝt com bi {f.27vb} Were þe paines of purgatori
For her werkes wrong.
Whoso is lef on þe halidom swere,
Or ani fals witnes bere,
4900 Þer ben her peynes strong.
Owain anon him biwent
& seiȝe where a whele trent,
Þat griseliche were of siȝt;
Michel it was, about it wond,
4950 & brend riȝt as it were a brond;
Wiþ hokes it was ydiȝt.
¶ An hundred þousand soules & mo
Opon þe whele were honging þo;
Þe fendes þertil ourn.
5000 Þe stori seyt of Owain þe kniȝt,
Þat no soule knowe he no miȝt,
So fast þai gun it tourn.
¶ Out of þe erþe com a liȝting
Of a blo fer al brening,
5050 Þat stank foule wiþalle,
& about þe whele it went,
& þe soules it forbrent
To poudre swiþe smal.
¶ Þat whele þat renneþ in þis wise,
5100 Is for þe sinne of couaitise,
Þat regnes now oueral.
Þe coueytous man haþ neuer anouȝ
Of gold, of siluer, no of plouȝ,
Til deþ him do doun falle.
5150 ¶ Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt, ‘Þou hast ben couaitise, apliȝt,
To win lond & lede;
Opon þis whele þou schal be diȝt,
Bot ȝif þou take þe way ful riȝt
5200 Intil þin owhen þede.’
¶ Þer conseyl he haþ forsaken.
Þe fendes han þe kniȝt forþ taken,
& bounde him swiþe hard
Opon þe whele þat arn about,
5250 & so loþly gan to rout,
& cast him amidward.
¶ Þo þe hokes him torent,
& þe wild fer him tobrent,
On Ihesu Crist he þouȝt. {f.28ra}
5300 Fram þat whele an angel him bare,
& al þe fendes þat were þare
No miȝt him do riȝt nouȝt.
Þai ladde him forþer wiþ gret pain,
Til þai com to a mounteyn
5350 Þat was as rede as blod,
& men & wimen þeron stode.
Him þouȝt it nas for non gode,
For þai cride as þai were wode.
¶ Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt þan,
5400 ‘Þou hast wonder of þilche man
Þat make so dreri mode:
For þai deserued Godes wreche,
Þem schal sone com a beuereche,
Þat schal nouȝt þenche hem gode.’
5450 ¶ No hadde he no raþer þat word yseyd, As it is in þe stori leyd,
Þer com a windes blast,
Þat fende & soule & kniȝt vp went
Almest into þe firmament,
5500 & seþþen adon him cast
¶ Into a stinkand riuer,
Þat vnder þe mounteyn ran o fer,
As quarel of alblast.
& cold it was as ani ise:
5550 Þe pain may no man deuise,
Þat him was wrouȝt in hast.
¶ Seyn Owain in þe water was dreynt,
& wex þerin so mad & feynt,
Þat neiȝe he was forlore;
5600 Sone so he on God miȝt þenchen ouȝt,
Out of þe water he was ybrouȝt,
& to þe lond ybore.
¶ Þat ich pain, ich vnderstond,
Is for boþe niþe & ond,
5650 Þat was so wick liif;
Ond was þe windes blast
Þat into þe stinking water him cast:
Ich man be war þerbi.
Forþ þai ladde him swiþe wiþalle,
5700 Til þai com to an halle;
He no seiȝe neuer er non swiche.
Out of þe halle com an hete,
Þat þe kniȝt bigan to swete, {f.28rb}
He seiȝe so foule a smiche.
5750 ¶ Þo stint he forþer for to gon. Þe fendes it aperceiued anon,
& were þerof ful fawe.
‘Turn oȝain’ þai gun to crie,
‘Or þou schalt wel sone dye,
5800 Bot þou þe wiþdrawe.’
¶ & when he com to þe halle dore,
He no hadde neuer sen bifore
Haluendel þe care.
