Читать книгу A Book of Middle English - J. A. Burrow - Страница 103

The questions that Trevisa raises about a translation, what is its point and who is it for, are particularly pertinent when translating verse: should the translation be ‘in ryme oþer yn prose’? Here is a literal rendering of the first twelve lines of one of the most affecting religious lyrics, an address by the sinner to the infant Christ (text 14l). To modernize this as a sung lullaby, preserving its poetic form, would be a challenging task, but it would highlight how much is lost in the prose translation. Whereas Trevisa writes in a Western dialect, John of Grimestone’s lyrics are in the language of Norfolk, as described in the Headnote.

Lullay, lullay litel child, child, reste þe a þrowe.

Fro heyʒe hider art þu sent with us to wone lowe;

Pore an litel art þu mad, unkut an unknowe,

Pine an wo to suffren her for þing þat was þin owe.

Lullay, lullay litel child, sorwe mauth þu make, 5

Þu art sent into þis werd as tu were forsake.

Lullay, lullay litel grom, king of alle þingge.

Wan I þenke of þi methchef, me listet wol litel singge;

But caren I may for sorwe, ʒef love wer in myn herte,

For swiche peines as þu salt driʒen were nevere non so smerte. 10

Lullay, lullay litel child, wel mauth þu criʒe,

For þan þi bodi is bleyk an blak, sone after sal ben driʒe.

Lullay, lullay, little child; child rest yourself a while. From on high you are sent to live here below. You are created poor and little, unrecognized and unknown, to suffer pain and misery for the sake of what was your own. Lullay, lullay, little child, you may well weep; you have been sent into this world as if you have been abandoned.

Lullay, lullay, little lad, king of all things; when I think of your suffering I really have little wish to sing, but I might indeed be sorrowful if love was in my heart, because no pains were so sharp as those you will suffer. Lullay, lullay, little child, well may you cry, for when your body is pale and wan, a little later it will be shrivelled.