The following poem, esteemed readers, is said by its modern editor, the inestimable Carleton Brown, to come from the end of the fourteenth century. At the time, more or less everything seemed to be falling apart. Recurrences of famine and the Black Death. Earthquakes. The French and Spanish navies raiding up the Thames as far as Gravesend, which got put to the torch. Not long after the open and blood-soaked rebellion in 1381,1 the first heresy was declared in England. In a few years West Smithfield would play host the immolations of wrong belief with indulgences available to those who brought the twigs. While it certainly never took much for medieval man and woman to recognise the urgent need for repentance, this poem and those like it certainly spoke to the times.
The poem had relatively wide circulation, surviving in some 15 separate manuscripts.2 I find the presentation of the wounds themselves of interest in that we have the right hand, then the left hand, the side and finally both feet together. The poet would need to make up for only two deadly sins if he had treated the feet separately. The crown of thorns and the vinegar and gall are natural choices. The poet, however, uses the central stanza not to refer to any specific wound but to Christ’s salvation “mission” as a whole: born of a pure maiden to suffer horribly in order to redeem man’s sins. The two feet being treated together allows the poem to have the following “sin” structure:
Crown of thorns: pride.
Right hand: wrath.
Thirst upon the cross: gluttony.
Salvation mission: lechery / lust.
Left hand: avarice.
Side: envy.
Both feet: sloth.
The poem’s rhyme scheme and meter in their apparent simplicity would, it seems to me, allow for easy memorization and, perhaps, recitation / silent meditation along the lines of the Chaplet of the Five Wounds. I find the penultimate stanza particularly touching but also horrifying and guilt inducing. Not bad for 34 syllables.
Jesus appeals to Man by the Wounds3
Wiþ scharpe þornes þat weren ful kene,
Myn heed was crowned, ȝe moun wel sene;
The blood ran doun al bi my cheke,
Þou proud man, þerfore be meke.
Iff þou be wrooþ & wolt take wreche,
Biholde þe lessoun þat I þee teche:
Þoruȝ my riȝthond þe nail it gooþ,
Þerfore forȝeue & be nouȝt wrooþ.
In al my þirst vpon þe rode,
Men ȝauen me drinkis þat weren not gode,
Eysel & galle fort to drynke;
Glotoun, þeron I rede þee þenke.
Of a clene maiden I was born,
To saue mankynde þat was for-lorn,
To suffer deeþ for mannys synne.
Lecchour, þerfore of lust þou blynne.
Thoruȝ my lifthond a nail was dryue -
Þenk þou þeron if þou wolt lyue,
And helpe þe pore wiþ almesdede,
If þou in heuene wolt haue þi mede.
Wiþ a spere scharp, þat was ful grill,
Myn herte was persid – it was my wil -
For loue of man þat was ful dere;
Enuyous man, of loue þou lere.
Arise up, vnlust, out of þi bed,
And biholde my feet, þat are forbled
And nailid faste upon þe tree;
Þanke me þerfore, al was for þee.
Ihesu, for þi woundis fyue,
Þou kepe hem weel in al her lyue
Þat þese lessouns ouer wole rede,
And þerwiþ her soulis fede.
MS. Harley 23394
As an indication of the sheer depravity of the Peasants’ Revolt, the murderous and heretical fiends sacked my barristers’ inn, the Inner Temple. The Middle Temple escaped unharmed. Come to think of it, the Middle Temple also survived the German bombs which left not a stone standing on another in the Inner Temple. Coincidence? Maybe. For more about the fabulous former digs of the Knights Templar, please see the history of the Inns at these websites: Inner Temple; Middle Temple. The Middle Temple’s dining hall, if memory serves, is where Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night had its premier.
An example from the Ashmole 61 manuscript can be found here: The Wounds and the Sins
For unfamiliar vocabulary, please see Middle / Early Modern English Glossary in the “Reference & Guides” section of the Peregrinus page. It may be necessary with the above piece to root around a bit - words may be listed under another spelling variant. I do try to cover the all the bases, but some do get by me.
Please note, “þ” = “th”; “ȝ” = g/gh in middle of word; y or g at beginning (mostly).
Medieval poetry contains such wisdom. Thank you, I am so tired of the notion that Middle Ages were dark and unworthy of our attention. Time to tear this enlightenment wrong idea to pieces. Your writing helps.
How wonderful to read this medieval marvel! I explored Middle English in my Master's Degree days, so I could make out most of the poem without aids. Thank you once again for revealing these gems to us!