¶The remors of conscyence.

¶Here begynneth certayne demon­stracyons by our lorde to all synfull persones with the Remors of man­nes conscyence to the regarde of the bounte of our lorde.

OVr gracyous god moost in magnyfycēce
His mercyful eyen casteth frō heuē on hi
Seynge his creatures in deedly vyolence
Hym selfe complayneth by pyte full rutfully
Sayenge o man deuoyde of intellygence
Open thyne eeres vnto my call and crye
And tell me yf I haue done to the offence
That thou forsakest my wyllyngly
Man suche a loue to the I dyde take
This world in seuen dayes whā I it wrought
Thou was the laste thynge that I dyd make
Bycause I wolde thou wanted nought
What thynge the myght helpe dyd not lake
That at thy nede yf it were sought
Fowle fysshe all thynge for thy sake
For thy comforte all was forth brought
Moreouer I gaue the that dygnyte
All beestes to bowe the vntyll
I made the also lyke vnto me
And gaue the connynge and freewyll
Me to serue that thou sholde se
To chose the good and leue the yll
I aske nothynge agayne of the
But loue thy souerayne as it is skyll
But vnto this takest thou none entente
Thou tournest fro me full vnkyndly
On loues vnlefull thy loue is lente
Thy herte beholdeth not heuen so hye
For all the goodes I haue the sente
The lysteth not ones to saye gramercye
In tyme to come or thou repente
Man make amendes or that thou dye
A crysten soule conceyued in synne
Receyued in conscyence thus complanynge
He fell downe flatte with delefull dynne
And sayd lorde mercy souerayne kynge
A moost vnkynde Wretche of man kynne
I knowe I am thy traytour vntrue in my ly­uynge
This wycked lyfe that I lyue in
I may it nought hyde frome thy knowynge
I want wordes and also wytte
Of thy kyndnesse to speke a cause
That I haue thou gaue me it
Of thy goodnes withouten cause
Thoughe I haue greued the and do yet
Thy benefaytes thou nought withdrawse
I haue deserued to haue hell pytte
So haue I lyued ayenst thy lawse
But lorde thou knowest mannes feblenesse
How frayle it is and hath ben aye
For thoughe the soule haue thy lykenesse
Man is but fulsome erthe and claye
In synne conceyued and wretchednesse
And to the soule rebell alwaye
Fyrst a man groweth as dooth gresse
And he wasteth after as floures or haye
Syth man is than so frayle a thynge
And thy power so grete in kynde
This worlde is but a twynkelynge
Thou mayst destroye the myght of the fynde
With thy ryght lorde mercy mynge
And to my sore salue thou fende
Sore me repenteth of my myslyuynge
Mercy lorde I wyll amende
Man I gaue the bodyly hele
That thou sholde it spende in my seruyce
Fayrenes also and fetures fele
Man what doost thou with all thyse
Thou with delytes of the deuyll doost dele
Whiche is to me a great despyse
Thou lyuest a lecherous lyfe vnlele
Fro yere to yere thou lyst not ryse
Thou studyest after nyce araye
And makest great cost on thy clothynge
To make the semely as who sholde saye
Thou coudest amende my makynge
Thou purposed the daye by daye
To set my people in synnynge
Thy wretched wyll thou folowest alwaye
What ende synne hathe yu thynkest nothynge
In Noes tyme bycause of synne
And for lecherye in especyall
What vengeaūce came than to mānes kynne
Saue .viij. persones drowned were all
On Sodome / and Gomor / and the men wtin
How I made fyre and brymstone fall
Fro heuen on them that bode therin
for synne were destroyed bothe great & small
Man wenest thou my myght be lesse
Than it was than or that elles I
Thou hast no as moche wyckdnesse
As whan I smote the moost pyteously
But yf thou wyll thy fautes redresse
Thought I now spare for my mercy
Man thynke on my ryghtwysnesse
And make amendes or that thou dye
I wote well lorde ryght full thou arte
And that synne must be punysshed nede
But one thynge holdeth in hope my herte
Thy mercy passeth my mysdede
I know well that I may not sterte
I haue so done me ought to drede
With beaute and with bodely quarte
To serue the I haue taken no hede
I haue my spende my yonge age
In synne and wantonnesse also
To serue god slowe / and loued to rage
A gloton a lechour I was bothe two
I am worth none other wage
But for to dwell in endlesse woo
Alas why haue I ben outrage
And serued the fende that is my foo
But lorde in holy wryte rede we
That thou forsakest no wretched wyght
That leueth his synne and tourneth to the
And to tourne to the haue I hyght
Full proude and rebell haue I bene
But now I take me to thy myght
From hens forwarde to be clene