Þe halle was ful of turmentri:
5850 Þo þat were in þat bayly
Of blis þai were ful bare,
¶ For al was þe halle grounde
Ful of pittes þat were rounde,
& were ful yfilt
5900 To þe brerdes, gret & smal,
Of bras & coper & oþer metal,
& quic bronston ymelt.
¶ & men & wimen þeron stode,
& schrist & crid as þai wer wode,
5950 For her dedeli sinne.
Sum to þe nauel wode,
& sum to þe brestes ȝode,
& sum to þe chin.
¶ Ich man after his misgilt
6000 In þat pein was ypilt,
To haue þat strong hete;
& sum bere bagges about her swere
Of pens gloweand al of fer,
& swiche mete þer þai ete.
6050 ¶ Þat were gauelers in her liif. Be war þerbi, boþe man & wiif,
Swiche sinne þat ȝe lete.
& mani soules þer ȝede vpriȝtes,
Wiþ fals misours & fals wiȝtes,
6100 Þat fendes opon sete.
¶ Þe fendes to þe kniȝt sede,
‘Þou most baþi in þis lede
Ar þan þou hennes go;
For þine okering & for þi sinne
6150 A parti þou most be wasche herinne,
O cours or to.’
¶ Owain drad þat turment, {f.28va}
& cleped to God omnipotent,
& his moder Marie.
6200 Yborn he was out of þe halle,
Fram þe paines & þe fendes alle,
Þo he so loude gan crie.
Anon þe kniȝt was war þer,
Whare sprang out a flaumme o fer,
6250 Þat was stark & store.
Out þe erþe þe fer aros,
Þo þe kniȝt wel sore agros;
As cole & piche it fore.
¶ Of seuen maner colours þe fer out went,
6300 Þe soules þerin it forbrent;
Sum was ȝalu & grene,
Sum was blac, & sum was blo.
Þo þat were þerin, hem was ful wo,
& sum as nadder on to sene.
6350 ¶ Þe fende haþ þe kniȝt ynome, & to þe pit þai weren ycome,
& seyd þus in her spelle,
‘Now, Owain, þou miȝt solas make,
For þou schalt wiþ our felawes schake
6400 Into þe pit of helle.
¶ Þis ben our foules in our caghe,
& þis is our courtelage
& our castel tour;
Þo þat ben herin ybrouȝt,
6450 Sir kniȝt, hou trowestow ouȝt,
Þat hem is ani þing sour?
¶ Now turn oȝain or to late,
Ar we þe put in at helle-gate;
Out no schaltow neuer winne,
6500 For no noise no for no crie,
No for no clepeing to Marie,
No for no maner ginne.’
¶ Her conseil þe kniȝt forsoke.
Þe fendes him nom, so seiþ þe boke,
6550 & bounde him swiþe fast;
Into þat ich wicke prisoun,
Stinckand & derk fer adoun
Amidward þai him cast.
¶ Euer þe neþer þat þai him cast
6600 Þe hatter þe fer on him last.
Þo him gan sore smert, {f.28vb}
He cleped to God omnipotent,
To help him out of þat turment,
Wiþ gode wille & stedefast hert.
6650 ¶ Out of þe pit he was yborn, & elles he hadde ben forlorn
To his ending-day.
Þat is þe pine þat ich of rede,
Is for þe foule sinne of prede,
6700 Þat schal lasten ay.
¶ Biside þe pit he seiȝe & herd
Hou God almiȝten him had ywerd;
His cloþes wer al torent.
Forþer couþe he no way,
6750 Þer him þouȝt a diuers cuntray;
His bodi was al forbrent.
¶ Þo chaunged Owain rode & hewe;
Fendes he seiȝe, ac non he no knewe,
In þat diuers lond;
6800 Sum sexti eiȝen bere,
Þat loþeliche & griseliche we[re],
& sum hadde sexti hond.
