III

Now is ionas þe Iwe Iugged to drowne;
Of þat schended schyp men schowued hym sone.
A wylde walterande whal, as wyrde þen schaped,
Þat watȝ beten fro þe abyme, bi þat bot flotte,
& watȝ war of þat wyȝe þat þe water soȝte,
& swyftely swenged hym to swepe & his swolȝ opened;
Þe folk ȝet haldande his fete þe fysch hym tyd hentes,
With-outen towche of any tothe he tult in his þrote.
Thenne he swengeȝ & swayues to þe se boþem,
Bi mony rokkeȝ ful roȝe & rydelande strondes,
Wyth þe mon in his mawe, malskred in drede.
As lyttel wonder hit watȝ ȝif he wo dreȝed,
For nade þe hyȝe heuen kyng, þurȝ his honde myȝt,
Warded þis wrech man in warlowes gutteȝ,
What lede moȝt lyue bi lawe of any kynde,
Þat any lyf myȝt be lent so longe hym with-inne?
Bot he watȝ sokored by þat syre þat syttes so hiȝe,
Þaȝ were wauleȝ of wele, in wombe of þat fissche,
& also dryuen þurȝ þe depe, & in derk waltereȝ.
Lorde! colde watȝ his cumfort & his care huge,
For he knew vche a cace & kark þat hym lymped;
How fro þe bot in-to þe blober watȝ with a best lachched,
& þrwe in at hit þrote, with-outen þret more,
As mote in at a munster dor, so mukel wern his chawleȝ,
He glydes in by þe giles, þurȝ glaymande glette,
Relande in by a rop, a rode þat hym þoȝt,
Ay hele ouer hed, hourlande aboute,
Til he blunt in a blok as brod as a halle;
& þer he festnes þe fete & fathmeȝ aboute,
& stod vp in his stomak, þat stank as þe deuel;
Þer in saym & in sorȝe þat sauoured as helle,
Þer watȝ bylded his bour, þat wyl no bale suffer;
& þenne he lurkkes & laytes where watȝ le best,
In vche a nok of his nauel, bot nowhere he fyndeȝ
No rest ne recouerer, bot ramelande myre,
In wych gut so euer he gotȝ; bot euer is god swete;
& þer he lenged at þe last & to þe lede called.
“Now prynce, of þy prophete pité þou haue!
Þaȝ I be fol, & fykel, & falce of my hert,
De-woyde now þy vengaunce, þurȝ vertu of rauthe;
Thaȝ I be gulty of gyle as gaule of prophetes,
Þou art god, & alle gowdeȝ ar grayþely þyn owen;
Haf now mercy of þy man & his mys-dedes,
& preue þe lyȝtly a lorde, in londe & in water.”
With þat he hitte to a hyrne & helde hym þer-inne,
Þer no de-foule of no fylþe watȝ fest hym abute;
Þer he sete also sounde, saf for merk one,
As in þe bulk of þe bote, þer he by-fore sleped.
So in a bouel of þat best he bideȝ on lyue,
Þre dayes & þ[r]e nyȝt ay þenkande on dryȝtyn,
His myȝt & his merci, his mesure þenne;
Now he knaweȝ hym in care þat couþe not in sele.
Ande euer walteres þis whal bi wyldren depe,
Þurȝ mony a regioun ful roȝe, þurȝ ronk of his wylle,
For þat mote in his mawe mad hym, I trowe,
Þaȝ hit lyttel were, hym wyth to wamel at his hert,
Ande assayled þe segge; ay sykerly he herde
Þe bygge borne on his bak & bete on his sydes;
Þen a prayer ful prest þe prophete þer maked
On þis wyse, as I wene, his wordeȝ were mony: