T.SINGULAR LEGEND.Page 169.This monkish legend Henry has carefully preserved; and as it affords a specimen of the superstition of the age, we shall give it a place for the gratification of the curious among our readers.“Wyss clerkyss yeit it kepis in remembrans,How that a monk off Bery abbay than,In to that tym a rycht religiouss man;A yong monk als with him in ordour stud,Quhilk knew his lyff was clene, perfyt, and gud.This fadyr monk was wesyd with seknace,Out off the warld as he suld pass on cace,His brothyr saw the spret lykly to pass;A band off him rycht ernystly he coud ass.To cum agayn and schaw him off the meid,At he suld haiff at God for his gud deid.He grantyt him, at his prayer to preiff,To cum agayn, gyff God wald geiff him leiff.The spreyt, changyt out off this warldly payn,In that sammyn hour cum to the monk agayn.Sic thing has beyn, and is be woice and sycht.Quhar he apperyt, thar schawyt sa mekill lycht,Lyk till lawntryns it illumynyt so cler,At warldly lycht thar to mycht be no peyr,A woice said thus:—‘God has me grantyt graceThat I sall kep my promess in this place.’The monk was blyth off this cler fygur fayr;Bot a fyr brand in his forheid he bayr,And than him thocht it myslikyt all the lawe.‘Quhar art thou spreyt? Ansuer, sa God the sawe.’‘In purgatory.’—‘How lang sall thow be thair?’‘Bot halff ane hour to com, and litill mair.Purgatory is, I do the weill to wit,In ony place quhar God will it admyt.Ane hour of space I was demed thar to be;And that passis, supposs I spek with the.Quhy has thow that, and all the layff so haill?’‘For off science I thocht me maist awaill.Quha prydys tharin, that laubour is in waist,For science cummys bot off the haly Gaist.’‘Eftir thi hour, quhar is thi passage ewyn?’‘Quhen tym cummys,’ he said, ‘to lestand hewin.’‘Quhat tym is that? I pray the now declar.’‘Twa ar on lyff mon be befor me thar.’‘Quhilk twa ar thai?’ The verité thow may ken,‘The fyrst has bene a gret slaar of men.Now thai him kep to martyr in London tounOn Wednyssday, befors king and commoun.Is nayn on lyff at has sa mony slayn.’‘Brodyr,’ he said, ‘that taill is bot in wayn;For slauchtyr is to God abhominabill.’Than said the spreyt, ‘Forsuth this is no fabill.He is Wallace, defendour off Scotland,For rychtwyss war that he tok apon hand.Thar rychtwysnes is lowyt our the lawe;Tharfor in hewyn he sall that honour hawe.Syn a pure preyst, is mekill to commend;He tuk in thank quhat thing that God him send.For dayly mess, and heryng off confessioun,Hewin he sall haiff to lestand warysoun.I am the thrid, grantyt throw Goddis grace.’‘Brothir,’ he said, ‘tell I this in our place,Thai wyll bot deym, I othir dreym or ráwe.’Than said the spreyt:—‘This wetnes thow sall hawe.Your bellys sall ryng, for ocht at ye do may,Quhen thai hym sla, halff ane hour off that day.’And so thai did, the monk wyst quhat thaim alytThrouch braid Bretane, the woice tharoff was scaylyt,The spreyt tuk leyff at Goddis will to be,Off Wallace end to her it is peté;And I wald nocht put men in gret dolour,Bot lychtly pass atour his fatell hour.”Book xi. 1238–1304.
This monkish legend Henry has carefully preserved; and as it affords a specimen of the superstition of the age, we shall give it a place for the gratification of the curious among our readers.