¶ Þai seyd ‘Þou schalt nouȝt ben alon,
Þou schalt hauen ous to mon,
6850 To teche þe newe lawes,
As þou hast ylernd ere,
In þe stede þer þou were
Amonges our felawes.’
¶ Þe fendes han þe kniȝt ynome,
6900 To a stinkand water þai ben ycome;
He no seiȝe neuer er non swiche.
It stank fouler þan ani hounde,
& mani mile it was to þe grounde,
& was as swart as piche.
6950 ¶ & Owain seiȝe þerouer ligge A swiþe strong naru brigge.
Þe fendes seyd þo,
‘Lo, sir kniȝt, sestow þis?
Þis is þe brigge of paradis,
7000 Here ouer þou most go;
¶ & we þe schul wiþ stones þrowe,
& þe winde þe schal ouer blowe,
& wirche þe ful wo.
Þou no schalt, for al þis midnerd,
7050 Bot ȝif þou falle
amidwerd {f.29ra}
To our fe[la]wes mo.
¶ & when þou art adoun yfalle,
Þan schal com our felawes alle,
& wiþ her hokes þe hede.
7100 We schul þe teche a newe play –
Þou hast serued ous mani a day –
& into helle þe lede.’
¶ Owain biheld þe brigge smert,
Þe water þervnder, blac & swert,
7150 & sore him gan to drede,
For of o þing he tok ȝeme:
Neuer mot in sonnebeme
Þicker þan þe fendes ȝede.
¶ Þe brigge was as heiȝe as a tour,
7200 & as scharpe as a rasour,
& naru it was also;
& þe water þat þer ran vnder
Brend o liȝting & of þonder,
Þat þouȝt him michel wo.
7250 ¶ Þer nis no clerk may write wiþ ynke, No no man no may biþinke,
No no maister deuine,
Þat is ymade, forsoþe ywis,
Vnder þe brigge of paradis,
7300 Haluendel þe pine.
¶ So þe dominical ous telle,
Þer is þe pure entre of helle –
Sein Poule berþ witnesse.
Whoso falleþ of þe brigge adoun,
7350 Of him nis no redempcioun,
Noiþer more no lesse.
¶ Þe fendes seyd to þe kniȝt þo,
‘Ouer þis brigge miȝt þou nouȝt go,
For noneskines nede.
7400 Fle periil, sorwe & wo,
& to þat stede, þer þou com fro,
Wel fair we schul þe lede.’
¶ Owain anon him gan biþenche
Fram hou mani of þe fendes wrenche
7450 God him saued hadde.
He sett his fot opon þe brigge,
No feld he no scharp egge,
No noþing him no drad.
¶ When þe fendes yseiȝe þo, {f.29rb}
7500 Þat he was more þan half ygo,
Loude þai gun to crie,
‘Allas, allas, þat he was born.
Þis ich kniȝt we haue forlorn
Out of our baylie.’
7550 ¶ When he was of þe brigge ywent, He þonked God omnipotent,
& his moder Marie,
Þat him hadde swiche grace ysent,
He was deliuerd fro her turment,
7600 Intil a better baylie.
¶ A cloþ of gold him was ybrouȝt,
In what maner he nist nouȝt,
Þo God him hadde ysent.
Þat cloþ he dede on him þere,
7650 & alle woundes hole were,
Þat er þen was forbrent.
¶ He þonked God in trinite,
& loked forþer & gan yse
As it were a ston wal.
7700 He biheld about fer & neiȝe,
Non ende þeron he no seiȝe,
O red gold it schon al.
¶ Forþermore he gan yse
A gate – non fairer miȝt be
7750 In þis world ywrouȝt.
Tre no stel nas þeron non,
Bot rede gold & precious ston,
& al God made of nouȝt.
¶ Jaspers, topes & cristal,
7800 Margarites & coral,
& riche safer-stones,
Ribes & salidoines,
Onicles & causteloines,
& diamaunce for þe nones.
