The Prologe of the Prioresses Tale.
O Lord our lord, thy name how merveillous
Is in this large worlde y-sprad—quod she:—
For noght only thy laude precious
Parfourned is by men of dignitee,
But by the mouth of children thy bountee
Parfourned is, for on the brest soukinge
Som tyme shewen they thyn heryinge.
Wherfor in laude, as I best can or may,
Of thee, and of the whyte lily flour
Which that thee bar, and is a mayde alway,
To telle a storie I wol do my labour;
Not that I may encresen hir honour;
For she hir-self is honour, and the rote
Of bountee, next hir sone, and soules bote.—
O moder mayde! o mayde moder free!
O bush unbrent, brenninge in Moyses sighte,
That ravisedest doun fro the deitee,
Thurgh thyn humblesse, the goost that in thalighte,
Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte,
Conceived was the fadres sapience,
Help me to telle it in thy reverence!
Lady! thy bountee, thy magnificence,
Thy vertu, and thy grete humilitee
Ther may no tonge expresse in no science;
For som-tyme, lady, er men praye to thee,
Thou goost biforn of thy benignitee,
And getest us the light, thurgh thy preyere,
To gyden us un-to thy sone so dere.
My conning is so wayk, o blisful quene,
For to declare thy grete worthinesse,
That I ne may the weighte nat sustene,
But as a child of twelf monthe old, or lesse,
That can unnethes any word expresse,
Right so fare I, and therfor I yow preye,
Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye.
Explicit.
The Prologue of the Prioress’s Tale.
O Lord our Lord, thy name how marvellous
Is in this large world y-spread—quoth she:—
For not only thy laud precious
Performed is by men of dignity,
But by the mouth of children thy bounty
Performed is, for on the breast sucking
Sometime showen they thine herying.
Wherefore in laud, as I best can or may,
Of thee, and of the white lily flower
Which that thee bear, and is a maid alway,
To tell a story I will do my labour;
Not that I may increasen her honour;
For she herself is honour, and the root
Of bounty, next her son, and soul’s boot.—
O mother maid! o maid mother free!
O bush unburnt, burning in Moses’ sight,
That ravishedest down from the deity,
Through thine humbleness, the ghost that in th’alight,
Of whose virtue, when he thine heart light,
Conceived was the father’s sapience,
Help me to tell it in thy reverence!
Lady, thy bounty, thy magnificence,
Thy virtue, and thy great humility
There may no tongue express in no science;
For sometime, lady, ere men pray to thee,
Thou goest beforn of thy benignity,
And getest us the light, through thy prayer,
To guiden us unto thy son so dear.
My cunning is so weak, o blissful queen,
For to declare thy great worthiness,
That I ne may the weight not sustain,
But as a child of twelve month old, or less,
That can unneths any word express,
Right so fare I, and therefore I you pray,
Guideth my song that I shall of you say.
Explicit.
