Classic Poem

Ars vtillissima sciendi mori

" Syn all men naturelly desyre
To konne, o eterne Sapience,
O universel prince, lord and syre,
Auctour of nature, in whos excellence
Been hid all the tresors of science,
Makere of al, and þat al seest and woost,
This axe Y thee, thow lord of mightes moost,

" Thy tresor of wisdam and the konnynge
Of seintes, opne thow to me, Y preye,
þat Y therof may haue a knowlechynge
Enforme eek me and vnto me bywreye,
Syn thow of al science berst the keye,
Sotil matires right profownde and greete,
Of whiche Y feruently desire trete."

" O sone myn, sauoure nat so hye,
But dreede, herkne, and Y shal teche thee
Thyng þat shal to thy soule fructifie.
A chosen yifte shalt thow haue of me.
My lore eternel lyf shal to thee be
The dreede of God which the begynnynge is
Of wisdam shalt thow lerne, and it is this

" Now herkne a doctrine substancial.
First, how lerne dye telle wole Y;
The iide, how þat a man lyue shal;
The iiide, how a man sacramentally
Receyue me shal wel and worthyly;
The iiiie, how with an herte cleene and pure
That a man loue me shal and honure.

" Tho thynges iiii, good lord, haue Y euere
Desired for to knowe and hem to leere.
Vnto myn herte ther is nothyng leuere
A bettre thyng can Y nat wisshen heer
But tellith me this, this fayn wolde Y heere,
What may profyte the lore of dyynge,
Syn deeth noon hauynge is but a pryuynge,

" For shee man reueth of lyf the swetnesse"
" Sone, the art to lerne for to dye
Is to the soule an excellent swetnesse,
To which Y rede thow thyn herte applie.
Ther is noon art þat man can specifie
So profitable ne worthy to be
Preferred artes all as þat is shee.

" To wite and knowe þat man is mortel
It is commune vnto folkes alle.
þat man shal nat lyue ay heer woot he wel
No trust at al may in his herte falle,
That he eschape or flee may dethes galle.
But fewe þat can die shalt thow seen.
It is the yifte of God, best þat may been.

" To lerne for to die is to han ay
Bothe herte and soule redy hens to go,
That whan deeth cometh for to cacche hir pray
Man rype be the lyf to twynne fro
And hir to take and receyue also
As he that the comynge of his felawe
Desirith and is therof glad and fawe.

" But, more harm is, ful many oon shalt thow fynde
þat ageyn deeth maken no purueance.
Hem lothen deeth for to haue in hir mynde
þat thoght they holden thoght of encombrance.
Worldly swetnesse sleeth swich remembrance.
And syn to die nat lerned han they,
Fro the world twynne they wolde in no wey.

" They mochil of hir tyme han despended
In synne, and forthy whan vnwaarly deeth
Vpon hem fallith, and they nat amendid,
And shal from hem byreue wynd and breeth,
For shee vnreedy fynt hem whan shee sleeth,
To hell goon tho soules miserable,
Ther to dwell in peyne perdurable.

" Deeth wolde han ofte a brydil put on thee,
And thee with hir led away shee wolde,
Nadde the hand of Goddes mercy be
Thow art ful mochil vnto þat lord holde
þat, for thow wrappid wer in synnes olde,
He spared thee. Thy synnes now forsake
And vnto my doctrine thow thee take.

" More to thee profyte shal my lore
Than chosen gold, or the bookes echone
Of philosophres, and, for þat the more
Feruently sholde it stire thy persone
Vndir sensible ensaumple thee to one
To God and thee the bettre for to thewe,
The misterie of my lore Y shal thee shewe.

" Beholde now the liknesse and figure
Of a man dyynge and talkyng with thee"
The disciple of þat speeche took good cure
And in his conceit bysyly soghte he,
And therwithal considere he gan and see
In himself put the figure and liknesse
Of a yong man of excellent fairnesse.

Whom deeth so ny ransakid had and soght
þat he withynne a whyle sholde dye
And for his soules helthe had he right noght
Disposid Al vnreedy hens to hye
Was he, and therfore he began to crye
With lamentable vois in this maneere,
þat sorwe and pitee greet was it to heere:

" Enuirond han me dethes waymentynges.
Sorwes of helle han conpaced me.
Allas, eternel God, o kyng of kynges,
Wherto was Y born, in this world to be?
O allas, why in my natiuitee
Nadde I perisshid? O, the begynnynge
Of my lyf was with sorwe and with weepynge,

" And now myn ende comth Hens moot Y go
With sorwe, waylynge and greet heuynesse
O deeth, thy mynde is ful of bittir wo
Vnto an herte wont vnto gladnesse,
And norisshid in delicat swetnesse
Horrible is thy presence, and ful greeuable,
To him þat yong is, strong and prosperable.

" Litil wende Y so soone to han deid
O cruel deeth, thy comynge is sodeyn.
Ful vnwaar was Y of thy theefly breid.
Thow haast as in awayt vpon me leyn.
Thy comynge vnto me was vncerteyn
Thow haast vpon me stolen and me bownde.
Eschape Y may nat now my mortel wownde.