7850 ¶ In tabernacles þai wer ywrouȝt, Richer miȝt it be nouȝt,
Wiþ pilers gent & smal,
Arches ybent wiþ charbukelston,
Knottes of rede gold þeropon,
7900 & pinacles of cristal.
¶ Bi as miche as our Saueour
Is queinter þan goldsmitþe oþer paintour,
Þat woneþ in ani lond, {f.29va}
So fare þe gates of paradis
7950 Er richer ywrouȝt, forsoþe ywis,
As ȝe may vnderstond.
¶ Þe gates bi hem selue vndede:
Swiche a smal com out of þat stede,
As it al baume were;
8000 & of þat ich swetenisse
Þe kniȝt tok so gret strengþe, ywis,
As ȝe may forþeward here,
¶ Þat him þouȝt he miȝt wel,
More bi a þousand del,
8050 Suffri pain & wo,
& turn oȝain siker, apliȝt,
& ogain alle fendes fiȝt,
Þer he er com fro.
¶ Þe kniȝt ȝode þe gate ner,
8100 & seiȝe þer com wiþ milde chere
Wel mani [in] processioun,
Wiþ tapers & chaundelers of gold,
Non fairer no miȝt ben on mold,
& croices & gomfainoun.
8150 ¶ Popes wiþ gret dignite, & cardinals gret plente,
Kinges & quenes þer were,
Kniȝtes, abbotes & priours,
Monkes, chanouns & frere prechours,
8200 & bischopes þat croices bere;
¶ Frere menours & iacobins,
Frere carmes & frere austines,
& nonnes white & blake.
Al maner religioun
8250 Þer ȝede in þat processioun,
Þat order had ytake.
¶ Þe order of wedlake com also,
Men & wimen mani & mo,
& þonked Godes grace,
8300 Þat haþ þe kniȝt swiche grace ysent,
Þe was deliuerd from þe fendes turment,
Quic man into þat plas.
¶ & when þai hadde made þis melody,
Tvay com out of her compeynie,
8350 Palmes of gold þai bere;
To þe kniȝt þai ben ycome, {f.29vb}
Bitvix hem tvay þai han him nome,
& erchebischopes it were.
¶ Vp & doun þai ladde þe kniȝt,
8400 & schewed him ioies of more miȝt,
& miche melodye.
Mirie were her carols þere;
Non foles among hem nere,
Bot ioie & menstracie.
8450 ¶ Þai ȝede on carol al bi line, Her ioie may no man deuine,
Of God þai speke & song;
& angels ȝeden hem to gy,
Wiþ harpe & fiþel & sautry,
8500 & belles miri rong.
¶ No may þer no man caroly inne,
Bot þat he be clene of sinne,
& leten alle foly.
Now God, for þine wo[u]ndes alle,
8550 Graunt ous caroly in þat halle,
& his moder Marie.
¶ Þis ich ioie, as ȝe may se,
Is for loue & charite
Oȝain God & mankinne.
8600 Who þat lat erþely loue be,
& loueþ God in Trinite,
He may caroly þerinne.
Oþer ioies he seiȝe anouȝ:
Heiȝe tres wiþ mani a bouȝ,
8650 Þeron sat foules of heuen,
& breke her notes wiþ miri gle,
Burdoun & mene gret plente,
& hautain wiþ heiȝe steuen.
¶ Him þouȝt wele wiþ þat foules song
8700 He miȝt wele liue þeramong
Til þe worldes ende.
Þer he seiȝe þat tre of liif
Wharþurth þat Adam & his wiif
To helle gun wende.
8750 ¶ Fair were her erbers wiþ floures, Rose & lili, diuers colours,
Primrol & paruink,
Mint, feþerfoy & eglentere,
Colombin & mo þer were {f.30ra}
8800 Þan ani man mai biþenke.
¶ It beþ erbes of oþer maner
Þan ani in erþe [groweþ here],
Þo þat is lest of priis.