“Wyss clerkyss yeit it kepis in remembrans,How that a monk off Bery abbay than,In to that tym a rycht religiouss man;A yong monk als with him in ordour stud,Quhilk knew his lyff was clene, perfyt, and gud.This fadyr monk was wesyd with seknace,Out off the warld as he suld pass on cace,His brothyr saw the spret lykly to pass;A band off him rycht ernystly he coud ass.To cum agayn and schaw him off the meid,At he suld haiff at God for his gud deid.He grantyt him, at his prayer to preiff,To cum agayn, gyff God wald geiff him leiff.The spreyt, changyt out off this warldly payn,In that sammyn hour cum to the monk agayn.Sic thing has beyn, and is be woice and sycht.Quhar he apperyt, thar schawyt sa mekill lycht,Lyk till lawntryns it illumynyt so cler,At warldly lycht thar to mycht be no peyr,A woice said thus:—‘God has me grantyt graceThat I sall kep my promess in this place.’The monk was blyth off this cler fygur fayr;Bot a fyr brand in his forheid he bayr,And than him thocht it myslikyt all the lawe.‘Quhar art thou spreyt? Ansuer, sa God the sawe.’‘In purgatory.’—‘How lang sall thow be thair?’‘Bot halff ane hour to com, and litill mair.Purgatory is, I do the weill to wit,In ony place quhar God will it admyt.Ane hour of space I was demed thar to be;And that passis, supposs I spek with the.Quhy has thow that, and all the layff so haill?’‘For off science I thocht me maist awaill.Quha prydys tharin, that laubour is in waist,For science cummys bot off the haly Gaist.’‘Eftir thi hour, quhar is thi passage ewyn?’‘Quhen tym cummys,’ he said, ‘to lestand hewin.’‘Quhat tym is that? I pray the now declar.’‘Twa ar on lyff mon be befor me thar.’‘Quhilk twa ar thai?’ The verité thow may ken,‘The fyrst has bene a gret slaar of men.Now thai him kep to martyr in London tounOn Wednyssday, befors king and commoun.Is nayn on lyff at has sa mony slayn.’‘Brodyr,’ he said, ‘that taill is bot in wayn;For slauchtyr is to God abhominabill.’Than said the spreyt, ‘Forsuth this is no fabill.He is Wallace, defendour off Scotland,For rychtwyss war that he tok apon hand.Thar rychtwysnes is lowyt our the lawe;Tharfor in hewyn he sall that honour hawe.Syn a pure preyst, is mekill to commend;He tuk in thank quhat thing that God him send.For dayly mess, and heryng off confessioun,Hewin he sall haiff to lestand warysoun.I am the thrid, grantyt throw Goddis grace.’‘Brothir,’ he said, ‘tell I this in our place,Thai wyll bot deym, I othir dreym or ráwe.’Than said the spreyt:—‘This wetnes thow sall hawe.Your bellys sall ryng, for ocht at ye do may,Quhen thai hym sla, halff ane hour off that day.’And so thai did, the monk wyst quhat thaim alytThrouch braid Bretane, the woice tharoff was scaylyt,The spreyt tuk leyff at Goddis will to be,Off Wallace end to her it is peté;And I wald nocht put men in gret dolour,Bot lychtly pass atour his fatell hour.”Book xi. 1238–1304.
“Wyss clerkyss yeit it kepis in remembrans,How that a monk off Bery abbay than,In to that tym a rycht religiouss man;A yong monk als with him in ordour stud,Quhilk knew his lyff was clene, perfyt, and gud.This fadyr monk was wesyd with seknace,Out off the warld as he suld pass on cace,His brothyr saw the spret lykly to pass;A band off him rycht ernystly he coud ass.To cum agayn and schaw him off the meid,At he suld haiff at God for his gud deid.He grantyt him, at his prayer to preiff,To cum agayn, gyff God wald geiff him leiff.The spreyt, changyt out off this warldly payn,In that sammyn hour cum to the monk agayn.Sic thing has beyn, and is be woice and sycht.Quhar he apperyt, thar schawyt sa mekill lycht,Lyk till lawntryns it illumynyt so cler,At warldly lycht thar to mycht be no peyr,A woice said thus:—‘God has me grantyt graceThat I sall kep my promess in this place.’The monk was blyth off this cler fygur fayr;Bot a fyr brand in his forheid he bayr,And than him thocht it myslikyt all the lawe.‘Quhar art thou spreyt? Ansuer, sa God the sawe.’‘In purgatory.’—‘How lang sall thow be thair?’‘Bot halff ane hour to com, and litill mair.Purgatory is, I do the weill to wit,In ony place quhar God will it admyt.Ane hour of space I was demed thar to be;And that passis, supposs I spek with the.Quhy has thow that, and all the layff so haill?’‘For off science I thocht me maist awaill.Quha prydys tharin, that laubour is in waist,For science cummys bot off the haly Gaist.’‘Eftir thi hour, quhar is thi passage ewyn?’‘Quhen tym cummys,’ he said, ‘to lestand hewin.’‘Quhat tym is that? I pray the now declar.’‘Twa ar on lyff mon be befor me thar.’‘Quhilk twa ar thai?’ The verité thow may ken,‘The fyrst has bene a gret slaar of men.Now thai him kep to martyr in London tounOn Wednyssday, befors king and commoun.Is nayn on lyff at has sa mony slayn.’‘Brodyr,’ he said, ‘that taill is bot in wayn;For slauchtyr is to God abhominabill.’Than said the spreyt, ‘Forsuth this is no fabill.He is Wallace, defendour off Scotland,For rychtwyss war that he tok apon hand.Thar rychtwysnes is lowyt our the lawe;Tharfor in hewyn he sall that honour hawe.Syn a pure preyst, is mekill to commend;He tuk in thank quhat thing that God him send.For dayly mess, and heryng off confessioun,Hewin he sall haiff to lestand warysoun.I am the thrid, grantyt throw Goddis grace.’‘Brothir,’ he said, ‘tell I this in our place,Thai wyll bot deym, I othir dreym or ráwe.’Than said the spreyt:—‘This wetnes thow sall hawe.Your bellys sall ryng, for ocht at ye do may,Quhen thai hym sla, halff ane hour off that day.’And so thai did, the monk wyst quhat thaim alytThrouch braid Bretane, the woice tharoff was scaylyt,The spreyt tuk leyff at Goddis will to be,Off Wallace end to her it is peté;And I wald nocht put men in gret dolour,Bot lychtly pass atour his fatell hour.”Book xi. 1238–1304.
