ABSTRACT
fourteenth century Fro wyf and lond, withouten moore abood, On a May morwe to Dorbury I rood, That by the chirche’s seint, Peter of Rome, I myghte fynde conforte in my herte’s home. I sette my hors, as soon as sonne gan shyne, . Thrugh lanes of hawethom and of eglentyne, But tho it happed fol twentie yeares behynd, The synne I bore lay heavie on my mynd, Soe that ne bud ne blossyme did I see Of alle the floures that bursten on the tree. For two long deyes its ymage did me keepe, And thrugh the nyght it prisounded me fro slepe. Thanne on the evenyng of the secound deye I met a band of pylgrimes by the weye, Who laughed and talked and jangled on the reyne As if they rood for plesaunce, not for peyne. They toulde of robberes hidyng in the woode To lighten traveleres of purs and blud, And of thir felawshipe invited mee To take my journie in thir campaygnie. Mo to escape the thoghtes in my head Thanne theves in woode, I ventured as they seyd. I laughed with hem and toulde hem merye tales Of poets, lovyeres, nyghts and nyghtyngales, Till you hadde thoghte that in the worlde wyde Ne wyght mo gaie ne shriven e’er did ryde; And atte taveme where we took oure reste, I fel to bedde and snoren with the beste. Thereafter did swich tapestries unfolde Of orchard, forest and the oupen wolde, Thatte as I ronge the brydel, laught and spoke, I felt my yeeres downfallen lyk a cloke. Meseemed the same man, yonge and prosperynge, Who first that weye hadde wenden in the sprynge. Soe rood we fol fyve deyes, til sodeynly We saugh far offe the toure of Dorbury Uprysyng lyk a speare. It strooke my herte. My soules lyf was wounden with the smerte. I hadde ne wordes mo. They seyd farewel And went hir weyes with freende or hooste to dwel, Swearing, with Goddes blessyng on hir steye, To meet ageyn upon the homeward weye. But I, allone as born, within the gate Tethered my hors for all that it was late, And, as he cropped at the grasses tall, Stoode stil as any shadowe by the walle; Until I heard Great Peter in his toure Shake all the nyght with telling of the houre, Lyke drum of doome. Thanne soghte I out the doore Wherein I entered twentie yeeres before. ‘Long since,’ one answered mee, ’she went fro heere. A child she bore. It dyed within the yeere.’ ‘And Goddes will it were,’ another seyd; ‘Ne housbonde refte her ofhir maydenhed. She went into the Convent of Seint Clare To take hir vowes and mak atonement ther. But if content, good sir, with swich a thyng, We are ryght glad to give you harberyng.’ That nyght within the roome where we had leyd I lay ageyn, and long and long I preyed. But of socc6ur and tendres had I nonne, Nor slepe came never ti1 the risyng sonne. My hors I fed, and whenas Prime was songe To the Cathedral chirche I took my wronge. At chancel arch I made confessioune, And by the preste hadde absolutioune. Thanne knelt I by the shrine where Peter’s boune Of litel finger lyeth on the stoune, And preyed the seint that as he was forgiven His Larde denying, so myght I be shriven. Whan I had doone, and thoghte my synne had dyed, I met her eyen by the auter syde. Knelyng she was, hir wympul whyt and longe, And rounde hir nek a crucyfysse y-honge Of Jhesu Crist his ende. Fro chin to brow Onlie hir eyen showed. That were enow, Sin that they looked as they did pitie mee For hir deare Meister’s sake. Thanne sodeynly They sterte with feare. Turning on a breath I see hir broother, that had swome my deathe, Upstanding by the walle. I fynd my feet. Swiftly along the cloisters to the street I mak my weye; but ere the doore I win Am held by presse of pilgrymes comyng in. I feel his hate behynd. A sodeyn smerte, And I have dropped, a daggere thurgh my herte. Soe, in some planne, by Goddes seint y-roghte, I founde my peace, but in a different sort.