" Thow me with thee drawist in yren cheynes,
As a man dampned wont is to be drawe
To his torment. Outrageous been my peynes
A, now for sorwe and fere of thee and awe,
With handes clight Y crye and wolde fawe
Wite the place whidir for to flee
But swich oon fynde can Y noon, ne see.

" I looke on euery syde bisyly,
But help is noon. Help and confort been dede.
A vois horrible of deeth sownynge heer Y,
þat seith me thus, which encressith my drede:
" Thow dye shalt Reson noon ne kynrede,
Frendshipe, gold ne noon othir richesse
May thee deliure out of dethes duresse.

" " Thyn eende is comen; comen is thyn eende.
It is decreed. Ther is no resistence. "
Lord God, shal Y now die and hennes weende?
Whethir nat changed may be this sentence?
O Lord, may it nat put been in suspense?
Shal Y out of this world so soone go?
Allas, wole it noon othir be than so?

" O deeth, o deeth, greet is thy crueltee.
Thyn office al to sodeynly doost thow.
Is ther no grace? Lakkist thow pitee?
Spare my youthe. Of age rype ynow
To dye am Y nat yit Spare me now
How cruel þat thow art, on me nat kythe
Take me nat out of this world so swythe."

Whan the disciple this conplaynte had herd,
He thoghte al þat he spak nas but folie,
And in this wyse he hath him answerd:
" Thy wordes, freend, withouten any lye
þat thow haast but smal lerned testifie.
Euene to alle is dethes iugement.
Thurghout the world strecchith hir paiement.

" Deeth fauorable is to no maner wight.
To all hirself shee delith equally.
Shee dredith hem nat þat been of greet might,
Ne of the olde and yonge hath no mercy
The ryche and poore folk eek certainly
Shee sesith Shee sparith right noon estaat
Al þat lyf berith with hir chek is maat.

" Ful many a wight in youthe takith shee
And many anothir eek in middil age,
And some nat til they right olde be
Wendist thow han been at swich auantage
þat shee nat durste han paied thee thy wage,
But oonly han thee spared and forborn,
And the prophetes deid han heerbeforn?"

Than spak th'ymage answerynge in this wyse:
" Soothly thow art an heuy confortour.
Thow vndirstandist me nat as the wyse
They þat continued han in hir errour,
Lyuynge in synne vnto hir dethes hour,
Worthy be dampned for þat they han wroght,
And how ny deeth is they ne dreede noght.

" Tho men ful blynde been and bestial
Of þat shal folwe aftir this lyf present
Forsighte swiche folk han noon at all.
I nat bewaille dethes iugement,
But this is al the cause of my torment.
The harm of vndisposid deeth Y weepe.
I am nat reedy in the grownd to creepe.

" I weepe nat þat Y shal hennes twynne,
But of my dayes I the harm bewaille,
Fruytlees past sauf with bittir fruyt of synne.
I wroghte in hem nothyng þat mighte auaille
To soules helthe Y dide no trauaille
To lyue wel, but lened to the staf
Of worldly lustes. To hem Y me yaf.

" The way of trouthe Y lefte and drow to wrong
On me nat shoon the light of rightwisnesse
The sonne of intellect nat in me sprong.
Y am weery of my wroght wikkidnesse.
Y walkid haue weyes of hardnesse
And of perdicion. Nat kowde Y knowe
The way of God Wikkid seed haue Y sowe.

" Allas, what hath pryde profytid me,
Or what am Y bet for richesse hepynge?
Alle they as a shadwe passid be,
And as a messager faste rennynge,
And also as a ship þat is sayllynge
In the wawes and floodes of the see,
Whos kerf nat fownden is whan past is shee.

" Or as a brid which in the eir þat fleeth,
No preef fownde is of the cours of his flight.
No man espie can it, ne it seeth,
Sauf with his wynges the wynd softe and light
He betith, and cuttith th'eir by the might
Of swich stirynge, and foorth he fleeth his way,
And tookne, aftir þat, no man see ther may.

" Or as an arwe shot out of a bowe
Twynneth the eir which þat continuelly
Agayn is closid, þat man may nat knowe
Wher þat it paste — no wight the way sy —
Right so, syn þat Y born was far haue Y
Continuelly Y stynted for to be,
And tokne of vertu shewid noon in me.

" I am consumed in my wikkidnesse.
Myn hope is as it wer a wolle-loke
Which the wynd vp reisith for his lightnesse,
Or smal foom þat desparplid is, and broke
With tempest, or as with wynd waastith smoke,
Or as mynde of an oost þat but a day
Abit, and aftir passith foorth his way.

" For why, my speeche is now in bittirnesse,
And my wordes been ful of sorwe and wo
Myn herte is plunged deepe in heuynesse.
My yen been al dymme and dirke also
Who may me grante þat Y may be so
As I was whan Y beautee hadde and strengthe,
And had beforn me many a dayes lengthe.