Ayenst myn owne flesshe to fyght
My flesshe to feble I wyll fast
My bones to trauayle and to tene
And through thy grace I am not agast
What sore and sekenesse on me sene
To suffre whyle my lyfe may last
For vtterly I wyll attende
To punysshe that I haue trespast
Mercy Iesu I wyll amende
Man I haue sent the syluer and golde
And all thy welth within thy wone
To susteyne the and thy housholde
And also other many one
Thou myght haue holpen yonge and olde
That ben deseased and woo begone
My seruauntes suffred bothe hungre & colde
Relefe of the yet haue they none
If thou gyue for my loue a farthynge
Thou doost it with an heuy herte
In almesse thou gyuest no thynge
For drede thou fall in pouerte
In flesshely lust and worldly lykynge
What euer thou wastest mery thou arte
Of suche I wyll haue a rekenynge
At domes daye thou shalte not astarte
Than shalte thou gyue a countes full streyte
How thou comest by thy good eche dele
Whether with trouth or with deceyte
And how thou spende it yll or wele
None other grace thou after wayte
As thou hast wrought so shalte thou fele
What shall than profyte thy good in plate
Or poundes that thou of the people pele
A clene conscyence shall that daye
More profyte the and more set by
Than all the goodes or the monaye
Than euer was vnder heuen or skye
It wyll neuer helpe to plete nor praye
For as ryghtwyse than deme wyll I
And therfore man whyles thou maye
Make amendes or that thou dye
I wote well lorde fro yere to yere
Full greatly greued I the haue
That I wolde nor they mercy were
My mothers wombe had be my graue
For what profyteth my lyuynge here
But afterwarde I sholde be saue
But Ihesu as thou bought me dere
Leue not my soule in hell caue
My waste expense I wyll withdrawe
For waste well called maye it be
For it was spended my boost to lawe
My name to bere on londe and se
Well I wote me there not trowe
Thoughe many a man of my countre
If they me mette they dyd me not knowe
Nor neuer yet herde speke of me
Falsly I haue wrought as wretche vnwyse
I myght haue goten me moche mede
Had I it spente in goddes seruyce
But brought they grace lorde I am in drede
As men that lyeth and may not ryse
For haue I am myn all our nede
With the remenaunt lorde at thy deuyse
The poore and naked with cloth and fere
Seke men that lyen in goddes bandes
That haue no syluer for to spende
And prysoners bounde bothe fete and handes
Ofte to vysyte and them attende
Whan I se them that in nede standes
Suche as I haue I shall them sende
Lorde let these werkes lesse my bande
And mercy Ihesu I wyll amende
Man yf thou amendes wylte make
Gyue thyne almes of thyn owne goodes
And se thou werke no man to wrake
To venge ony other mennes modes
If thou vntruely from ony take
And therwith fynde forty theyr fodes
Suche sacryfyce I forsake
They be to me as souer as wormewode
The pore people thou doo oppresse
With sleyghtes and wyles many one
Thou makest chyrches and do lynge messe
Thou mendest wayes where men ouer gone
And some men curse and some men blesse
Whiche shall I hereof these two
If thou wylte haue grace as I gesse
Let all falsenes be fledde the fro
The mothes that thy clothes ete
And thou lettest pore men go bare
Thy drynke soureth and mouleth thy mere
Wherwith the poore man myght well fare
The rust that thy syluer dooth frete
Thy goodes that euyll goten are
They crye on the vengeaunce grete
The for to spyll but yet I spare
With holdest here ayenst the ryght
Frome thy seruauntes vpon the crye
Man oftentymes thou hast me hyght
Thou wolde amende and leue foly
Thou spekest full fayre bothe daye and nyght
Thou brekest my cōmaūdemētes cōtynually
Yet is me lothe with the to fyght
But make amendes or that thou dye
Swete lorde I may not agaynst saye
I haue not holden that I the hyght
I greue the gretely euery daye
I do not as I had the plyght
I woide do well but welawaye
with enemyes I am euer beset
whan my soule fayne wolde the paye
My flesshe is fyrst that wyll me let
And euer the farder that I it fede
Euer the fressher it is my foo
Yet bere it aboute I must nede
Full feble it is it wyll me sloo
The worlde / the fende / the flesshe / they bede
Some with well and some with woo
what may I do with a wycked wede
To fyght ayenst thre enemyes soo
whan I enforce me other whyles
And thynke I wyll lyue a true lyue
And forsake all batayles and gyles
The worlde byddeth me batayle belyue
And but I wyll vse wrethes and wyles
The comen voyce is I shall not thryue
