from Middle English Poetry in Modern Verse
Cambridge, MA, Hackett: 2007
Available from Amazon and other online sellers
1 164 Norton
Adam lay bound,
Bound
up in a bond.
Four thousand winters
Hardly seemed too long.
And all was for an apple,
An apple that he took,
As learned men find written,
Written in their book,
Had
not the apple taken been,
The apple taken been,
Then had not our lady
Become our
heaven’s queen.
Blessed be the time
That apple taken was.
And therefore we must sing:
“Deo gracias!” Thanks be to
God!
Index 117. MS. Sloane 2593. Fifteenth century. Unique.
2
231 Norton
I labored sore and suffered death,
And now I rest to draw my breath,
But I shall come right soon in might.
On heaven and earth my doom shall light;
And
then shall Satan know, and man,
What I was and what I am.
Index 1308, National
Library of Scotland, Advocates 19.1.11. Fifteenth century. Unique??
3
219 Norton
Love me brought
And love me wrought,
Man, to be thy friend.
Love
me fed
And love me led
And left me to my end.
Love me slew
And love me drew
And
laid me on my bier.
Love only knows
For love I chose
Mankind to buy most dear.
So now dread naught;
I have thee sought
Pursuing day and night.
I’ll shelter
thee.
I paid the fee.
I won thee in my fight.
Index 2012. National Library of Scotland,
Advocates 18.7.21. Fourteenth century. Unique??
4
17 Norton
All night beside the rose, the rose,
All night by the rose
I lay.
I dared not steal the rose itself,
But bore the flower away.
Index 194.
MS. Rawlinson D. 913. Fourteenth century. Unique.
5
27 Norton
Between March and April,
When sweet sprays start to spring
And small
birds do their loving will,
As in their songs they sing,
Why, then I live in love
and longing
For the fairest maid there is.
Only she can bring me bliss.
I’m hers
alone, bound up, undone.
A happy hap has come to me.
I know it came
by God’s decree.
From other girls my love must flee,
And light on Alison. refrain
Her hair is lovely, light and fair,
Black brows above dark, snapping eyes.
She
laughs at me without a care.
Her waist is everything men prize.
I swear unless the
girl complies
And loves me back without disguise,
Her will will lead to my demise,
And then my course is run.
Abed at night I twist and turn—
Tormented till my cheeks
grow pale.
Dear lady, this is your concern,
It’s love that makes my spirit fail.
The wisest man with least to learn
Can’t say how bright her virtues burn.
Indeed,
her dainty neck might spurn
The whitest maid beneath the sun.
Now love has worn
me down, alas,
Tossed like water to and fro,
Lest someone else might win the lass
Whom I have loved with such great woe.
But better suffer now, I know,
Than wait and
suffer evermore.
Oh, fairest girl the world can show,
Hear my refrain and then I’m
done.
Index 515. MS. Harley 2253. Thirteenth century. Unique.
6
16 Robbins
Of every kind of tree,
Of every kind of tree,
The hawthorn blossoms
sweetest
Of every kind of tree.
My sweetheart she shall be,
My sweetheart she shall
be,
The fairest thing that goes on earth,
My sweetheart she shall be.
Index 2622.
Rawlinson D. 913. Fifteenth century. Unique.
7
95 Robbins
Go, little ring, to that sweet maid
Who holds my heart, as I admit.
Bow low. Beseech her to be swayed.
Pray that she will let you fit
Her slender finger,
touching it.
Then tell her roundly—don’t be shy:
“My master wishes he were I.”
Index 932. Royal MS. 17.D.vi. Fifteenth century. Unique.
8
22 Norton
Bird on briar, bird, bird on briar! with a pun on “burde,”
girl
We’re born of love, and love we crave.
Have pity, bird, and quench my fire,
Or make, dear love, make me my grave.
I am so bright, my bird on briar,
To
see that trim maid in the hall.
She’s white of limb, all I desire;
She’s fair
and true, the flower of all.
If I could have my will of her,
Steadfast in
love, lovely, true,
My woes would stop and never stir.
Joy and bliss would
make me new.
Index 521. King’s College, Cambridge, Musical setting. Fourteenth
Century. Unique??
9 106 Norton
Thirty days has November,
April, June, and September;
Of twenty-
And all the rest have thirty-
10 108 Norton
January
By the fire I warm my hands.
February I take my spade and dig my lands.
March Here I set my seeds to spring.
April Now I hear
the small birds sing.
May I am as light as a bird in a tree.
June
I uproot any weed I see.
July I scythe the meadow, making hay.
August I cut my grain the selfsame way.
September With my flail
I earn my bread.
October I take my winter wheat to spread.
November
At Martinmas I kill my swine. November 11
December At Christmas-
11
112 Norton
Phlegmatic Sluggy, slow, spitting
much,
Cold and moist, sirs, I am such.
Dull and fat, pale and strange,
That’s what I am; I cannot
change.
Sanguine Liberal, I, loving and glad,
Laughing,
playing, seldom sad;
Rosy, singing, bold to fight,
Hot and moist, fast to ignite.
Choleric I’m sad and heavy in my thought.
I covet much, surrender naught.
Tricky,
subtle, cold, and dry:
A yellow colored mope am I.
Melancholy
Envious, crooked, rough-
I spend too much
and live too long.
Scheming, skinny, dry and hot,
I’m never pleased with what I’ve got.
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