" In whiche Y the harm mighte han seen beforn,
þat now is on me falle? I yaf no charge
Of the good precious tyme I haue it lorn
But as the worldly wynd bleew in my barge
Foorth droof Y therwith, and leet goon at large
Al loos the brydil of concupiscence,
And ageyn vertu made Y resistence.

" My dayes I despente in vanitee.
Noon heede Y took of hem, but leet hem passe,
Nothyng considerynge hir precioustee,
But heeld myself free born as a wylde asse.
Of th'aftirclap insighte had no man lasse.
I ouerblynd was Y nat sy ne dredde
With what wo deeth wolde haste me to bedde.

" And now, as fisshes been with hookes kaght,
And as þat briddes been take in a snare,
Deth hath me hent Eschape may Y naght.
This vnwaar woful hour me makith bare
Of my custumed ioie and my welfare.
The tyme is past. The tyme is goon for ay.
No man reuoke or calle ageyn it may.

" So short was nat the tyme þat is goon
But Y of goostly lucres and wynnynges
Mighte haue in it purchaced many oon,
Exceedynge in value alle eerthely thynges
Inconparablely, but to his wynges
The tyme hath take him, and no purueance
Therin made I my soule to auance.

" Allas, I, caytif, for angwissh and sorwe
My teeres trikelen by my cheekes doun.
No salt watir me needith begge or borwe.
Myn yen flowen now in greet foysoun.
Allas, this is a sharp conclusioun,
Thogh Y the tyme past conpleyne and mourne
For al my care wole it nat retourne.

" O my lord God, how laach and negligent
Haue Y been. Why haue I put in delay
And taryynge myn amendement?
Wherto haue Y dissimuled, welaway?
Allas, so many a fair and gracious day
Haue Y lost, and arn fro me goon and ronne,
þat mighte in hem my soules helthe han wonne.

" Myn hertes woful waymentacions
Who can hem telle? Who can hem expresse?
Now fallen on me accusacions
Wondirly thikke of my wroght wikkidnesse
In flesshly lust and ydil bysynesse
Leet Y my dayes dryue foorth and slippe,
And nat was beten with penances whippe.

" Why sette Y so myn herte in vanitee?
O why ne had Y lerned for to die?
Why was Y nat ferd of Goddes maugree?
What eilid me to bathe in swich folie?
Why nadde reson goten the maistrie
Of me? Why? For my spirit was rebel,
And list nat vndirstonde to do wel.

" O alle yee þat heer been present,
Yee þat floure in youthes lusty grennesse,
And seen how deeth his bowe hath for me bent,
And tyme couenable han to redresse
þat your vnruly youthes wantonnesse
Offendid hath, considereth my miserie
The stormy seson folwith dayes merie.

" Let me be your ensaumple and your mirour,
Lest yee slippe into my plyt miserable.
With God, despende of your youthe the flour.
If yee me folwe, into peril semblable
Yee entre shuln. To God yee yow enable.
In holy wirkes your tyme occupie,
And, whyle it tyme is, vices mortifie.

" Allas, o youthe, how art thow fro me slipt
O God eterne, Y vnto thee conpleyne
The wrecchidnesses in whiche Y am clipt.
Lost is my youthe. Y smerte in euery veyne
The gilt þat wroght hath my synful careyne.
O youthe, thy fresshnesse and iolitee
Hatith thy soothes be told vnto thee.

" No lust had Y to doon as Y was taght
Therof had Y right greet desdeyn and hokir.
Whan men conseillid wel, Y herde it naght
Nat so moche as by an olde boote or cokir
Sette Y therby. Into myn hertes lokir
Entre mighte noon holsum disciplyne
No wil had Y to good conseil enclyne.

" Lord God, now in a deep dych am Y falle
Into the snare of deeth entred am Y
Bet had it been than thus had it befalle
Neuere han be born of my modres body,
But therin han perisshid vttirly,
For Y despente in pryde and in bobance
The tyme grantid me to do penance."

To which answerde the disciple tho:
" Lo, we die alle, and as watir we slyde
Into the eerthe, which þat neuere mo
Retourne shal, but on a sikir syde
We standen alle, for God nat wole hyde
His mercy fro man. Whoso list it craue,
Be repentant, and mercy axe and haue.

" God haastith nat the gilt of man to wreke,
But curteisly abydith repentance
Heer me now what Y shal to thee speke
For þat thow haast offendid do penance
Torne vnto God with hertes obeissance.
Axe him mercy þat is al merciable,
And saued shalt thow been; it is no fable."

Th'ymage of deeth answerde anoon to þat:
" How spekist thow, man? Shal Y me repente,
Shal Y me torne? O man, ne seest thow nat,
Ne takist thow noon heede ne entente
Of dethes angwisshes þat me tormente,
And oppressen so greuously and sharpe
That Y not what to do or thynke or carpe?

" As a partrich þat with the hawk is hent
And streyned with his clees so is agast
þat his lyf ny from him is goon and went,
Right so my wit is cleene fro me past,
And in my mynde is ther no thoght ne cast
Othir than serche a way how deeth eschape,
But Y in veyn theraftir looke and cape.