Some me scorneth and at me smyles
And counte me but a kynde caytyue
But now I thynke withstondynge this
To forfake falnesse withouten ende
And restore that I toke amys
And paye my dettes fayre and hende
And to rewarde eche man his
As reason is than wyll I spende
And gyue myne almesse there nede is
Mercy Iesu I wyll amende
Man I haue sente the kyndly syght
And vnderstandynge skyll and wytte
To rule thy selfe by reason ryght
As reherseth holy wryte
That clerely sheweth the godly lyght
How thou sholde deedly synne forsake
And on that maner thou please me myght
What ayleth the thus fro me to shake
Worlde rychesse royall repayre
In welth and thynges of Iolyte
Fysshes / beestes / and byrdes of the ayre
These thynketh me semely for to se
That thynge y peressheth and dooth appayre
Vnto the syght thus pleasynge be
Well mayst thou wytte I am full fayre
Of whome eche thynge hath this beaute
But man as thou wytlesse were
Thou lokest aye downwarde as a beest
It behoueth the of me to here
Foule spekynge is to the a feest
I comforte the I make the chere
And thou inwardly louest me leest
I call the vnto me yere by yere
Thou wylte not come at my request
As fro thy foo thou fro me feles
I folowe the fast and on the crye
Thou wrappest the with all vanytes
And thynke my speche to the but folye
And a thynge that nought is thou wyltelese
My Ioye that lasteth endlesse
Man yet vyce leue and vertue chese
And make amendes or that thou dye
Swete Iesu none answere I can
But ofte crye mercy with herte stable
Alas for woo why is a man
Worse than a beest vnreasonable
All beestes sythen the worlde began
In kyndly werkynge ben durable
Saue onely I of wyll wan
That do full many dedes dampnable
I was made to knowe my maker
And to loue hym ouer all thynge
And I a sleper and neuer waker
To take kynde knowynge of my kynge
To tryfles haue I ben a great hede taker
A songe of sorowe maye I synge
For had I ben of synne a forsaker
Of cryste sholde I haue ben some knowynge
My ghoostly eyen ben full of duste
Cursed couetyse hath blynded me
They ben blodeshotten with fleshly luste
That heuenly kynge maye I not se
But lorde though I haue ben vniuste
Through helpe of thy benygnyte
I hope to rube awaye the ruste
With repentaunce and grace of the
And where that I haue afore this
My wyll in worldly thynge haue spend
From heus forwarde my purpose is
Thy lawe to lerne to my lyues ende
Thy .x. commaundementes truly Iwys
Them to kepe I wyll me mende bende
And there as I haue done amys
Mercy Ihesu I wyll amende
Man my mercy yf it be in thy mynde
I haue the it shewed in many wyse
Sythen the tyme thou fyrst synde
Ayenst my commaundemente in paradyse
In hell pryson whan thou were pynde
For doynge of the deuylles deuyse
Out of thy tene to betwynde
Mercy and loue thyn helpe were thyse
Mercy was thyn aduocat chefe
That I for the toke flesshe and blode
Loue made the to be soo lefe
That I for the was rente on rode
I suffred deth to chaunge thy grefe
And vnto hell than downe I yode
And brought the to blysse fro reprefe
Man I haue ben thy frende full gode
I become poore the ryche to make
To make the whyte I was made reed
My sorowe my sekenes made thyn to slake
My hungre dyde bake thy blysfull breed
I bonde my selfe my bondes I brake
To gete the lyfe I suffred dethe
What sholde I do more for thy sake
To hele thy fote was hurte my hede
Now yf thou thynke I myght more do
For thy sake I am redy
To dye agayne yf nede were therto
Suche loue to the man had I
I hyght the myrthes and Ioyes moo
But thou arte moost thyn owne enmye
For ought I bydde thou wylte do soo
Man make amendes or thou dye
Lorde whan I on thy pouerte aduerte
And how wylfull thou were and fayne
To suffre for my woundes smerte
To slee my synnes thou were slayne
Harder than yron is my herte
That hath no pyte of thy payne
Euer the kynder to me thou arte
The more vnkynder I am agayne
Why woldest thou lorde be slayne for me
That am thyn enemy moost vnhende
Syth no man hath more charyte
Than deth to suffre for his frende
By what skyll sholde thou so slayne be
Syth I made me thrall to the fende
I trespasser lorde why ne smote thou
Now blessyd be thou withouten ende
I se well lorde that thou louest vs
For our profyte and not for thyne
For what were thou the worse Iesus
Though all we were in endles pyne
Alas why be we so bycyous
And so vnkyndly from hym declyne
That is our god so gracyous
And so lothe man soule to pyne