Euermore þai grene springeþ,
8850 For winter no somer it no clingeþ,
& swetter þan licorice.
¶ Þer beþ þe welles in þat stede,
Þe water is swetter þan ani mede,
Ac on þer is of priis,
8900 Swiche þat seynt Owain seiȝe þo,
Þat foure stremes vrn fro,
Out of paradis.
¶ Pison men clepeþ þat o strem,
Þat is of swiþe briȝt lem;
8950 Gold is þerin yfounde.
Gihon men clepeþ þat oþer, ywis,
Þat is of miche more priis
Of stones in þe grounde.
¶ Þe þridde strem is Eufrates,
9000 Forsoþe to telle, wiþouten les,
Þat rinneþ swiþe riȝt.
Þe ferþ strem is Tigris;
In þe world is make nis,
Of stones swiþe briȝt.
9050 ¶ Who loueþ to liue in clenesse, He schal haue þat ich blisse,
& se þat semly siȝt.
& more he þer yseiȝe
Vnder Godes glorie an heiȝe –
9100 Yblisced [be] his miȝt.
¶ Sum soule he seyȝe woni bi selue,
& sum bi ten & bi tvelue,
& euerich com til oþer;
& when þai com togiders, ywis,
9150 Alle þai made miche blis
As soster doþ wiþ þe broþer.
¶ Sum he seiȝe gon in rede scarlet,
& sum in pourper wele ysett,
& sum in sikelatoun;
9200 As þe prest ate masse wereþ,
Tonicles & aubes on hem þai bereþ,
& sum gold bete al doun. {f.30rb}
¶ Þe kniȝt wele in alle þing
Knewe bi her cloþeing
9250 In what state þat þai weren,
& what dedes þai hadde ydo,
Þo þat were ycloþed so,
While þai were mannes fere.
¶ Ichil ȝou tel a fair semblaunce,
9300 Þat is a gode acordaunce
Bi þe sterres clere:
Sum ster is briȝter on to se
Þan is bisides oþer þre,
& of more pouwere.
9350 ¶ In þis maner ydelt it is, Bi þe ioies of paradis:
Þai no haue nouȝt al yliche;
Þe soule þat haþ ioie lest,
Him þenkeþ he haþ aldermest,
9400 & holt him also riche.
¶ Þe bischopes oȝain to him come,
Bitven hem tvay þai him nome,
& ladde him vp & doun,
& seyd ‘Broþer, God, herd he be.
9450 Fulfild is þi volente;
Now herken our resoun.
¶ Þou hast yse wiþ eiȝen þine
Boþe þe ioies & þe pine –
Yherd be Godes grace.
9500 We wil þe tel bi our comun dome,
What way it was þat þou bicome,
Er þou hennes pas.
¶ Þat lond þat is so ful of sorwe,
Boþe a[n e]uen & amorwe,
9550 Þat þou þus com bi –
Þou suffredes pain & wo,
& oþer soules mani mo –
Men clepeþ it purgatori.
¶ & þis lond þat is so wide,
9600 & so michel & so side,
& is ful of blis,
Þat þou hast now in ybe,
& mani ioies here yse,
Paradis is cleped, ywis.
9650 ¶ Þer mai no
man comen here {f.30va} Til þat he be spourged þere,
& ymade al clene.
Þan comeþ þai hider’ þe bischop sede,
‘Into þe ioie we schul hem lede,
9700 Sumwhile bi tvelue & tene.
¶ & sum ben so hard ybounde,
Þai nite neuer hou long stounde
Þai schul suffri þat hete.
Bot ȝif her frendes do godenisse,
9750 ȝif mete, or do sing messe,
Þat þai han in erþe ylete,
¶ Oþer ani oþer almosdede,
Alle þe better hem may spede
Out of her missays,
9800 & com into þis paradis,
Þer ioie & blis euer is,
& libbe here al in pays.
