RESPONSIO CRUCIS.
To þe I say, o Lady Virgine cleyne,
Off my worschip þou art baith crop and rute,
Thoucht I wes wile, throu flewour now I schyne,
The frute of the richt mychty garris me mute.
I lay full law, bot now I stand on fute,
Fresche flurisand with frute of sic a kyn.
Quhilk to ded men is werray medicyne.
O Lady sueit, þe birding I beir now,
The nobill frute I haue in possessioun,
It is borne to þe warld and nocht to ȝow,
To be suppley of every nacioun.
With ded to sla ȝoure sone had na ressoun,
He disponit for mannis saik to de,
That throu his ded mycht restorit be.
O Hevinly Queyne, þe nobill Prince of Price,
He set me croce agane, yt hote þe tre.
Quhilk God abone plantit in paradice,
Throw quhilk men fell in gret perplexite,
Thocht he saw nocht, he restorit be me,
Frethand þe man, þat had nocht to lay doun,
Quhill þat my frute is sauld for his ransoun.
Lif fell in dede for luf of ald Adam,
And throu my frute ded is restorit to live;
Be my sueit frute bitter dede is slane,
Thairfor, Lady, þis ded suld mak ȝow blyth.
I am þe first daystern þat gart kith
To þe fadis, þat lay into þe lymbe
In gret mirknes be ald Adames syn.
Thocht fra þe stok grew nocht þe bobe of wyne,
The bob it helpis, for it þe branche vpberis;
Richt so I say to ȝow: O sueit Virgin,
This nobill frute, quhilk ȝour hert sair deris,
That God ordanit to ceiss Adames weris,
Grew nocht on me, for I am bot ane stok,
For saik of man to beir vp þis wyneblok.
Thairfor, Lady, I do ȝow na wrang,
Thocht ȝe be branche, fra quhom þis wynbob grew.
For man to de he hes bene ordanit lang,
And him to beir I come bot of þe new.
Off my seruice, Lady, ȝe suld nocht rew,
For I him tuke as man mortall to de,
And inmortall he sall restorit be.
On Setterday þat tyme þe oise it wes,
Condampnit men of croce to ta.
That gart þe Jowis sone to Pilat pas,
Quhilk him besocht, his knychtis to let ga
To Mont Calwary þe pynit men to sla.
Than Pilat said, þai suld thair theis breik,
Syne but delay of þe croce þame tak.
Thai cruell men obeyit with desire,
Raddy to schaw þair gret crudilite.
To Mont Calwary þai come birnand in ire;
Bot fra þai saw þai twa thevis nocht de,
Thai brak thair theis, syne tuke þaim of þe tre,
Kest þair carionis in a place neir by,
Syne till our King þai schupe þaim cruelly.
Bot fra þai saw þat cristynnit Kingis face
All wan and paill, eik closit wes his sycht,
His bludy body stif in euery place,
Thai estemit þat ded had done his rycht.
Throw þe richt syd him woundit a blind knycht
With a scharp speir, quhill blude and watter cleir
Agane natour his ded hert woundit .
The precius blud ran vnto Longeus hand,
And he his eyne anoyntit with it throu caiss;
Off tuiching of God sic grace he fand,
With e and hert þat he knew Cristis face:
He left his office, resignit in þat place,
Als levit lang in relyiosite.
Syne bischope maid and marter deit he.