John Fleagle — Nou Shrinketh Rose songtekst en vertaling
De pagina bevat de songtekst en de Nederlandse vertaling voor het nummer "Nou Shrinketh Rose" van John Fleagle.
Songteksten
Nou skrinketh rose ant lylie-flour
That whilen ber that suete sauour
In somer, that suete tyde;
Ne is no quene so stark ne stour
Ne no leuedy so bryht in bour
That ded ne shal by glyde
Who-se wol fleysch lust forgon
Ant heuene blis abyde
On Iesu be is thoht anon
That therled was ys side
From Petresbourh in o morewenyng
As y me wende o my pleyghyng
On mi folie y thohte;
Menen y gon my mournyng
To hire that ber the heuene kyng
Of merci hire bysohte:
'Ledy, preye thi sone for ous
That ous duere bohte
Ant shild vs from the lothe hous
That to the fend is wrohte.'
My herte of dedes wes fordred
Of synne that y haue my fleish fed
Ant folwed al my tyme
That y not whider I shal be led
When Y lygge on dethes bed
In ioie ore into pyne
On o ledy myn hope is
Moder ant virgyne;
We shulen into heuene blis
Thurh hire medicine
Betere is hire medycyn
Then eny mede or eny wyn
Hire erbes smulleth suete;
From Catenas into Dyuelyn
Nis ther non leche so fyn
Oure serewes to bete
Mon that feleth eni sor
Ant his folie wol lete
Withoute gold other eny tresor
He may be sound and sete
Of penaunce is his plastre al
Ant euer seruen hire y shal
Nou ant al my lyue;
Nou is fre that er wes thral
Al thourh that leuedy gent ant smal---
Heried be hyr ioies fiue!
Wher-so eny sek is
Thider hye blyue;
Thurh hire beoth ybroht to blis
Bo mayden ant wyue
Songtekstvertaling
Nou skrinketh rose ant lylie-bloem
Die whileen ber die suete sauour
In somer, die suete tyde;
Ne is geen quene dus stark ne stour
Ne no leuedy so bryht in bour
That ded ne shal by glyde
Who-se wool fleysch lust forvon
Ant heuene blis abyde
Op de plaats waar u woont
Dat was ys kant.
Van Petresbourh in o morewenyng
As y me wende o my pleyghyng
Op mi folie y thohte;
Menen y gon my mournyng
Om die ber de heuene kyng te huren
Van merci hire bysohte:
"Lety, preye thi sone for ous
Die ous duere bohte
Ant shild vs van de lothe hous
Dat is wrohte.'
Mijn herte van dedes wes fordred
Of synne that y haue my fleish fed
Mier vouwde al mijn time
Ik laat me niet leiden.
Als je in bed ligt
In ioie erts in pyne
Op o ledy myn hope is
Moder ant virgyne;
We gaan naar heuene blis.
Thurh hire medicine
Betere is hire medycyn
Dan eny mede of eny wyn
Hire erbes smulleth suete;
Van Catenas naar Dyuelyn
Nis ther non leche so fyn
Oure serewews to be
Mon that feleth eni sor
Ant his folie wol lete
Goud en witloof andere
Hij kan gezond en sete zijn.
Van penaunce is zijn plastre al.
Ant euer seruen hire y shal
Nou en of;
Nou is het dat er wes thral
Al thourh that leuedy gent ant smal---
Heried be hyr ioies fiue!
Wher-so eny sek is
Thider hye blyue;
Thurh hire beoth ybroht to blis
Bo mayden ant wyue