" Nat wole it be, for deeth me doun oppressith
The twynnynge of my lyf ful bittir is,
þat hurtith me greuously and distressith
Ful holsum had it be to me or this
Penance han doon for þat Y wroghte amis
Whyles my tyme was in his rypnesse,
For þat had been the way of sikirnesse.

" But he þat late to penance him takith,
Whethir he verraily or feynyngly
Repente, he noot. Vncertain it him makith
Wo is me þat my lyf so synfully
I ledde, and to correcte it lachid Y
Ageyn my soules helthe haue Y werreied,
þat for it haue no bettre purueied.

" Allas, to longe hath be the taryynge
And the delay of my correccioun
A good purpos withoute begynnynge,
Good wil withouten operacioun,
Good promesse and noon execucioun,
Foorth dryue amendes fro morwe to morwe
And neuere doon — þat causith al my sorwe.

" O morwe, morwe, thow haast me begilt
O whethir this miserie nat exceede
Al worldly wrecchidnesse? Allas, my gilt
Wel worthy is it þat myn herte bleede,
And with angwissh and wo me fostre and feede
See how my dayes alle arn slipt me fro.
xxxti yeer of myn age away been go.

" Ful wrecchidly, God woot, Y haue hem lost,
And al myn owne self is it to wyte
So good a piler was Y neuere, or post,
Vnto my soule, as o day me delyte
In vertu or aght wel to God me qwyte,
As þat Y mighte haue doon or oghte.
By aght Y woot, Y neuere aftir þat soghte.

" Lord God, how shamefully stande Y shal
At the doom beforn thee and seintes alle,
Wher Y shal arted be to rekne of al
That Y doon haue and left. Whom shal Y calle
To helpe me? O, how shal it befalle?
My torment and my wo me haaste and hye
Hens for to twynne. As blyue shal Y dye.

" O now this hour gretter ioie and gladnesse
I wolde haue of a litil orisoun
By me seyd with hertes deuout sadnesse,
As the angelyk salutacioun,
Than Y wolde haue of many a milioun
Of gold and siluer. Foule haue Y me born,
And synfully, þat sy nat this beforn.

" Whan Y mighte haue it seen, than wolde Y noght
How many houres haue Y lost þat neuere
Retorne shuln! How mochil haue Y wroght
Ageyn myself! My lust was to perseuere
In vicious lyf and from it nat disseuere.
I lefte þat good was, and necessarie,
Vnto my soule, and dide the contrarie.

" More than was neede or expedient
Vnto the help of many anothir wight
Entendid Y Y was ful inprudent.
I took noon heede to myself aright
By soules profyt sette Y nat but light
Whan tyme was, fynde kowde Y no tyme
Me to correcte of myn offense and cryme.

" But now feele Y þat vnto the gretnesse
Of merites celestial had been bet
My wittes han kept with soules clennesse
Than, þat left, with herte corruptly set,
And ageyn deedes vertuous ywhet,
Helpe me mighte any mannes preyere,
Thogh xxxti yeer he preid had for me heere.

" O herkneth now, herkneth now alle yee
þat heer been and seen my wrecchidnesse
The tyme, as þat yee seen, now faillith me.
My freendes preide Y þat they sum almesse,
Of th'abundance of hir goostly richesse
And wirkes goode, wolden to me dele
In my greet neede for my soules hele,

" And eek in releef and amendement
Of my giltes, but hir answer was nay.
They seiden, " Ther to yeuen our assent,
Wole we nat in no maneere way,
Lest it vs and yow nat souffyse may "
On euery part thus am Y destitut
Fynde can Y no socour ne refut.

" O God benigne, o fadir merciable,
Beholde and reewe vpon thy pacient
To me, thyn handwerk, be thow socourable
þat Y greetly haue erred and miswent,
Me wel remembrith this tyme present.
Allas, why stood Y in myne owne light
So foule? O lord, me now helpe of thy might.

" How grete richesses spirituel
And heuenely tresors, had Y been wys,
Mighte Y han gadered, and nat dide a del.
O good lord God, o lord of paradys,
Ful leef to me now wer, and of greet prys,
Of satisfaccion the leeste deede
Right dereworthe wer it in this neede.

" O now the leeste cromes þat ther falle
Fro the lordes bordes and tables doun
Refresshe wolden me ful wel withalle,
But noon fynde Y of swich condicion
þat yeue me wole any porcioun.
Y haue espyd the frendshipe is ful streit
Of this world. It is mirour of deceit.

" Reewe eek on me, yee alle, and pitee haue,
And whyles your force and vigour may laste,
And tyme han eek, or yee be ny your graue,
Into bernes of heuene gadereth faste
Tresors celestial, þat at the laste
Yee may receyue, whan þat yee shul twynne
From hens, the blisse þat shal neuere blynne.

" And beeth nat voide of vertu, ne empty,
Whan þat the deeth anothir day to yow
Approche shal, as yee may see pat Y
Am voide of deedes vertuous right now."
" Freend", quod the disciple, " Y see wel ynow
Thy torment and thy greuous passioun,
Of which myn herte hath greet conpassioun,

" And by almighty God I thee coniure
þat thow me yeue reed how me to gye,
Lest þat heeraftir Y, par auenture,
Into lyk peril haaste may and hye
Of vndisposid sodein deeth, and drye
The wo which Y consider þat thee vexith,
Wherthurgh myn herte sore agrysid wexith"

Than spak th'ymage, " The best purueance
And wit is, han verray contricioun
In strengthe and hele of the misgouernance
Of thy lyf, and plener confessioun
Make of thy gilt, and satisfaccioun
And asseeth do, and all vices leue
þat thee mighten the blisse of heuene reue.

" And so with al thyn herte it is the beste
Keepe thee foorth as þat thow this day right,
Or tomorwe or this wike atte fertheste,
Sholdist departe fro this worldes light,
And therwithal enforce thow thy might,
As Y shal seyn, in thyn herte to thynke,
And thow shalt it nat reewe ne forthynke.

" Caste in thyn herte as now thy soule wer
In purgatorie and hadde pyned be
x yeer in a fourneys brennynge ther,
And this oonly yeer wer grantid thee
For thyn help. So beholde often and see
Thy soule in the flaumbes of fyr brennynge,
With a wrecchid vois thus to thee cryynge:

" Of all freendes, thow, the derwortheste,
Do to thy wrecchid soule help and socour,
þat is al desolat. Purchace it reste
See how Y brenne. O, reewe on my langour.
Be for me so freendly a purueyour
þat in this hoot prisoun Y no lenger
Tormentid be. Lat it nat thus me der.

" The worldes fauour cleene is fro me went.
Forsake Y am Frendshipe Y can noon fynde
Ther is no wight þat to the indigent
Puttith his helply hand. Slipt out of mynde
I am. In peynes sharpe Y walwe and wynde,
And of my wo ther is no wight þat recchith.
Nat knowe Y frendshipe or to whom it strecchith.

" Men seeken thynges þat to hemself longe,
And me leuen in the flaumbes vengeable
O good freend, lat me nat thus pyne longe"
To which the disciple, with cheer stable
Seide, " Thy lore were profitable
Whoso it hadde by experience
As thow haast. Therto yeue may Y credence.

" But thogh thy wordes sharpe and stiryng seeme,
To many a man profyten they but lyte
They looke apart and list take no yeeme
Vnto the ende which mighte hem profyte.
Yen they haan and seen nat worth a myte,
And eres han also, and may nat heer
They weenen longe for to lyuen heer.

" And, for they vndisposid deeth nat dreede,
Forsighte at al ne haan tho wreches noon
Of the harm which therof moot folwe neede.
They deemen stonde as sikir as a stoon
But weel Y see by thee, so moot Y goon,
They shuln haan cause it for to dreede and doute,
Or þat hir lyues light be fully oute.

" Whan dethes messager comth, sharp seeknesse,
Freendes and felawes hem haaste and hye,
The seek man to conforte of his feblesse,
And al thyng þat good is they prophecie.
They seyn, " Thogh thow seek in thy bed now lye,
Be nat agast. No dethes euel haast thow,
For this thow shalt eschape wel ynow. "

" Thus bodyes freendes been maad enemys
To the soule, for, whyl seeknesse greeueth
The man continuelly, yit so vnwys
Is he þat his enformours he wel leeueth
He hopith to been hool and he mischeeueth
Wheras he wende han recouered be.
Vndisposid to dye sterueth he.

" Right so thyn herkners and thyn auditours,
Tho þat greet trust han in mannes prudence,
nat list hir peynes putte, or hir labours,
To execute thyn holsum sentence
Thow mightist as wel keepe thy silence
They by thy wordes yeuen nat a leek."
To which, th'ymage thus answerde and speek:

" Forthy, whan they in dethes net been hent,
Whan sodein wrecchidnesse hem shal assaille,
Whan deeth, as tempest sharp and violent
With woful trouble hem shal vexe and trauaille,
They shuln crie aftir help and therof faill,
For they in hate sapience hadde,
And despysed my reed and heeld it badde.

" And right as now ther been but fewe fownde,
þat, of my wordes conpunct, wole hir lyf
Correcte, ne amende in no stownde,
Nat may to hem auaille my motyf,
But they hir synnes vsen ay foorth ryf,
And han no lust fro synnes hem withdrawe,
No more than they neuere had herd my sawe.

" Right so, for the malice of tyme and lak
Of goostly loue, and for the iniquitee
Of the world, vertu gooth so faste abak,
þat fewe to the deeth disposid be
So weel þat list this worldes vanitee
Leue, and for desir of lyf þat shal euere
Endur, coueiten hens to disseuere.

" But whan deeth on hem stelith with hir darte,
They vnreedy, wowndid in conscience,
Nat oonly goon hens whan they hens departe,
But they with a manere of violence
Been hent away, so þat ful greet prudence
They wolde han hold it han deid as a man,
And nat as a beest þat no reson can.

" If of this commun peril th'encheson
Thee lyke knowe, Y wole it now expresse
The desir of honours out of reson,
The body bathynge in worldly swetnesse,
Eerthely loue, and to greet greedynesse
In mukhepynge, blynden many an herte,
And causen men into tho perils sterte.

