[Sidenote: As the moon began to rise he was aware of a
procession of virgins crowned with pearls, in white robes,
with a pearl in their breast.]
Ryȝt as þe maynful mone con rys,
Er þe{n}ne þe day-glem dryue al dou{n},
So sodanly on a wonder wyse,
I watȝ war of a prosessyou{n}, 1096
Þis noble cite of ryche enpresse
Watȝ sodanly ful w{i}t{h}-outen so{m}mou{n}
Of such v{er}gyneȝ i{n} þe same gyse
Þat watȝ my blysful an-vnder crou{n}, 1100
& coronde wern alle of þe same fasou{n}
Depaynt i{n} perleȝ & wedeȝ qwyte,
I{n} vchoneȝ breste watȝ bou{n}den bou{n},
Þe blysful perle w{i}t{h} gret[47] delyt. 1104
[Sidenote 47: MS. _with outen_.]
[Sidenote: As they went along they shone as glass.
The Lamb went before them. There was no pressing.]
W{i}t{h} gret delyt þay glod i{n} fere,
On golden gateȝ þat glent as glasse;
Hu{n}dreth þowsandeȝ I wot þer were,
& alle in sute her liureȝ wasse, 1108
Tor to knaw þe gladdest chere.
Þe lombe byfore con proudly passe,
Wyth horneȝ seuen of red golde[48] cler,
As praysed perleȝ his wedeȝ wasse; 1112
Towarde þe throne þay trone a tras.
Þaȝ þay wern fele no pres i{n} plyt,
Bot mylde as maydeneȝ seme at mas,
So droȝ þay forth w{i}t{h} gret delyt. 1116
[Sidenote: [Fol. 54b.]]
[Sidenote: The “alder men” fell groveling at the feet of the
Lamb. All sang in praise of the Lamb.]
Delyt þ{a}t hys come encroched,
To much hit were of for to melle;
Þise alder men quen he aproched,
Grouely{n}g to his fete þay felle; 1120
Legyou{n}es of au{n}geleȝ togeder uoched,
Þer kesten ensens of swete smelle,
Þen glory & gle watȝ nwe abroched.
Al songe to loue þat gay Iuelle, 1124
Þe steuen moȝt stryke þurȝ þe vrþe to helle,
Þat þe v{er}tues of heuen of Ioye endyte,
To loue þe lombe his meyny in melle,
I-wysse I laȝt a gret delyt; 1128
[Sidenote 48: MS. _glode_.]
[Sidenote: The Lamb wore white weeds. A wide wound was seen
near his breast.]
Delit þe lo{m}be forto deuise,
W{i}t{h} much meruayle in mynde went.
Best watȝ he, blyþest & moste to pryse,
Þat eu{er} I herde of speche spent, 1132
So worþly whyt wern wedeȝ hys;
His lokeȝ symple, hy{m} self so gent,
Bot a wou{n}de ful wyde & weete con wyse
An-ende hys hert þurȝ hyde to-rente; 1136
Of his quyte syde his blod out-sprent,
A-las! þoȝt I, who did þat spyt?
Ani breste for bale aȝt haf for-brent,
Er he þer-to hade had delyt, 1140
[Sidenote: Joy was in his looks. The father perceives
his little queen.]
The lombe delyt non lyste to wene,
Þaȝ he were hurt & wou{n}de hade,
I{n} his sembelau{n}t watȝ neu{er} sene,
So wern his glenteȝ gloryo{us} glade. 1144
I loked amo{n}g his meyny schene,
How þay wyth lyf wern laste & lade,
Þe{n} saȝ I þer my lyttel quene,
Þat I wende had standen by me i{n} sclade; 1148
Lorde! much of mirþe watȝ þat ho made,
Amo{n}g her fereȝ þat watȝ so quyt!
Þat syȝt me gart to þenk to wade,
For luf longy{n}g i{n} gret delyt. 1152
[Headnote: HE WISHES TO CROSS THE STREAM.]