IV

“Lorde to þe haf I cleped, in careȝ ful stronge,
Out of þe hole þou me herde, of hellen wombe
I calde, & þou knew myn vncler steuen;
Þou dipteȝ me of þe depe se, in-to þe dymme hert,
Þe grete flem of þy flod folded me vmbe;
Alle þe goteȝ of þy guferes, & groundeleȝ powleȝ,
& þy stryuande stremeȝ of stryndeȝ so mony,
In on daschande dam, dryueȝ me ouer;
& ȝet I say, as I seet in þe se boþem,
‘Care-ful am I kest out fro þy cler yȝen
& deseuered fro þy syȝt; ȝet surely I hope,
Efte to trede on þy temple & teme to þy seluen.’
I am wrapped in water to my wo stoundeȝ,
Þe abyme byndes þe body þat I byde inne;
Þe pure poplande hourle playes on my heued,
To laste mere of vche a mount man am I fallen;
Þe barreȝ of vche a bonk ful bigly me haldes,
Þat I may lachche no lont & þou my lyf weldes;
Þou schal releue me renk, whil þy ryȝt slepeȝ,
Þurȝ myȝt of þy mercy þat mukel is to tryste.
For when þacces of anguych watȝ hid in my sawle,
Þenne I remembred me ryȝt of my rych lorde,
Prayande him for peté his prophete to here,
Þat in-to his holy hous myn orisoun moȝt entre.
I haf meled with þy maystres mony longe day,
Bot now I wot wyterly, þat þose vnwyse ledes
Þat affyen hym in vanyté & in vayne þynges,
For þink þat mountes to noȝt, her mercy forsaken;
Bot I dewoutly awowe þat verray betȝ halden,
Soberly to do þe sacrafyse when I schal saue worþe,
& offer þe for my hele a ful hol gyfte,
& halde goud þat þou me hetes; haf here my trauthe.”
Thenne oure fader to þe fysch ferslych biddeȝ,
Þat he hym sput spakly vpon spare drye;
Þe whal wendeȝ at his wylle & a warþe fyndeȝ,
& þer he brakeȝ vp þe buyrne, as bede hym oure lorde.
Þenne he swepe to þe sonde in sluchched cloþes,
Hit may wel be þat mester were his mantyle to wasche;
Þe bonk þat he blosched to & bode hym bisyde,
Wern of þe regiounes ryȝt þat he renayed hade;
Þenne a wynde of goddeȝ worde efte þe wyȝe bruxleȝ,
“Nylt þou neuer to nuniue bi no-kynneȝ wayeȝ?”
“Ȝisse lorde,” quod þe lede, “lene me þy grace
For to go at þi gre, me gayneȝ non oþer.”
“Ris, aproche þen to prech, lo þe place here!
Lo! my lore is in þe loke, lance hit þer-inne.”
Þenne þe renk radly ros as he myȝt,
& to niniue þat naȝt he neȝed ful euen;
Hit watȝ a ceté ful syde & selly of brede,
On to þrenge þer-þurȝe watȝ þre dayes dede.
Þat on Iournay ful Ioynt Ionas hym ȝede,
Er euer he warpped any worde to wyȝe þat he mette,
& þenne he cryed so cler, þat kenne myȝt alle;
Þe trwe tenor of his teme he tolde on þis wyse:
“Ȝet schal forty dayeȝ fully fare to an ende,
& þenne schal Niniue be nomen & to noȝt worþe;
Truly þis ilk toun schal tylte to grounde,
Vp-so-doun schal ȝe dumpe depe to þe abyme,
To be swolȝed swyftly wyth þe swart erþe,
& alle þat lyuyes here-inne lose þe swete.”
Þis speche sprang in þat space & spradde alle aboute,
To borges & to bacheleres, þat in þat burȝ lenged;
Such a hidor hem bent & a hatel drede,
Þat al chaunged her chere & chylled at þe hert.
Þe segge sesed not ȝet, bot sayde euer ilyche
“Þe verray vengaunce of god schal voyde þis place.”
Þenne þe peple pitosly pleyned ful stylle,
& for þe drede of dryȝtyn doured in hert;
Heter hayreȝ þay hent þat asperly bited,
& þose þay bounden to her bak & to her bare sydeȝ,
Dropped dust on her hede & dymly bisoȝten,
Þat þat penaunce plesed him þat playneȝ on her wronge.
& ay he cryes in þat kyth tyl þe kyng herde;
& he radly vp-ros & ran fro his chayer,
His ryche robe he to-rof of his rigge naked,
& of a hep of askes he hitte in þe myddeȝ;
He askeȝ heterly a hayre & hasped hym vmbe,
Sewed a sekke þer abof, & syked ful colde;
Þer he dased in þat duste, with droppande teres,
Wepande ful wonderly alle his wrange dedes.
Þenne sayde he to his seriauntes, “samnes yow bilyue,
Do dryue out a decre demed of my seluen,
Þat alle þe bodyes þat ben with-inne þis borȝ quyk,
Boþe burnes & bestes, burdeȝ & childer,
Vch prynce, vche prest & prelates alle,
Alle faste frely for her falce werkes;
Seseȝ childer of her sok, soghe hem so neuer,
Ne best bite on no brom, ne no bent nauþer,
Passe to no pasture, ne pike non erbes,
Ne non oxe to no hay, ne no horse to water;
Al schal crye for-clemmed, with alle oure clere strenþe,
Þe rurd schal ryse to hym þat rawþe schal haue;
What wote oþer wyte may ȝif þe wyȝe lykes,
Þat is hende in þe hyȝt of his gentryse?
I wot his myȝt is so much, þaȝ he be mysse-payed,
Þat in his mylde amesyng he mercy may fynde;
& if we leuen þe layk of oure layth synnes,
& stylle steppen in þe styȝe he styȝtleȝ hym seluen,
He wyl wende of his wodschip, & his wrath leue,
& for-gif vus þis gult ȝif we hym god leuen.”
Þenne al leued on his lawe & laften her synnes,
Par-formed alle þe penaunce þat þe prynce radde;
& god þurȝ his godnesse forgef as he sayde,
Þaȝ he oþer bihyȝt, [&] with-helde his vengaunce.