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Of the Passion of Christ



Аmang thir freiris, within ane cloister,
I enterit in ane oritorie,
And knelit doun with ane Pater Noster
Befoir the michtie King of Glorie,
Haveing His Passioun in memorie;
Syn to His mother I did inclyne,
Hir halsing with ane gaude flore;
And sudandlie I sleipit syne.

Methocht Judas with mony ane Jow
Tuik blissit Jesu, our Salvatour,
And schot Him furth with mony ane schow,
With schamefull wourdis of dishonour,
And lyk ane theif or ane tratour
Thay leid that hevinlie Prince most hie
With manassing attour messour,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Falslie condamnit befoir ane juge
Thay spittit in His visage fayr;
And as lyounis with awfull ruge,
In yre thay hurlit Him heir and thair,
And gaif Him mony buffat sair
That it wes sorow for to se.
Of all His claythis thay tirvit Him bair,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Thay terandis, to revenge thair tein,
For scorne thai cled Him into quhyt,
And hid His blythfull glorious ene
To se quham angellis had delyt;
Dispituouslie syn did Him smyt
Saying, “Gif sone of God Thow be,
Quha straik Thee now, Thow tell us tyt?”
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

In tene thay tirvit Him agane,
And till ane pillar thai Him band;
Quhill blude birst out at everie vane,
Thay scurgit Him bayth fut and hand;
At everie straik ran furth ane strand
Quhilk mycht have ransonit warldis thre;
He baid in stour quhill He mycht stand,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Nixt all in purpyr thay Him cled,
And syne with thornis scharp and kene
His saikles blude agane thay sched,
Persing His heid with pykis grene;
Unneis with lyf He micht sustene
That croune on thrungin with crueltie,
Quhill flude of blude blindit His ene,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Ane croce that wes bayth large and lang
To beir thay gaif this blissit Lord;
Syn fullelie, as theif to hang,
Thay harlit Him furth with raip and corde;
With bluid and sweit was all deflorde
His face, the fude of angellis fre;
His feit with stanis was revin and scorde,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Agane thay tirvit Him bak and syd,
Als brim as ony baris woid;
The clayth that claif to His cleir hyd
Thay raif away with ruggis rude,
Quhill fersly followit flesche and blude
That it was pietie for to se.
Na kynd of torment He ganestude,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

On to the Crose of breid and lenth
To gar His lymmis langar wax,
Thay straitit Him with all thair strenth,
Quhill to the Rude thay gart Him rax,
Syn tyit Him on with greit irne takkis;
And Him all nakit on the Tre
Thay raissit on loft be houris sax,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Quhen He was bendit so on breid,
Quhill all His vanis brist and brak,
To gar His cruell pane exceid
Thay leit Him fall doun with ane swak
Quhill cors and corps and all did crak.
Agane thay rasit Him on hie,
Reddie may turmentis for to mak,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Betuix tuo theiffis the spreit He gaif
Onto the Fader most of micht.
The erde did trimmill, the stanis claif,
The sone obscurit of his licht,
The day wox dirk as ony nicht,
Deid bodies rais in the citй.
Goddis deir Sone all thus was dicht,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

In weir that He wes yit on lyf,
Thay rane ane rude speir in His syde
And did His precious body ryff,
Quhill blude and watter did furth glyde.
Thus Jesus with His woundis wyde
As martir sufferit for to de
And tholit to be crucifyid,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.

Methocht Compassioun, vode of feiris,
Than straik at me with mony ane stound,
And soir Contritioun, bathit in teiris,
My visage all in watter drownit;
And Reuth into my eir ay rounde,
“For schame, allace, behald, man, how
Beft is with mony ane bludy wound
Thy blissit Salvatour Jesu!”

Than rudelie come Remembrance
Ay rugging me withouttin rest,
Quhilk Crose and nalis, scharp scurge and lance
And bludy crowne befoir me kest;
Than Pane with passioun me opprest,
And evir did Petie on me pow,
Saying, “Behald how Jowis hes drest
Thy blissit Salvatour, Chryst Jesu!”

With greiting glaid be than come Grace
With wourdis sweit saying to me,
“Ordane for Him ane resting place,
That is so werie wrocht for thee:
The Lord within thir dayis thre
Sall law undir thy lyntell bow;
And in thy hous sall herbrit be
Thy blissit Salvatour, Chryst Jesu.”

Than swyth Contritioun wes on steir,
And did eftir Confessioun ryn;
And Conscience me accusit heir
And kest out mony cankerit syn;
To rys Repentence did begin
And out at the gettis did schow.
Pennance did walk the hous within,
Byding our Salvitour, Chryst Jesu.

Grace become gyd and governour,
To keip the hous in sicker stait
Ay reddie till our Salvatour,
Quhill that He come, air or lait;
Repentence ay with cheikis wait
No pane nor pennence did eschew
The hous within evir to debait,
Onlie for luif of sweit Jesu.

For grit terrour of Chrystis deid
The erde did trymmill quhair I lay,
Quhairthrow I waiknit in that steid
With spreit halflingis in effray.
Than wrayt I all without delay,
Richt heir as I have schawin to yow,
Quhat me befell on Gud Fryday
Befoir the Crose of sweit Jesu.



Of the Passion of Christ - WILLIAM DUNBAR