" If thow desire the perils to flee
Of vndisposed deeth, my conseil heer.
This heuy plyt in which thow seest now me,
Reuolue ofte in thy mynde, and by me leere
For to be waar. If thow in this maneere
Wilt do, it shal be thy greet auantage
And ese thee at thy laste passage.

" It shal vnto thee profyte in þat hour
þat nat oonly dye it shal nat thee gaste,
But deeth eek, as eende of worldly labour
And begynnynge of blisse ay þat shal laste,
Abyde thow shalt, and desire faste
With al thyn herte it to take and receyue,
And al worldly lust leye apart and weyue.

" Euery day haue of me deep remembrance
Into thyn herte let my wordes synke
The sorwe and angwissh and greuous penance
Which thow haast seen in me, considere and thynke
That of peril tho[w] art ful ny the brynke
Remembre on my doom, for swich shal thyn be:
Myn yistirday, and this day vnto thee.

" Looke vpon me and thynke on this nyght ay
Whyles thow lyuest. O how good and blessid
Art thow, Arsenius, which þat alway
This ilke hour haddest in thyn herte impressid
þat man, as in holy writ is witnessid,
Which whan God comth and knokkith at the yate,
Wakynge him fynt, he blessid is algate.

" Blessid is he þat thanne fownden is
Reedy to passe, for he blisfully
Departe shal, and truste right wel this:
Thogh deeth assaille and vexe greuously
The rightwys man, or slee him sodeynly,
Howso he dye he shal go to þat place
Wheras confort is, refresshynge and grace.

" He shal be pourged cleene and purified
And disposid the glorie of God to see;
Angels shuln keepe him and he shal be gyed
And led by citeins of the hy contree,
And to the court of heuene vp taken be,
And of his spirit shal be the issynge
Into eternel blisse the entrynge.

" But allas, wher shal my wrecchid goost
This nyght become? Whidir shal it go?
What herbergh shal it haue, or in what coost
Shal it arryue? Who shal receyue it, who?
O, what frendshipe shal it haue tho?
O soule abiect, desolat and forsake,
Greet cause haast thow for fere and wo to qwake.

" Wherfore Y, hauynge of myself pitee,
Amonges heuy wordes Y out shede
Teres in greet habundance and plentee,
But nat auaillith me, it is no drede,
Hensfoorth conpleyne, weepe and crye and grede,
For in no wyse changed it be may.
Al mankyndes fo stoppid hath my way.

" In hidles in awayt as a leoun
He hath leyn, and my soule led hath he
Into the pit of deeth al deepe adoun
O my lord God, this sharp aduersitee
To stynte of speeche now conpellith me
Y may no more hensfoorth speke and bewaille
My tonge and eek my wit now so me faille.

" Ther is noon othir, Y see wel ynow
The tyme is come. As blyue Y shal be deed
See how my face wexith pale now,
And my look ful dym and heuy as leed
Myn yen synke eek deepe into myn heed,
And torne vpsodoun, and myn hondes two
Wexen al stif and starke and may nat do.

" Prikkynges of deeth me, wrecche, conpace
Stirtemeel gooth my pows and elles naght
Mortel pressures sharply me manace
My breeth begynneth faille, and eek the draght
Of it fro fer is fet and deepe caght.
No lenger Y now see this worldes light
Myn yen lost han hir office and might.

" But now Y see with myn yen mental
Th'estat of al anothir world than this.
I am ny goon. As faste passe Y shal.
O my lord God, a gastful sighte it is.
Now of confort haue Y greet lak and mis.
Horrible feendes and innumerable
Awayte vpon my soule miserable.

" The blakefaced Ethiopiens
Me enuyrone, and aftir it abyde
To hente it whan þat it shal passen hens,
If þat parauenture it so betyde
þat the lot therof fall vpon hir syde.
Hir viserly faces grim and hydous
Me putte in thoghtful dreedes encombrous.

" O streit and steerne iuge and domesman,
Thow weyest moche, in deemynge me, wrecche,
Tho thynges whiche fewe folkes can
But smal by sette, or of hem charge or recche.
Lo, deethes strook haastith me hens to fecche
My membres shee so thirlith and distressith
That nature ouercome is, shee witnessith.

" O gastful is the iust iuges lookynge
Vnto me, now present thurgh fere and dreede,
Which sodeynly shal come, himself sheewynge
Farwel, freendes and felawes, for neede
Moot Y vnclothe me of lyues weede
To purgatorie Y shal as streight as lyne,
For myn offenses ther to suffre pyne,

" And thens twynne Y nat til maad haue Y gree
Of the leeste ferthyng þat Y men shal,
In whiche place Y beholde and see
Affliccioun and sorwe ynow at al,
Ther Y no ioie see but wo oueral.
The fyry flaumbes vpon heighte ryse
In which the soules brenne in woodly wyse.

