Middle English Lyric

Middle English lyrics are short poems, almost all anonymous, written in English during the 13th, 14th and early 15th centuries. Their themes are generally love, nature or religious devotion. Quotes Adam lay ibounden,Bounden in a bond;Four thousand winterThoght he not too long;And all was for an appil,An appil that he tok. Adam lay bound,Bound up in a bond.Four thousand wintersHe thought not too long.And all was for an apple,An apple that he took. "Adam lay ibounden", line 1; Sir Edmund K. Chambers and Frank Sidgwick (eds.) Early English Lyrics ([1907] 1972) p. 102. Translation: Joseph Glaser Middle English Poetry in Modern Verse (2007) p. 85. Nis no fur so hot in helleAll to monThat loveth derne and dar nout telleWhet him is on. There is no hotter flame in hellThan lover's fireWhen secret lover dare not tellHis strong desire. "A waile whit ase whales bon", line 41; Reginald Thorne Davies (ed.) Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical Anthology (1963) p. 82. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 205. An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent,Ichote from hevene it is me sent;From alle wymmen my love is lentAnt lyht on Alisoun. 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. "Bytuene Mershe ant Averil", line 9; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250-1900 ([1900] 1912) p. 2. Translation: Joseph Glaser Middle English Poetry in Modern Verse (2007) pp. 6-7. Hand by hand we shule us take,And joye and blisse shule we make;For the devel of helle man hath forsake,And Godes Son is maked our make.A child is boren amonges man,And in that child was no wam:That child is God, that child is man,And in that child oure lif bigan. Let us gather hand in handAnd sing of bliss without an end:The Devil has fled from earthly land,And Son of God is made our friend. A Child is born in man's abode,And in that Child no blemish showed.That Child is God, that Child is Man,And in that Child our life began. "Hand by hand we shule us take", line 1; Celia Sisam and Kenneth Sisam (eds.) The Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse (1970) p. 183. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 30. Icham of IrlaundeAnt of the holy londeOf Irlande.Gode sire, pray ich the,For of saynte charite,Come ant daunce wyt meIn Irlaunde. I am from Ireland,And from the holy landOf Ireland.Good sir, I beg of you,For holy charity,Come and dance with meIn Ireland. "Icham of Irlaunde", line 1; Theodore Silverstein English Lyrics Before 1500 (1989) p. 82. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 98. For hire love in slep y slake,For hire love al nyht ich wake,For hire love mournynge y makeMore then eny mon.Blou northerne wynd!Send thou me my suetyng!Blou northerne wynd! blou, blou, blou! For her love in sleep I slake,For her love all night I wake,For her love mourning I make,More than any man.Blow, northern wind,Send thou me my sweeting,Blow, northern wind, blow, blow, blow! "Ichot a burde in boure bryht", line 49; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse ([1900] 1912) p. 7. Translation: William Henry Schofield English Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer (1906) p. 444. <Harley Lyrics, art. 46> She sente me the cheryeWithouten ony ston;And so she dede the doveWithouten ony bon;She sente me the brerWithouten ony rinde;She bad me love my lemmanWithoute longing. She sent me a cherryWithout any stone;She sent me a doveWithout any bone;She sent me a briarWithout branch or leaf;She bade me love my loverWithout any grief. "I have a yong suster", line 5; Reginald Thorne Davies (ed.) Medieval English Lyrics: A Critical Anthology (1972) p. 164. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 102. I sing of a maidenThat is makeles;King of all kingsTo her son she ches. I sing of a Maiden,A matchless one;King of all KingsShe chose for her Son. "I sing of a maiden", line 1; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse ([1900] 1912) p. 34. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 25. Wymmen waxeth wounder proudeSo wel hit wol hem seme,Yef me shal wonte wille of on,This wunne weole y wole forgonAnt wyht in wode be fleme. Women flaunt their pride above –The spring becomes them well.If none of them can burn for me,Then, lost to fortune, I shall fleeAnd in the wild wood dwell. "Lenten ys come with love to toune", line 32; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse ([1900] 1912) p. 5. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 200. Louerd, þu clepedest me,An ich nagt ne ansuarede þe,Bute wordes scloe and sclepie:"Þole yet! þole a litel!"Bute "yiet" and "yiet" was endelis,And "þole a litel" a long wey is. Lord, you called to me,And I gave no replyBut slowly, sleepily:"Wait a while yet! Wait a little!"But "yet" and "yet" goes on and on,And "wait a little" grows too long. "Louerd, þu clepedest me", line 1; Carleton Brown (ed.) Religious Lyrics of the XIVth Century ([1924] 2003) p. 3. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 72. Middel-erd for mon wes mad. This middle-earth was made for man. "Middel-erd for mon wes mad", line 1; Thomas Wright (ed.) Early English Poetry, Ballads, and Popular Literature of the Middle Ages (1841) vol. 4, p. 22. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 182. Mirie it is while sumer ilastWith fugheles song,Oc nu necheth windes blastAnd weder strong.Ej! Ej! what this nicht is long,And ich with wel michel wrongSoregh and murne and fast. Merry it is while summer lasts,With birds in song;But now there threaten windy blastsAnd tempests strong.Ah, but the night is long,And I, being done such wrong,Sorrow and mourn and fast. "Mirie it is while sumer ilast", line 1; Theodore Silverstein English Lyrics Before 1500 (1989) p. 39. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 62. Of on that is so fayr and brightVelut maris stella,Brighter than the day is light,Parens et puella:Ic crie to the, thou see to me,Levedy, preye thi Sone for me,Tam pia,That ic mote come to thee,Maria. One that is so fair and bright,Velut maris stella; [as a star of the sea]Brighter than the day's light,Parens et puella. [mother and maiden]I cry to thee, then look on me.Lady pray thy Son for me,Tam pia, [thou gracious one]That I may come to thee,Maria. "Of on that is so fayr and bright", line 1; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse ([1900] 1912) p. 8. Translation: W. Edwards A Medieval Scrap Heap (1930) p. 48. Sumer is icumen in,Lhude sing cuccu!Groweth sed, and bloweth med,And springth the wude nu–Sing cuccu! Summer has come in,Loudly sing cuckoo!The seed growsAnd the meadow blooms,And the wood sprouts anew–Sing cuckoo! "Sumer is icumen in", line 1; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse ([1900] 1912) p. 1. Translation: Lewis Turco The Book of Forms: A Handbook of Poetics ([1968] 2000) p. 209. Were beth they biforen vs weren,Houndes ladden and hauekes berenAnd hadden feld and wode? Where are those who lived before?Who chased with hawk and hound of yore,Possessing fields and woods? "Were beth they biforen vs weren", line 1; Theodore Silverstein English Lyrics Before 1500 (1989) p. 30. Translation: Brian Stone Medieval English Verse (1964) p. 67. When Adam dalf and Eve span, go spire – if thou may spede –Where was than the pride of man that now marres his mede? When Adam delved and Eve spun, go ask – if you may succeed –Where then was the pride of man, which now deprives him of his reward? "When Adam dalf and Eve span", line 1; Celia Sisam and Kenneth Sisam (eds.) The Oxford Book of Medieval English Verse (1970) p. 617. Translation: ibid. p. 404. Sometimes attributed to Richard Rolle. Adapted by John Ball during the Peasants' Revolt as "When Adam dalf, and Eve span, who was thanne a gentilman." Wynter wakeneth al my care,Nou this leves waxeth bare;Ofte I sike ant mourne sareWhen hit cometh in my thohtOf this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht. Winter wakeneth all my care;Now the leaves wax dry and bare;Oft I mourn and in despairSigh when comes into my thoughtHow this world's joy it goeth all to nought. "Wynter wakeneth al my care", line 1; Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (ed.) The Oxford Book of English Verse ([1900] 1912) p. 7. Translation: Richard Garnett English Literature: An Illustrated Record Vol. 1 (1903) p. 125. For in my mynde, of all mankynde I loue but you allon. For, in my mind, of all mankind    I love but you alone. "The Nut-Brown Maid" (1502), st. 4; OBEV (1939) For I muste to the grene wode goo, alone a bannysshed man. For I must to the green-wood go,    Alone, a banished man. "The Nut-Brown Maid" (1502), st. 5; OBEV (1939) Foweles in the frith,The fisses in the flod,And I mon waxe wod;Mulch sorwe I walke withFor best of bon and blod. "Fowels in the Frith" (13th cent.); E. K. Chambers and F. Sidgwick (eds.) Early English Lyrics, Amorous, Divine, Moral and Trivial (1907) p. 5 Ich am of Irlaunde,Ant of the holy londe  Of Irlande.Gode sire, pray ich the,For of saynte charité,Come ant daunce wyth me  In Irlaunde. "The Irish Dancer" (14th cent.); OBEV (1939) "Say me, viit in the brom,Teche me wou I sule donThat min hosebondeMe lovien wolde.""Hold thine tunke stilleAnd haw al thine wille." "Say Me, Wight in the Broom" (c. 1300), Carleton Brown (ed.) English Lyrics of the XIIIth Century (1932) no. 21, p. 32 Were beth they biforen us weren,Houndës ladden and hauekës beren,And hadden feld and wodë?The richë levedies in hoerë bour,That wereden gold in hoerë tressour,With hoerë brighttë rodë;Eten and drounken, and maden hem glad;Hoere lif was al with gamen i-lad,Men kneleden hem biforen;They beren hem wel swithë heyë;And in a twincling of an eyëHoere soulës weren forloren. "Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt?" (c. 1300); Carl Horstmann and F. J. Furnivall (eds.) The Minor Poems of the Vernon MS. (1901) vol. 2, p. 761 Westron wynde when wyll thow blowThe smalle rayne downe can rayneCryst yf my love were in my armysAnd I yn my bed agayne. O western wind, when wilt thou blow    That the small rain down can rain? Christ, that my love were in my arms    And I in my bed again! "The Lover in Winter Plaineth for the Spring" (c. 1500); OBEV (1939) Som be browne, and some be whit,And some be tender as a tripe,And some of theym be chiry ripe. "Women, women, loue of women", st. 4 [Lambeth MS. 306, leaf 135] External links Category:Middle English works Category:Poetry Category:Anonymous works