II

Hit bi-tydde sum-tyme in þe termes of Iude,
Ionas ioyned watȝ þer-inne ientyle prophete;
Goddes glam to hym glod, þat hym vnglad made,
With a roghlych rurd rowned in his ere;
“Rys radly,” he says, “& rayke forth euen,
Nym þe way to nynyue, wyth-outen oþer speche,
& in þat cete my saȝes soghe alle aboute,
Þat, in þat place at þe poynt, I put in þi hert;
For Iwysse hit arn so wykke þat in þat won dowelleȝ,
& her malys is so much I may not abide,
Bot venge me on her vilanye & venym bilyue;
Now sweȝe me þider swyftly & say me þis arende.”
When þat steuen watȝ stynt, þat stowned his mynde,
Al he wrathed in his wyt & wyþerly he þoȝt,
If I bowe to his bode & bryng hem þis tale,
& I be Nummen in Nuniue, my nyes begynes;
He telles me þose traytoures arn typped schrewes,
I com wyth þose tyþynges, þay ta me bylyue,
Pyneȝ me in a prysoun, put me in stokkes,
Wryþe me in a warlok, wrast out myn yȝen.
Þis is a meruayl message a man for to preche,
Amonge enmyes so mony & mansed fendes;
Bot if my gaynlych god such gref to me wolde,
For desert of sum sake þat I slayn were,
At alle peryles, quod þe prophete, I aproche hit no nerre,
I wyl me sum oþer waye, þat he ne wayte after;
I schal tee in-to tarce, & tary þere a whyle,
& lyȝtly, when I am lest, he letes me alone.
Þenne he ryses radly, & raykes bilyue
Ionas toward port Iaph, ay Ianglande for tene,
Þat he nolde þole, for no-þyng, non of þose pynes,
Þaȝ þe fader þat hym formed were fale of his hele.
“Oure syre syttes,” he says, “on sege so hyȝe
In his g[l]wande glorye, & gloumbes ful lyttel,
Þaȝ I be nummen in nuniue & naked dispoyled,
On rode rwly to-rent, with rybaudes mony.”
Þus he passes to þat port, his passage to seche,
Fyndes he a fayr schyp to þe fare redy;
Maches hym with þe maryneres, makes her paye,
For to towe hym in-to tarce, as tyd as þay myȝt.
Then he tron on þo tres & þay her tramme ruchen,
Cachen vp þe crossayl, cables þay fasten,
Wiȝt at þe wyndlas weȝen her ankres,
Sprude spak to þe sprete þe spare bawe-lyne,
Gederen to þe gyde ropes, þe grete cloþ falles;
Þay layden in on ladde-borde & þe lofe wynnes.
Þe blyþe breþe at her bak þe bosum he fyndes,
He swenges me þys swete schip swefte fro þe hauen.
Watȝ neuer so Ioyful a Iue, as Ionas watȝ þenne,
Þat þe daunger of dryȝtyn so derfly ascaped;
He wende wel þat þat wyȝ þat al þe world planted,
Hade no maȝt in þat mere no man forto greue.
Lo! þe wytles wrechche, for he wolde noȝt suffer,
Now hatȝ he put hym in plyt of peril wel more;
Hit watȝ a wenyng vn-war þat welt in his mynde,
Þaȝ he were soȝt fro samarye þat god seȝ no fyrre,
Ȝise he blusched ful brode, þat burde hym by sure,
Þat ofte kyd hym þe carpe þat kyng sayde,
Dyngne dauid on des, þat demed þis speche,
In a psalme þat he set þe sauter with-inne;
O Foleȝ in folk feleȝ oþer whyle,
& vnderstondes vmbe-stounde, þaȝ he be stape fole,
Hope ȝe þat he heres not þat eres alle made?
Hit may not be þat he is blynde þat bigged vche yȝe.
Bot he dredes no dynt þat dotes for elde,
For he watȝ fer in þe flod foundande to tarce;
Bot, I trow, ful tyd, ouer-tan þat he were,
So þat schomely to schort he schote of his ame.
For þe welder of wyt, þat wot alle þynges,
Þat ay wakes & waytes, at wylle hatȝ he slyȝtes;
He calde on þat ilk crafte he carf with his hondes,
Þay wakened wel þe wroþeloker, for wroþely he cleped:
“Ewrus & aquiloun, þat on est sittes,
Blowes boþe at my bode vpon blo watteres.”
Þenne watȝ no tom þer bytwene his tale & her dede,
So bayn wer þay boþe two, his bone for to wyrk.
An-on out of þe norþ est þe noys bigynes,
When boþe breþes con blowe vpon blo watteres;
Roȝ rakkes þer ros with rudnyng an-vnder,
Þe see souȝed ful sore, gret selly to here;
Þe wyndes on þe wonne water so wrastel to-geder,
Þat þe wawes ful wode waltered so hiȝe,
& efte busched to þe abyme þat breed fysches;
Durst nowhere for roȝ arest at þe bothem.
When þe breth & þe brok & þe bote metten,
Hit watȝ a ioyles gyn þat Ionas watȝ inne,
For hit reled on roun[d] vpon þe roȝe yþes.
Þe bur ber to hit baft þat braste alle her gere,
Þen hurled on a hepe þe helme & þe sterne,
Furst to murte mony rop & þe mast after.
Þe sayl sweyed on þe see, þenne suppe bihoued
Þe coge of þe colde water, & þenne þe cry ryses;
Ȝet coruen þay þe cordes & kest al þer-oute.
