Epistula ad mē

美というものは、芸術と人間の霊魂の問題である

初期近代英語をみる2; New heaven, new warre

 以前の記事で扱ったRobert Southwellの詩"New heaven, new warre"について、Nancy Brownの編纂による"The poems of Robert Southwell, S.J.(1967)"の中に、それのより確かな文献を発見した為、該当部分をここに掲載する。編纂に辺り彼が用いた文献は16世紀,17世紀のもの、或るいはそれぞれ確認できる最古のものである為、より正確であろう。

 

 This littke Babe so few dayes olde, Is come to ryfle sathans folde;
 All hell doth at his presence quake, Though he himselfe for cold doe shake:
 For in this weake unarmed wise, The gates of hell he will surprise.

 With teares he fights and winnes the field, His naked breast stands for a shield;
 His battring shot are babish cryes, His Arrowes lookes of weeping eyes,
 His Martiall ensignes cold and neede, And feeble flesh his warriers steede.

 His Campe is pitched in a stall, His bulwarke but a broken wall:
 The Crib his trench, hay stalks his stakes, Of sheepheards he his Muster makes;
 And thus as sure his foe to wound, The Angells trumps alarum sound.

 My soule with Christ joyne thou in fight, Sticke to the tents that he hath pight;
 Within his Crib is surest ward, This little Babe will be thy guard:
 If thou wilt foyle thy foes with joy, Then filt not from this heavenly boy.