" They vp now possid been and now doun throwe,
Right as sparcles of fyr aboute sprede
Whan þat a greet toun set is on a lowe,
And al is fyred bothe in lengthe and brede.
Wo been tho soules in tho brondes rede,
For peyne of which torment ful lowde and hye
They in this wyse ful pitously crye:

" " Now mercy haue on our captiuitee
To yow, our freendes, namely we preye
Wher is your help now? Wher is your chiertee?
Whidir been the promesses goon to pleye
Of yow, our cousins eek? Can yee portreye
Your wordes so gayly, and effect noon
Folwith, but al as deed is as a stoon?

" By youre desires inordinat,
And eek of othir mo, ourself han we
Broght into this plyt and wrecchid estat
Ioie han we noon, but of wo greet plentee
Allas, why nat vpon vs reewen yee?
We dide al our might to do yow plesance,
And yee no routhe han on our sharp greuance.

" " Ful euele we rewarded been of yow
We brenne, and yee the fyr nat qwenche a deel
Allas, we nadden for ourself or now
Ydoon We wer auysid nothyng weel.
Worldly trust is as slipir as an eel
Al is nat treewe þat the world promettith
Ful wys is he þat therby litil settith

" " The leeste torment of this purgatorie
þat we souffren excedith in sharpnesse
Tormentes alle of the world transitorie
Heer of torment more is the bittirnesse
In an hour than the worldes wikkidnesse
May hurte or greeue in an c yeer
Greet is th'affliccioun þat we han heer

" " But aboue alle kyndes of tormentis,
Of Goddes blissid face the absence
Greeueth moost þat lak, our moost [wofull sent is] "
For a memorie leue Y this sentence
To thee, and heer Y die in thy presence."
Whan the disciple sy þat he was past
And deed, he tremblid and was sore agast

Aboute he torned him, and thus seide he:
" Wher art thow now, o Sapience eterne?
O, good lord, haast þou now forsaken me?
Wilt thow thy grace me denye and werne?
Thow seidest sapience Y sholde lerne,
And now Y am broght to the deeth almoost,
So troublid is my spirit and my goost.

" This sighte of deeth so sore me astoneth
þat wite Y can vnnethe, in soothfastnesse,
But am in doute wher the soothe woneth —
That is to meene, if this be in liknesse
Or in deede, swich is my mazidnesse
But how it be, lord, Y byseeche thee
Be my confort in this perplexitee

" Neuere the perils of deeth vndisposid
In my lyf kneew I, as Y do now right.
Withyn myn herte been they deepe enclosid,
And so sadly therin picchid and pight
þat hem foryete lyth nat in my might
That gastful sighte Y hope shal profyte
Vnto my soules helthe nat a lyte

" Dwellynge place, Y haue espyd and see,
Han we noon in this wrecchid world changeable
For why, vnto þat blisful hy contree
Which nat may varie but is permanable
Shape Y me strecche O lord God merciable,
Y mercy axe. Vpon me, wrecche, reewe.
Hensforward wole Y lede a lyf al neewe.

" Now lerne for to die Y me purpose.
Hensfoorth penance wole Y nat delaye
My lyf to amende wole Y me dispose.
For, syn thoghtes of deeth so me esmaye,
Wel more, Y am seur, deeth me shal affraye
Whan þat eschue Y shal nat hir presence.
O, ther thyn help, eterne sapience.

" Now wole Y voide fethirbeddes softe,
The pilwes nesshe and esy materas
On whiche my careyne hath tymes ofte
Walwid and leyn. Now stande I in swich cas
þat me thynkith al greet folie it was
Of clothynge eek, fy on the precioustee,
And slouthe of sleep also lettynge me

" Syn Y tormentid am so greuously
With thynges smale, how sorwes so grete
Souffre mighte Y, if now die sholde Y,
þat neuere or this my synnes kowde lete?
O what matire of helle fyr the hete
Mighte in me thanne fynde Certes, greet,
For which my body of cold swoot is al weet

" Now woot I weel what thyng þat may auaille
My soule and it keepe fro perisshynge.
By souffrance of greet labour and trauaille,
And excercyse of vertuous lyuynge,
Wole Y it helpe, left al taryynge,
þat in swich an houres extremitee,
No peyne but reste fynde may shee.

" O holy and mercyful sauueour,
Of so bittir deeth souffre me nat dye
Thogh Y be thikke wrappid in errour,
See, beforn thee plat on the grownd Y lye,
Weepynge for myn excessyf folye,
And, curteys lord, of thy benignitee
This grace vouchesauf to grante me

" Aftir thy lust be my punysshement
Whyle Y am heer, and, good lord, nat reserue
To othir place the chastisement
Which þat Y, wrecche, heere in this world disserue.
Let me abye it heer or þat Y sterue,
For in þat place horrible is swich sharpnesse
Of peyne þat no wight can it expresse

" O how vnwys or this haue Y been ay,
Syn þat deeth vndisposid and the peyne
Of purgatorie Y kowde by no way
Consider, ne how it kowde distreyne.
Set was myn herte in othir thoghtes veyne,
þat yaf me lettynge and impediment
To thynke vpon the perils consequent.

