[Sidenote: The father of the maiden does not fully understand
her. Mary, he says, is the queen of heaven. No one is able
to remove the crown from her.]
“Blysful,” q{uod} I, “may þys be trwe,
Dyspleseȝ not if I speke erro{ur};
Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe,
Þ{a}t al þys worlde schal do hono{ur}? 424
We leuen on marye þat grace of grewe,
Þat ber a barne of vyrgyn flo{ur},
Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remwe,
Bot ho hir passed i{n} su{m} fauo{ur}? 428
Now for synglerty o hyr douso{ur},
We calle hyr fenyx of arraby,
Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor,
Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.” 432
[Sidenote: [Fol. 45a.]]
[Sidenote: The maiden addresses the Virgin. She then explains
to her father that each has his place in heaven.]
“Cortayse quen” þe{n}ne s[a]yde þat gaye,
Knelande to grou{n}de, folde vp hyr face,
“Makeleȝ moder & myryest may,
Blessed bygy{n}ner[16] of vch a grace!” 436
Þe{n}ne ros ho vp & con restay,
& speke me towarde i{n} þat space:
“S{ir} fele here porchaseȝ & fongeȝ pray
Bot supplantoreȝ none w{i}t{h}-i{n}ne þys place; 440
Þat emp{er}ise al heue{n}ȝ hatȝ,
& vrþe & helle i{n} her bayly;
Of erytage ȝet non wyl ho chace,
For ho is quen of cortaysye. 444
[Sidenote 16: MS. reads _bȳgyner_.]
[Sidenote: The court of God has a property in its own being.
Each one in it is a king or queen. The mother of Christ holds
the chief place.]
The co{ur}t of þe kyndom of god alyue,
Hatȝ a p{ro}perty i{n} hyt self bey{n}g;
Alle þat may þer-i{n}ne aryue
Of alle þe reme is quen oþ{er} ky{n}g, 448
& neu{er} oþ{er} ȝet schal depryue,
Bot vchon fayn of oþ{er}eȝ hafy{n}g,
& wolde her corou{n}eȝ wern worþe þo fyue,
If possyble were her mendy{n}g. 452
Bot my lady of quom Iesu con spry{n}g,
Ho haldeȝ þe empyre ou{er} v{us} ful hyȝe,
& þat dyspleseȝ non of oure gy{n}g,
For ho is quene of cortaysye. 456
[Sidenote: We are all members of Christ’s body. Look that
each limb be perfect.]
Of co{ur}taysye, as saytȝ say{n}t poule,
Al arn we me{m}breȝ of ih{es}u kryst,
As heued & arme & legg & naule,
Temen to hys body ful trwe & t[r]yste; 460
Ryȝt so is vch a krysten sawle,
A longande lym to þe mayster of myste;
Þe{n}ne loke what hate oþ{er} any gawle,
Is tached oþ{er} tyȝed þy ly{m}meȝ by-twyste, 464
Þy heued hatȝ nauþer greme ne gryste,
On arme oþ{er} fynger, þaȝ þ{o}u ber byȝe;
So fare we alle wyth luf & lyste,
To ky{n}g & quene by cortaysye.” 468
[Sidenote: [Fol. 45b.]]
[Sidenote: The father replies that he cannot understand how
his pearl can be a queen. He desires to know what greater
honour she can have.]
“Cortayse,” q{uod} I, “I leue
& charyte grete be yow amo{n}g,
Bot my speche þat yow ne greue,
. . . . . 472
Þy self in heuen ou{er} hyȝ þ{o}u heue,
To make þe quen þat watȝ so ȝonge,
What more-hond moȝte he acheue
Þat hade endured i{n} worlde stronge, 476
& lyued i{n} penau{n}ce hys lyueȝ longe,
W{i}t{h} bodyly bale hy{m} blysse to byye?
What more worschyp moȝt ho fonge,
Þen corou{n}de be ky{n}g by cortayse? 480
[Headnote: THE PARABLE OF THE LABOURERS IN THE VINEYARD.]