  Son. Oh, my father! help, I pray! Death is near my soul to-day; With your blessing let me be Made a monk right speedily! See the foe my life invade! Haste, oh haste, to give me aid! Bring me comfort and heart's ease, Strengthen me in this disease! Father. Oh, my best-belovÈd son, What is this thou wouldst have done? Weigh it well in heart and brain: Do not leave me here in pain. Son. Father, this thy loving care Makes me weep full sore, I swear; For you will be childless when I have joined those holy men. Father. Therefore make a little stay, Put it off till the third day; It may be your danger is Not unto the death, I wis. Son. Such the anguish that I feel Through my inmost entrails steal, Ere to-morrow end my breath. Father. Those strict rules that monks observe, Well I know them! They must serve Heaven by fasting every day, And by keeping watch alway. Son. Who for God watch through the night Shall receive a crown of light; Who for heaven's sake hungers, he Shall be fed abundantly. Father. Hard and coarse the food they eat, Beans and pottage-herbs their meat; After such a banquet, think, Water is their only drink! Son. What's the good of feasts, or bright Cups of Bacchus, when, in spite Of all comforts, at the last This poor flesh to worms is cast? Father. Well, then, let thy parent's moan Move thee in thy soul, my son! Mourning for thee made a monk, Dead-alive in darkness sunk. Son. They who father, mother love, And their God neglect, will prove When the judgment trump shall sound. Father. Logic! would thou ne'er hadst been Known on earth for mortal teen! Many a clerk thou mak'st to roam Wretched, exiled from his home.— Never more thine eyes, my son, Shall behold thy darling one, Him, that little clerk so fair, N., thy friend beyond compare! Son. Oh, alas! unhappy me! What to do I cannot see; Wandering lost in exile so, Without guide or light I go!— Dry your tears, my father dear, Haply there is better cheer; Now my mind on change is set, I'll not be a monk, not yet. |
|