¶ As hye comeþ out of purgatori,
So passe we vp to Godes glori,
9850 Þat is þe heiȝe riche,
Þat is paradis celestien;
Þerin com bot Cristen men:
No ioie nis þat yliche.
¶ When we comen out of þe fer
9900 Of purgatori, ar we com her,
We no may nouȝt anonriȝt,
Til we han her long ybe,
We may nouȝt Godes face yse,
No in þat stede aliȝt.
9950 ¶ Þe child þat was yborn toniȝt, Er Þe soule be hider ydiȝt,
Þe pain schal ouerfle.
Strong & heui is it þan,
Here to com þe old man,
1000 Þat long in sinne haþ be.’
¶ Forþ þai went til þai seiȝe
A mounteyn þat was swiþe heiȝe,
Þer was al gamen & gle.
So long þai hadde þe way ynome,
1005 Þat to þe cop þai weren ycome,
Þe ioies forto se.
¶ Þer was al maner foulen song,
Michel ioie was hem among,
& euermore schal be; {f.30vb}
1010 ¶ Þer is more ioie in a foules mouþe,
Þan here in harp, fiþel or crouþe,
Bi lond oþer bi se.
¶ Þat lond, þat is so honestly,
Is ycleped paradis terestri,
1015 Þat is in erþe here;
Þat oþer is paradis, Godes riche:
Þilke ioie haþ non yliche,
& is aboue þe aire.
¶ In þat, þat is in erþe here,
1020 Was Owain, þat y spac of here,
Swiche þat les Adam;
For, hadde Adam yhold him stille,
& wrouȝt after Godes wille –
As he oȝain him nam –
1025 ¶ He no his ofspring neuermo Out of þat ioie no schuld haue go;
Bot for he brac it so sone,
Wiþ pike & spade in diche to delue,
To help his wiif & him selue,
1030 God made him miche to done.
¶ God was wiþ him so wroþ,
Þat he no left him no cloþ,
Bot a lef of a tre,
& al naked ȝede & stode.
1035 Loke man, ȝif hye ner wode,
At swiche a conseil to be.
¶ Þo com an angel wiþ a swerd o fer,
& wiþ a stern loke & chere,
& made hem sore aferd;
1040 In erþe to ben in sorwe & wo,
Þerwhile þai liued euermo,
He drof hem to midnerd.
¶ & when he dyed to helle he nam,
& al þat euer of him cam,
1045 Til Godes sone was born,
& suffred pain & passioun,
& brouȝt him out of þat prisoun,
& elles were al forlorn.
¶ Hereof spekeþ Dauid in þe sauter,
1050 Of a þing þat toucheþ here,
Of God in Trinite,
Opon men, þat ben in gret honour,
& honoureþ nouȝt her creatour {f.31ra}
Of so heiȝe dignite.
1055 ¶ Alle þat ben of Adames kinne, Þ[at here in erþe haue don sinne],
S .... .... .... ....
O .... .... .... ....
H .... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
..{12 lines lost where minature cut out.}
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
.... .... .... ....
B.... .... .... ....
In þe paine of purgatori;
1070 & bot he haue þe better chaunce,
At domesday he is in balaunce
Oȝaines God in glorie.
¶ Þe bischopes þe kniȝt hete
To tellen hem, þat he no lete,
1075 Wheþer heuen were white or biis,
Blewe or rede, ȝalu or grene.
Þe kniȝt seyd ‘wiþouten wene,
Y schal say min aviis.
¶ Me þenkeþ it is a þousandfold
1080 Briȝter þan euer was ani gold,
Bi siȝt opon to se.’
‘ȝa’ seyd þe bischop to þe kniȝt,
Þat ich stede, þat is so briȝt,
Nis bot þe entre.
1085 ¶ & ich day ate gate o siþe Ous comeþ a mele to make ous bliþe,
Þat is to our biheue:
A swete smal of al gode,
It is our soule fode.
1090 Abide, þou schalt ous leue.’
¶ Anon þe kniȝt was war þere,
Whare sprong out a flaumbe o fer,
Fram heuen-gate it fel.
