V

Muche sorȝe þenne satteled vpon segge Ionas,
He wex as wroth as þe wynde towarde oure lorde,
So hatȝ anger onhit his hert; he calleȝ
A prayer to þe hyȝe prynce, for pyne, on þys wyse:
“I biseche þe syre now þou self iugge,
Watȝ not þis ilk my worde þat worþen is nouþe,
Þat I kest in my cuntre, when þou þy carp sendeȝ,
Þat I schulde tee to þys toun, þi talent to preche?
Wel knew I þi cortaysye, þy quoynt soffraunce.
Þy bounté of debonerté & þy bene grace,
Þy longe abydyng wyth lur, þy late vengaunce,
& ay þy mercy is mete, be mysse neuer so huge.
I wyst wel when I hade worded quatsoeuer I cowþe,
To manace alle þise mody men þat in þis mote dowelleȝ,
Wyth a prayer & a pyne þay myȝt her pese gete,
& þer-fore I wolde haf flowen fer in-to tarce.
Now lorde lach out my lyf, hit lastes to longe,
Bed me bilyue my bale stour, & bryng me on ende,
For me were swetter to swelt, as swyþe as me þynk,
Þen lede lenger þi lore, þat þus me les makeȝ.”
Þe soun of oure souerayn þen swey in his ere,
Þat vpbraydes þis burne vpon a breme wyse:
“Herk renk! is þis ryȝt so ronkly to wrath,
For any dede þat I haf don oþer demed þe ȝet?”
Ionas al Ioyles & Ianglande vp-ryses
& haldeȝ out on est half of þe hyȝe place,
& farandely on a felde he fetteleȝ hym to bide,
For to wayte on þat won what schulde worþe after.
Þer he busked hym a bour, þe best þat he myȝt,
Of hay & of euer-ferne & erbeȝ a fewe,
For hit watȝ playn in þat place for plyande greueȝ,
For to schylde fro þe schene, oþer any schade keste.
He bowed vnder his lyttel boþe, his bak to þe sunne,
& þer he swowed & slept sadly al nyȝt,
Þe whyle god of his grace ded growe of þat soyle,
Þe fayrest bynde hym abof þat euer burne wyste.
When þe dawande day dryȝtyn con sende,
Þenne wakened þe wyȝ vnder wodbynde,
Loked alofte on þe lef þat lylled grene;
Such a lefsel of lof neuer lede hade,
For hit watȝ brod at þe boþem, boȝted onlofte,
Happed vpon ayþer half a hous as hit were,
A nos on þe norþ syde & nowhere non elleȝ,
Bot al schet in a schaȝe þat schaded ful cole.
Þe gome glyȝt on þe grene graciouse leues,
Þat euer wayued a wynde so wyþe & so cole;
Þe schyre sunne hit vmbe-schon, þaȝ no schafte myȝt
Þe mountaunce of a lyttel mote, vpon þat man schyne,
Þenne watȝ þe gome so glad of his gay logge,
Lys loltrande þer-inne, lokande to toune,
So blyþe of his wodbynde he balteres þer vnde[r],
Þat of no diete þat day þe deuel haf, he roȝt;
& euer he laȝed as he loked þe loge alle aboute,
& wysched hit were in his kyth, þer he wony schulde,
On heȝe vpon Effraym oþer ermonnes hilleȝ,
“I-wysse a worþloker won to welde I neuer keped.”
& quen hit neȝed to naȝt nappe hym bihoued;
He slydeȝ on a sloumbe, slep sloghe vnder leues,
Whil god wayned a worme þat wrot vpe þe rote,
& wyddered watȝ þe wodbynde bi þat þe wyȝe wakned;
& syþen he warneȝ þe west to waken ful softe,
& sayeȝ vnte ȝeferus þat he syfle warme,
Þat þer quikken no cloude bi-fore þe cler sunne,
& ho schal busch vp ful brode & brenne as a candel.
Þen wakened þe wyȝe of his wyl dremes,
& blusched to his wodbynde þat broþely watȝ marred,
Al welwed & wasted þo worþelych leues;
Þe schyre sunne hade hem schent, er euer þe schalk wyst,
& þen hef vp þe hete & heterly brenned;
Þe warm wynde of þe weste wertes he swyþeȝ.
Þe man marred on þe molde þat moȝt hym not hyde,
His wodbynde watȝ away, he weped for sorȝe,
“With hatel anger & hot, heterly he calleȝ:
A! þou maker of man, what maystery þe þynkeȝ
Þus þy freke to forfare forbi alle oþer,
With alle meschef þat þou may, neuer þou me spareȝ?
I keuered me a cumfort þat now is caȝt fro me,
My wod-bynde so wlonk þat wered my heued,
Bot now I se þou art sette my solace to reue;
Why ne dyȝtteȝ þou me to diȝe; I dure to longe?”
Ȝet oure lorde to þe lede lansed a speche:
“Is þis ryȝt-wys þou renk, alle þy ronk noyse,
So wroth for a wodbynde to wax so sone,
Why art þou so waymot wyȝe for so lyttel?”
“Hit is not lyttel,” quod þe lede, “bot lykker to ryȝt,
I wolde I were of þis worlde wrapped in moldeȝ.”
“Þenne byþenk þe mon, if þe for-þynk sore,
If I wolde help my honde werk, haf þou no wonder;
Þou art waxen so wroth for þy wod-bynde,
& trauayledeȝ neuer to tent hit þe tyme of an howre,
Bot at a wap hit here wax & away at an oþer,
& ȝet lykeȝ þe so luþer, þi lyf woldeȝ þou tyne;
Þenne wyte not me for þe werk þat I hit wolde help,
& rwe on þo redles þat remen for synne.
Fyrst I made hem myself of materes myn one,
& syþen I loked hem ful longe & hem on lode hade;
& if I my trauayl schulde tyne of termes so longe,
& type doun ȝonder toun when hit turned were,
Þe sor of such a swete place burde synk to my hert,
So mony malicious mon as mourneȝ þer-inne;
& of þat soumme ȝet arn summe such sotteȝ for madde,
As lyttel barneȝ on barme þat neuer bale wroȝt,
& wymmen vnwytté þat wale ne couþe
Þat on hande fro þat oþer for alle þis hyȝe worlde,
Bitwene þe stele & þe stayre disserne noȝt cunen,
What rule renes in roun bitwene þe ryȝt hande
& his lyfte, þaȝ his lyf schulde lost be þer-for;
& als þer ben doumbe besteȝ in þe burȝ mony,
Þat may not synne in no syt hem seluen to greue,
Why schulde I wrath wyth hem, syþen wyȝeȝ wyl torne,
& cum & cnawe me for kyng, & my carpe leue?
Wer I as hastif a[s] þou, heere were harme lumpen,
Couþe I not þole bot as þou þer þryued ful fewe;
I may not be so mal[i]cious & mylde be halden,
For malyse is noȝ[t] to mayntyne boute mercy withinne;
Be noȝt so gryndel god man, bot go forth þy wayes.”
Be preue & be pacient, in payne & in Ioye,
For he þat is to rakel to renden his cloþeȝ,
Mot efte sitte with more vn-sounde to sewe hem togeder.
For-þy when pouerté me enpreceȝ & payneȝ in-noȝe,
Ful softly with suffraunce saȝttel me bihoueȝ,
For þe penaunce & payne to preue hit in syȝt,
Þat pacience is a nobel poynt, þaȝ hit displese ofte. Amen.