My friend is abroad and recently purchased a book of fourteenth-century poetry and challenged me to one of them. Let’s DO IT. This poem is clearly written in old English, which is a subject I have zero experience with. I noticed that the author uses “cum” instead of “come,” which in today’s vocabulary gives it a very sexual flavor despite the actual text telling a different story. An initial read through reveals Mary, wondering how her tiny baby can be not only the son of God, but God Himself (for all the non Christians out there, this is Mary’s perspective- not tryna preach 2 u). The most incredible part is how baby Jesus responds to his mother and tells her that it’ll all be okay because some kings are going to bring presents. It’s a clear image of Mary as the classic mother/woman, amazed at her son and needing material proof that he really is who she believes he is. Even though the man in this is a baby, it is still the man who tells her it will be okay and tells her what to do. Jesus is presumably a whole day old in this and already commanding her. And she listens. It’s an interesting power dynamic. Also, the “cum” v “come” thing adds a whole element of innuendo in today’s world that gives it an interesting vibe.
A lovely lady sat and sange
And to her son thus gan she say:
‘My son, my lord, my dere derlyng,
Why liggis thou thus in hay?
Myn own dere son,
How art thou cum,
Art thou not God verey?
But neuer the lesse
I will not sese
To syng “by, by, lully, lulley.”
Than spake the child that was so yong
And thus me thowght he said:
‘I am knowen as hevyn kyng,
In cribbe thowgh I now be layd;
Thow knowest it is no nay.
Angellis bright
To me shall light;
And of that sight
Ye may be light,
And syng “by, by, lully, lulley.”
‘Jhesu, my son, hevyn kyng,
Why lyest thou thus in stall?
And why hast thou no riche beddyng
In sum ryche kyngis hall?
Me thynkith by right,
The lord of myght
Shuld lye in riche aray;
But neuer the lesse
I will not sese
To synge “by, by, lully, lulley.”
‘Mary moder, quene of blis,
Me thynkith it is no lawe
That I shuld go to the kyngis,
And they not to me drawe;
But you shall see
That kyngis thre
To me will cum on the Twelfth day;
For this beheste,
Geve me your brest,
And syng “by, by, lully, lulley.”
‘Jhesu, my son, I pray the, say,
As thou art to me dere:
How shall I serue the to thy pay,
And mak the right good chere?
All thy will
I wold fulfill,
Thou knoweste it well, in fay;
Both rokke the still
And daunce the ther-till,
And synge “by, by, lully, lulley.”
‘Mary, moder, I pray the,
Take me vp on loft,
And in thyn arme
Thow lappe me warm,
And daunce me now full ofte;
And yf I wepe,
And will not slepe,
Than syng “by, by, lully, lulley.”
‘Jhesu, my son, hevyn kyng,
Yf it be thy will,
Grant thow me myn askyng,
As reason wold, and skyll:
What so euer they be
That can and will be
Mery on this day,
To blis them brynge,
And I shall syng:
“Lulley, by, by, lully, lulley.”