" But now, thurgh fadirly amonestynge,
My myndes yen þat cloos wer and shit
I opne, and of tho perils am dredynge."
And Sapience answerde anoon to it:
" My sone, to do so it is greet wit,
Whiles thow yong art, and haast strengthe and force
Thy lyf for to correct, thee enforce

" Whan þat deeth cometh which cruel and fel is,
Whom thow nat maist withstonde ne withsitte,
Help ne refuyt is ther for thee noon ellis
But to the mercy of God thee committe.
By no way þat nat leue ne ommitte
My passioun putte eek twixt my doom and thee,
Lest, more than neede is, adrad thow be

" My rightwisnesse nat so mochil dreede
þat thow fro trust and hope of mercy twynne.
Contrytly mercy axe and thow shalt speede
Now restfuller in thy goost be withynne
þat ouer ferd art. Thee pourge of thy synne.
Scourge thyself with repentances rod
Begynnynge of wysdam is dreede of God

" Scriptures serche, and by hem shalt thow leere
þat vnto man is it greet auantage
Deeth to haue ofte in mynde, in this lyf heere.
If yeeres manye and vnto good age
Man lyue, and in all hem glad and sauage
Be, good is the dirk hour and dayes wikke
Remembre or þat he come to the prikke

" For whan þat tyme is comen, and þat hour,
Repreeued shal be the past vanitee
Remembre therfore on thy creatour
In thy fressh youthe and lusty iolitee,
Or tyme come of sharp aduersitee,
And or þat yeeres approche of disese
In whiche thow wilt seyn they nat thee plese,

" And or asshen into hir eerthe also,
Wherof they wer, ageyn hem thidir dresse,
And thy spirit to God whens it cam fro
Retourne God with al thyn herte blisse.
Thanke him, shewe vnto him thy kyndenesse,
For he to thee now opned hath the way
Wherthurgh thow maist be saued, is no nay

" Ful fewe been þat so with hertes ere
Konne apparceyue th'instabilitee
Of the world, and konne of the deeth han fere
Which þat alway lyth in awayt pryuee,
Ne þat of the ioie and felicitee
Of heuene, which ay shal laste and endure
Take any maner heede at al or cure

" Lifte vp thyn yen Looke aboute and see
Diligently, how many folkes blynde
In hir conceites nowadayes be.
They close and shitte the yen of hir mynde
They nat keepe in hir conceit serche and fynde
Vnto what ende needes they shuln drawe,
And al for lak of dreede of God and awe.

" They stoppe hir eres, for they nat ne keepe
Heer how conuerted be and receyue helthe.
Correccion is noon; they let it sleepe
They been so dronken of this worldes welthe
That deeth, or they be waar, right in a stelthe
Fallith vpon hem, which condicioun
Hem cause shal hastyf perdicioun.

" The peple now let seen innumerable
þat for deeth vndisposid lost han be
Considere and, if thy wit be therto able,
Noumbre of hir multitude the plentee.
Eek of hem þat in thy tyme with thee
Dwelt han, looke how þat they been take away
Thow seest wel, they from hens been past for ay,

" And as they heer han do, so shuln they haue.
What multitude in yeeres fewe ago,
Thee yit lyuynge, han leid been in hir graue —
What brethren, cousins, felawes and mo
Of thy knowleche Beholde alle tho
Thynke eek, with hem hir olde synne goon is
Touche vnto hem, speke and axe hem of this,

" And they with wepynge and with waymentynge
Shuln to thee seye, and thus ageyn answere,
Blissid is he þat can see the endynge,
And synnes þat the soule hurte and der
Eschue can, and hem flee and forber,
And þat in my conseil hath good sauour,
Disposynge him alway vnto þat hour.

" And therfore, alle vicious thynges left,
Weel thee dispose and reedy make thee
To dye, lest the tyme be thee reft
Or þat thow be waar, for no certeintee
Haast thow therof Thow art nothyng pryuee
Therto. Deeth is nat fer: right atte yate
Shee is Be reedy for to dye algate.

" Right as a marchant stondynge in a port
His ship þat charged is with marchandyse
To go to fer parties for confort
Of himself lookeþ þat it in sauf wyse
Passe out, right so, if thow wirke as the wyse,
See to thy soule so, or thow hens weende,
þat it may han the lyf þat haath noon ende."
Amen.

De caelesti Jerusalem

The othir iii partes which in this book
Of the tretice of deeth expressid be,
Touche Y nat dar þat labour Y forsook,
For so greet thyng to swich a fool as me
Ouer chargeable is, by my leautee,
To medle with Ynow the firste part
For my smal konnynge is and symple art.

But as the ixe lesson which is rad
In holy chirche vpon a[ll] halwen day
Witnessith, syn it ioieful is and glad
For hem þat hens shuln wel departe away
And to the blisse go þat lastith ay,
Translate wole Y, nat in rym but prose,
For so it best is, as þat Y suppose

How greet ioie and blisse is shapen to hem
þat so shuln passe hens vp to the citee
Callid celestial Ierusalem,
Aftir our might and possibilitee
Let vs considere, althogh it so be
That for to conprehende þat gladnesse
Verraily no wit may, ne tonge, expresse.