But swete lorde as thou hast begon
So let thy mercy forth extende
Put thy crosse and thy passyon
Bytwene my werkes worthy to be brende
And thy dome that I may not shonne
That houndes of hell come me not hende
Who but the father sholde helpe the sone
Mercy Iesu I wyll amende
Man yf thou wylte my mercy gete
Thrugh my passyon of moost vertue
Why ceasest thou not me for to bete
Eche daye on the crosse doost me newe
With deedly synne on morowe at mete
As tourmentours to me vntrue
And namely with thy othes grete
To swere thou wylte nothynge eschewe
No lymme of me / nor thou derest
Why sayest thou euyll ayenst good
By my soule ofte tyme thou swerest
By my body and by my blode
With thy tongue thou me all to terest
Whan thou arte wrothe and almoost wode
Man with thyn vnkyndnes thou me derest
More than they rente me on the rode
Thou hast more pyte of thy too
If it be hurte and a lytell blede
And all that euer I dyd doo
I suffred it for thy mysdede
Whan thou arte taught that thou sholde do
Of swerynge but whan it were nede
Thou scornest them that sayeth so
Thou takest to my byddynge no hede
Loude lesynges on me thou makest
Somtyme to wynne an halfe peny
Whan to wytnesse thou me takest
And yet thou forswerest the wylfully
Byenge and sellynge thou not forsakest
But vayne and false to swere me by
Whan thou doest thus thy bale thou takest
Man make amendes or that thou dye
Swete Iesu how sholde I agayne saye
But that I am a caytyfe and more curste
That dooth on the curse euery daye
with great othes and werkes worste
And moche more the greueth than thay
On caluary that flewe fyrste
For had they knowen the for god veray
To do the to deth they had not durste
But I knewe the after my byleue
That thou arte god omnypotent
And I seace not the to greue
well worthy am I to be shente
How mayst thou lorde suffre to meue
Of the traytours that the tourment
Meruayle it is I do not myscheue
Or am not kylled / drownet / or brent
The erthe swalowed quycke
Sathan and abyron for theyr synne
And as I wene they were neuer so wycke
As moost certyfefull mankynne
In deedly synne men dye now thycke
Dysease full grete now dooth begynne
yet in my synne I stande and stycke
Euyll custome is full harde to blynne
I wolde be wanton and do euyll
But I wolde none me reprehende
But let me lyue after my wyll
This was lefull somtyme I wende
But now I se that it is skyll
Suche lyght lorde thou haste me sende
But I leue synne it wyll me spyll
Mercy lorde I wyll amende
Man of thy selfe it shall be longe
If so be that thy soule be spylte
Forgyue them that done the wronge
And I shall forgyue the thy gylte
And yf thou be of herte so stronge
That in nowyse forgyue thou wylte
But venge thy selfe with herte and tonge
As a traytour thou shalte be spylte
Thou getest no man the to saue
That no mercy on other hace
How maye thou of mercy craue
And thou wylte graunte no man thy grace
Mercyfull man shall mercy haue
Fell folke I slee fro my face
What example that I the gaue
Whan deth I suffred no tent I race
I prayed for them that me dyseased
Though I myght a dampned them for aye
And yf thou be a lytell dyspleased
Thou cursed & varyest bothe nyght & daye
For no techynge wylte thou be pleased
To venge the is thy wyll alwaye
Full foule sholde thou foos be fayled
If thou myghtest as I on the maye
Without cause ofte thou arte wrothe
Vnto thy frendes vnkyndfully
Whan they theteche and counseyle bothe
To leue thy wrathe and thyn enuy
With wordes great and spytefull othe
Thou defendest thy soule foulye
But the to lose I am full lothe
Man make amendes or that thou vye
Swete Iesu thynke thou made vs all
And how kynde and propre it is to the
On synfull men that to the call
To haue mercy and pyte
Thoughe I haue ben bytter as gall
For thy great pyte haue mercy on me
For thy loue that I neuer fall
But kyndly in me charyte
For I coude the people ken
And speke with aungelles tongues clere
And thought I delte amonge poore men
My worldly goodes all in fere
And though I dyde my body brenne
For loue of the that bought me dere
yet all this profyteth me not thenne
In charyte but yf I were
And I wote lorde it is more pleasynge
To the Iesu my souerayne dere
To loue the lorde ouer all thynge
And be in charyte and accorde here
With all my neybours by ryghtwyse delynge
Than for to faste throughe out the yere
And all the masses the preestes synge
But yf I loue I am no comforte nere
Alas why haue I wrothfull ben
That loue of my herte was not hende