Mony ladde þer forth-lep to laue & to kest,
Scopen out þe scaþel water, þat fayn scape wolde;
For be monnes lode neuer so luþer, þe lyf is ay swete.
Þer watȝ busy ouer-borde bale to kest
Her bagges, & her feþer beddes, & her bryȝt wedes,
Her kysttes, & her coferes, her caraldes alle,
& al to lyȝten þat lome, ȝif leþe wolde schape;
Bot euer watȝ ilyche loud þe lot of þe wyndes,
& euer wroþer þe water, & wodder þe stremes.
Þen þo wery for-wroȝt wyst no bote,
Bot vchon glewed on his god þat gayned hym beste;
Summe to vernagu þer vouched a-vowes solemne,
Summe to diana deuout, & derf nepturne,
To mahoun & to mergot, þe mone & þe sunne,
& vche lede as he loued & layde had his hert.
Þenne bispeke þe spakest dispayred wel nere:
I leue here be sum losynger, sum lawles wrech,
Þat hatȝ greued his god & gotȝ here amonge vus;
Lo al synkes in his synne & for his sake marres!
I lovne þat we lay lotes on ledes vchone,
& who-so lympes þe losse, lay hym þer-oute;
& quen þe gulty is gon what may gome trawe,
Bot he þat rules þe rak may rwe on þose oþer?
Þis watȝ sette in asent, & sembled þay were,
Herȝed out of vche hyrne to hent þat falles.
A lodes-mon lyȝtly lep vnder hachches,
For to layte mo ledes & hem to lote bryng,
Bot hym fayled no freke þat he fynde myȝt,
Saf Ionas þe Iwe þat Iowked in derne.
He watȝ flowen for ferde of þe flode lotes
In-to þe boþem of þe bot, & on a brede lyggede,
On helde by þe hurrok, for þe heuen wrache,
Slypped vpon a sloumbe, selepe, & sloberande he routes.
Þe freke hym frunt with his fot & bede hym ferk vp,
Þer ragnel in his rakentes hym rere of his dremes;
Bi þe haspede he hentes hym þenne,
& broȝt hym vp by þe brest & vpon borde sette,
Arayned hym ful runyschly what raysoun he hade
In such slaȝtes of sorȝe to slepe so faste;
Sone haf þay her sortes sette & serelych deled,
& ay þe lote, vpon laste, lymped on Ionas.
Þenne ascryed þay hym sckete, & asked ful loude,
“What þe deuel hatȝ þou don, doted wrech?
What seches þou on see, synful schrewe,
With þy lastes so luþer to lose vus vchone?
Hatȝ þou, gome, no gouernour ne god on to calle,
Þat þou þus slydes on slepe when þou slayn worþes?
Of what londe art þou lent, what laytes þou here
Whyder in worlde þat þou wylt, & what is þyn arnde?
Lo þy dom is þe dyȝt, for þy dedes ille!
Do gyf glory to þy godde, er þou glyde hens.”
“I am an Ebru,” quod he, “of Israyl borne;
Þat wyȝe I worchyp, Iwysse, þat wroȝt alle þynges,
Alle þe worlde with þe welkyn, þe wynde & þe sternes,
& alle þat woneȝ þer with-inne, at a worde one.
Alle þis meschef for me is made at þys tyme,
For I haf greued my god & gulty am founden;
For-þy bereȝ me to þe borde, & baþeþes me þer-oute,
Er gete ȝe no happe, I hope forsoþe.”
He ossed hym by vnnynges þat þay vnder-nomen,
Þat he watȝ flawen fro þe face of frelych dryȝtyn;
Þenne such a ferde on hem fel & flayed hem with-inne,
Þat þay ruyt hym to rowwe & letten þe rynk one.
Haþeles hyȝed in haste with ores ful longe,
Syn her sayl watȝ hem aslypped on sydeȝ to rowe;
Hef & hale vpon hyȝt to helpen hym seluen,
Bot al watȝ nedles note, þat nolde not bityde:
In bluber of þe blo flod bursten her ores,
Þenne hade þay noȝt in her honde þat hem help myȝt;
Þenne nas no coumfort to keuer, ne counsel non oþer,
Bot ionas in-to his Iuis Iugge bylyue.
Fyrst þay prayen to þe prynce þat prophetes seruen,
Þat he gef hem þe grace to greuen hym neuer,
Þat þay in baleleȝ blod þer blenden her handeȝ,
Þaȝ þat haþel wer his, þat þay here quelled.
Tyd by top & bi to þay token hym synne,
In-to þat lodlych loȝe þay luche hym sone;
He watȝ no tytter out-tulde þat tempest ne sessed,
Þe se saȝtled þer-with, as sone as ho moȝt.
Þenne þaȝ her takel were torne, þat totered on yþeȝ,
Styffe stremes & streȝt hem strayned a whyle,
Þat drof hem dryȝlych adoun þe depe to serue,
Tyl a swetter ful swyþe hem sweȝed to bonk.
Þer watȝ louyng on lofte, when þay þe londe wonnen,
To oure mercyable god, on moyses wyse,
With sacrafyse vp-set, & solempne vowes,
& graunted hym vn-to be god & graythly non oþer;
Þaȝ þay be Iolef for Ioye, Ionas ȝet dredes,
Þaȝ he nolde suffer no sore, his seele is on anter;
For what-so worþed of þat wyȝe, fro he in water dipped,
Hit were a wonder to wene, ȝif holy wryt nere.