Þe kniȝt þouȝt, al fer & neiȝe,
1095 Þat ouer al paradis it fleiȝe,
& ȝaf so swete a smal.
¶ Þe holy gost in fourme o fer {f.31rb}
Opon þe kniȝt liȝt þer,
In þat ich place;
1100 Þurth vertu of þat ich liȝt
He les þer al his erþelich miȝt,
& þonked Godes grace.
¶ Þus þe bischop to him sede,
‘God fet ous ich day wiþ his brede,
1105 Ac we no haue [i]n oure neiȝe
So grete likeing of his grace,
No swiche a siȝt opon his face,
As þo þat ben on heiȝe.
¶ Þe soules þat beþ at Godes fest,
1110 Þilche ioie schal euer lest
Wiþouten ani ende.
Now þou most bi our comoun dome,
Þat ich way þat þou bicome,
Oȝain þou most wende.
1115 ¶ Now kepe þe wele fram dedli sinne, Þat þou neuer com þerinne,
For nonskines nede.
When þou art ded, þou schalt wende
Into þe ioie þat haþ non ende;
1120 Angels schul þe lede.’
¶ Þo wepe seynt Owain swiþe sore,
& prayd hem for Godes ore,
Þat he most þer duelle;
Þat he no seiȝe neuermore,
1125 As he hadde do bifore,
Þe strong paines of helle.
¶ Of þat praier gat he no gain.
Þe nam his leue & went oȝain,
Þei him were swiþe wo.
1130 Fendes he seiȝe ten þousand last,
Þay flowe fram him as quarel of alblast,
Þat he er com fro.
¶ No nere þan a quarel miȝt fle,
No fende no miȝt him here no se,
1135 For al þis warld to winne;
& when þat he com to þe halle,
Þe þritten men he fond alle,
Oȝaines him þerinne.
¶ Alle þai held vp her hond,
1140 & þonked Ihesu Cristes sond
A Þousand times & mo, {f.31va}
& bad him heiȝe, þat he no wond,
Þat he wer vp in Yrlond,
As swiþe as he miȝt go.
1145 ¶ & as ich finde in þis stori, Þe priour of þe Purgatori
Com tokening þat niȝt,
Þat Owain hadde ouercomen his sorwe,
& schuld com vpon þe morwe,
1150 Þurth grace of God almiȝt.
¶ Þan þe priour wiþ processioun,
Wiþ croice & wiþ gomfainoun,
To þe hole he went ful riȝt,
Þer þat kniȝt Owain in wende.
1155 As a briȝt fere þat brende,
Þai seiȝe a lem of liȝt,
¶ & riȝt amiddes þat ich liȝt
Com vp Owain, Godes kniȝt.
Þo wist þai wele bi þan,
1160 Þat Owain hadde ben in paradis,
& in purgatori, ywis,
& þat he was holy man.
¶ Þai ladde him into holi chirche,
Godes werkes for to wirche.
1165 His praiers he gan make,
& at þe ende on þe fiften day,
Þe kniȝt anon, forsoþe to say,
Scrippe & burdoun gan take.
¶ Þat ich holy stede he souȝt,
1170 Þer Ihesus Crist ous dere bouȝt
Opon þe rode-tre,
& þer he ros fram ded to liue
Þurth vertu of his woundes fiue –
Yblisced mot he be.
1175 ¶ & Bedlem þer þat God was born Of Mari his moder, as flour of þorn,
& þer he stiȝe to heuen;
& seþþen into Yrlond he come,
& monkes abite vndernome,
1180 & liued here ȝeres seuen.
¶ & when he deyd he went, ywis,
Into þe heiȝe ioie of paradis,
Þurth help of Godes grace.
Now God, for seynt Owains loue,
1185 Graunt ous heuen-blis aboue {f.31vb}
Bifor his swete face. Amen
Explicit
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