I hated that neuer dyde me tene
I loued not hym that me good lende
I caste me no more to be kene
To loue myn enemyes I wyll attende
Shall I hym neuer curse I wene
Mercy Iesu I wyll amende
Man yf thou wylte of bates blynne
And charyte kepe in euery chaunce
My mercy sone thou mayst wynne
So that thou do thy true penaunce
Loke thyn herte be contryre within
And be sory for thy mysgouernaunce
What profyteth to shryue the of thy synne
But thou in herte haue repentaunce
Thou shewest and penaunce doost none
For thy synne but thyn herte be sore
For worldly losse thou makest mone
Thou synnest and sorowest not therfore
And yf thou were woo begone
What bytter medycyne geuen the wore
With Ioye thou woldest take it anone
To bodely helth the to restore
Thy soule with deedly synne is slayne
And without sorowe thy synne thou telles
To do suche penaunce thou arte not fayne
As thy thryfte father the counselles
Ne thou wylte neuer restore agayne
Fals goten goodes that thou with melles
Man thou must alwaye suffre payne
Here for thy synnes or somwhere elles
It is impossyble and may not be
To passe fro Ioye to Ioye on hye
Take the crosse and folowe me
If thou wylte to blysse vp stye
Sekenesse and all aduersyte
what and it come suffre it pacyently
Hate alwaye synne and fro it fle
And make amendes or thou dye
Lorde gyue me grace amendes to make
For of myselfe me fayleth powere
All deedly synne now I forsake
And wolde do dedes that in defull were
In this worlde sende me wo and wrake
For all my synnes done in fere
Who hath no sorowe here may quake
Them that thou louest thou chastyse here
For my sake .xxx. yere and moo
Great trauayle here in erthe thou hadde
Thy mother and thy apostles also
In great dysease theyr lyfe they ladde
In aduersyte and moche woo
Euery good man sholde be gladde
Syth that derlynge that with the dyde dwell
Had suche aduersyte in her lyfe
That herte may thynke or tongue can tell
The payne the anguysshe and the stryfe
That dampned haue in hell
Than endlesse woo and sorowe be ryfe
I wyll forsake my synnes fell
And to a descrete preest the shryue
In true penaunce is myne entent
From hens forwarde my tyme to spende
And kepe well thy commaundement
For elles in hell fyre I shall be brende
Royall repayre ryche robes and rent
What may they helpe me at my ende
But I the serue I shall be [...]ent
Mercy Iesu I wyll amende
Man do penaunce whyle thou maye
Leest sodeynly I take vengeaunce
Bydde I the not daye by daye
For cause I wolde thou dyde penaunce
Man I am more redy alwaye
To forgyue thy misgouernaunce
Whan yu of all thy frendes haste made assaye
Thou shalte fynde none lyke to me
Thou wylte amende ofte tymes thou sayed
Agayne amendes no man may be
Do true penaunce and I am payed
From endles payne to make the fre
For thy loue my lyfe I layed
What frende sholde haue done so for the
With sorowfull herte thy synne thou shryue
And make amendes to thyn enemy
If thou thus leue thy wycked lyue
I wyll be therof gladde truely
Thynke oftentymes of lothes wyne
And tourne not to thy synne agayne
Let no dyspayre downe the dryue
Thynke on Peter and Magdalayne
Man wype awaye thy wyckednesse
And kepe my byddynge by and by
And thou shalte haue in my palesse
Worshyp withouten vylany
No pouerte but all rychenesse
Helth / strenth / and wysdome truely
Thou shalte be full of all swetnesse
And than to lyue dnd neuermore dye
Graunte mercy Iesu croppe and rote
Of al frenshyp for in none fayles
Ayenst the I wyll not mote
But as ofte as me euyll ayles
I wyll fall downe flatte to thy fote
To helpe me in ghoostly batayles
Now wote I where I shall me hyde
Whan I am stered to ony synne
In the great wounde of thy ryght syde
And be hertely hydde therin
As in a toure there may I abyde
For ought ye fynde can me ymagyn
For all this worlde that is so wyde
Therin is souerayne medecyn
There may no wanhope make me care
That haue of they aungelles so good
To kepe me that I not mysfare
And thy mother mywest of mode
Lorde shende vs thy woundes then
And than of mercy we may not mysse
And than to helpe crysten men
Now Iesu lorde thou vs wyshe
That we with the may byde to blysse
In Ioye and blysse withouten ende
That to thy people ordeyned is
That leue synne and them amende


¶Thus endeth the cōmunycacyon bytwene god and man. Enprynted at London in Flete­strete at ye sygne of ye Sonne by me Wynkyn de Worde



wynkyn de worde

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