“Wyss clerkyss yeit it kepis in remembrans,How that a monk off Bery abbay than,In to that tym a rycht religiouss man;A yong monk als with him in ordour stud,Quhilk knew his lyff was clene, perfyt, and gud.This fadyr monk was wesyd with seknace,Out off the warld as he suld pass on cace,His brothyr saw the spret lykly to pass;A band off him rycht ernystly he coud ass.To cum agayn and schaw him off the meid,At he suld haiff at God for his gud deid.He grantyt him, at his prayer to preiff,To cum agayn, gyff God wald geiff him leiff.The spreyt, changyt out off this warldly payn,In that sammyn hour cum to the monk agayn.Sic thing has beyn, and is be woice and sycht.Quhar he apperyt, thar schawyt sa mekill lycht,Lyk till lawntryns it illumynyt so cler,At warldly lycht thar to mycht be no peyr,A woice said thus:—‘God has me grantyt graceThat I sall kep my promess in this place.’The monk was blyth off this cler fygur fayr;Bot a fyr brand in his forheid he bayr,And than him thocht it myslikyt all the lawe.‘Quhar art thou spreyt? Ansuer, sa God the sawe.’‘In purgatory.’—‘How lang sall thow be thair?’‘Bot halff ane hour to com, and litill mair.Purgatory is, I do the weill to wit,In ony place quhar God will it admyt.Ane hour of space I was demed thar to be;And that passis, supposs I spek with the.Quhy has thow that, and all the layff so haill?’‘For off science I thocht me maist awaill.Quha prydys tharin, that laubour is in waist,For science cummys bot off the haly Gaist.’‘Eftir thi hour, quhar is thi passage ewyn?’‘Quhen tym cummys,’ he said, ‘to lestand hewin.’‘Quhat tym is that? I pray the now declar.’‘Twa ar on lyff mon be befor me thar.’‘Quhilk twa ar thai?’ The verité thow may ken,‘The fyrst has bene a gret slaar of men.Now thai him kep to martyr in London tounOn Wednyssday, befors king and commoun.Is nayn on lyff at has sa mony slayn.’‘Brodyr,’ he said, ‘that taill is bot in wayn;For slauchtyr is to God abhominabill.’Than said the spreyt, ‘Forsuth this is no fabill.He is Wallace, defendour off Scotland,For rychtwyss war that he tok apon hand.Thar rychtwysnes is lowyt our the lawe;Tharfor in hewyn he sall that honour hawe.Syn a pure preyst, is mekill to commend;He tuk in thank quhat thing that God him send.For dayly mess, and heryng off confessioun,Hewin he sall haiff to lestand warysoun.I am the thrid, grantyt throw Goddis grace.’‘Brothir,’ he said, ‘tell I this in our place,Thai wyll bot deym, I othir dreym or ráwe.’Than said the spreyt:—‘This wetnes thow sall hawe.Your bellys sall ryng, for ocht at ye do may,Quhen thai hym sla, halff ane hour off that day.’And so thai did, the monk wyst quhat thaim alytThrouch braid Bretane, the woice tharoff was scaylyt,The spreyt tuk leyff at Goddis will to be,Off Wallace end to her it is peté;And I wald nocht put men in gret dolour,Bot lychtly pass atour his fatell hour.”
Book xi. 1238–1304.