path: root/70646-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70646 ***







                             LUDUS COVENTRIÆ.

                        A Collection of Mysteries,
                     FORMERLY REPRESENTED AT COVENTRY
                                  ON THE
                         FEAST OF CORPUS CHRISTI.

                                EDITED BY
                   JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ. F.R.S.
                   HON. M.R.I.A., F.S.A., F.R.A.S., &c.

                              [Illustration]

                                 LONDON:
                   PRINTED FOR THE SHAKESPEARE SOCIETY.
                                  1841.

                                 LONDON:
             F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
                    PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.




COUNCIL OF THE SHAKESPEARE SOCIETY.


President.

  THE MOST NOBLE THE MARQUESS OF NORMANDY.

Vice-Presidents.

  RT. HON. LORD BRAYBROOKE, F.S.A.
  RT. HON. LORD F. EGERTON, M.P.
  RT. HON. THE EARL OF GLENGALL.
  RT. HON. LORD LEIGH.

  AMYOT, THOMAS, ESQ., F.R.S., TREAS. S.A.
  AYRTON, WILLIAM, ESQ., F.R.S., F.S.A.
  BRUCE, JOHN, ESQ., F.S.A.
  CAMPBELL, THOMAS, ESQ.
  COLLIER, J. PAYNE, ESQ., F.S.A., DIRECTOR.
  COURTENAY, RT. HON. THOMAS P.
  CRAIK, GEORGE L., ESQ.
  DILKE, C. W., ESQ., TREASURER.
  DYCE, REV. ALEXANDER.
  HALLIWELL, J. O., ESQ., F.R.S. F.S.A., &c.
  HARNESS, REV. WILLIAM.
  JERROLD, DOUGLAS, ESQ.
  KENNEY, JAMES, ESQ.
  KNIGHT, CHARLES, ESQ.
  MACREADY, WILLIAM C., ESQ.
  MADDEN, SIR F., F.R.S., F.S.A., KEEPER OF THE MSS. IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
  MILMAN, REV. HENRY HART.
  TALFOURD, MR. SERGEANT, M.P.
  TOMLINS, F. GUEST, ESQ., SECRETARY.
  WRIGHT, THOMAS, ESQ., F.S.A.
  YOUNG, CHARLES M., ESQ.




INTRODUCTION.


Three complete collections of ancient English mysteries have descended
to modern times, or rather are now known to be preserved, which are
generally distinguished by the titles of the Chester, the Townley, and
the Coventry Mysteries; and, with the exception of a few detached pieces
of far inferior importance, we derive nearly all our actual knowledge of
the early English drama from these series of plays, which have been long
known to every one interested in this class of literary pursuits, as some
of the most curious and valuable relics of bygone times; not merely as
important records of our early stage, but also as illustrating, in a very
interesting manner, the customs, language, and manners of the periods to
which they belong. The only one of these series (which is, perhaps, the
most important of all), that has yet been printed, is the Townley, which
was published by the Surtees Society, with a very interesting and learned
preface by Mr. Hunter. The Coventry is contained in the following volume;
and the Chester, so ably commented upon by Mr. Markland, a gentleman
to whom belongs the distinction of being the first in recent times to
direct public attention to these researches, has already been under the
consideration of the Council of the Society under whose auspices the
present volume is produced.[1]

Mr. Collier, in the second volume of his excellent History of English
Dramatic Poetry, has carefully analyzed the Coventry Mysteries, with
occasional notices of resemblances or dissimilarities in the method in
which the same subjects are treated in the other collections. It will,
therefore, be unnecessary for me in this place to enter on the general
question of the chain in the evidence of dramatic history which these
mysteries afford.

The Coventry Mysteries are contained in a quarto volume, the principal
part of which was written in the year 1468, now preserved in the
Cottonian collection of manuscripts, under the press-mark Vespas.
D. viii. The date of the MS. is ascertained from the verso of fol.
100, a fac-simile of which page will be found at the commencement of
this work. The history of the manuscript is unfortunately wrapped
in obscurity, and it cannot be distinctly traced back to those who
are presumed to have been its former possessors—the Grey Friars of
Coventry. The principal authority for its appropriation to this body is
contained in the following memorandum on the fly-leaf of the manuscript
in the hand-writing of Dr. Richard James, librarian to Sir Robert
Cotton:—“Contenta Novi Testamenti scenice expressa et actitata olim
per monachos sive fratres mendicantes: vulgo dicitur hic liber Ludus
Coventriæ, sive Ludus Corporis Christi: scribitur metris Anglicanis.”
The MS. was previously in the possession of Robert Hegge of Christ
Church, Oxford, who died in 1629,[2] and was, most probably, purchased
by James about that time for Cotton, as it appears from a letter in the
same library[3] that James was engaged about that period at Oxford in
procuring manuscripts for his patron.

James, in his MS. collections in the Bodleian, does not notice the MS.
of the Ludus Coventriæ, and I have been unsuccessful in endeavouring to
trace either the destination of Hegge’s library, or the authority for
James’s assertion that this volume was commonly (vulgo dicitur) known
under the above title.[4] That it was so, there cannot, I imagine, be
the slightest doubt, for what object could James—a man who was, most
probably, uninterested about the subject of the manuscript, and inserted
the account above given as Cotton’s librarian, according to his usual
custom—have had in making a misrepresentation? It must be remembered,
also, that the last leaf, or, perhaps, the last few leaves, are now
deficient, and there is no improbability in the conjecture that these may
not have been lost when James wrote his description, and that a colophon
supplied him with his information.

Robert Hegge has given us his autograph in two places, and in both
added the cognomen of “Dunelmensis.” On this account, some writers
have conjectured that the volume originally came from Durham; but this
supposition is not supported by any evidence and very little probability.
The principal mark of dialect which the Mysteries contain, viz., _x_ for
_sh_ in such words as _xal_, _xulde_, &c., belong to that part of the
country in which Coventry is situated.

If, then, we have not complete and absolute evidence that Ludus Coventriæ
is the proper title of these Mysteries, yet the probabilities are greatly
in favour of the correctness of this appellation, and no urgent reasons
have been given for any different conclusion. By this name, at all
events, the MS. has been known since the time of Dr. James, who died in
1639.

The external evidence is also greatly in favour of the claim of Coventry
to these plays. Coventry was a place formerly famous for the performance
of its Corpus Christi plays by the Grey Friars, in the same manner as
Chester was for the performances of its trading companies. Mr. Sharp’s
_Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries_, 4to., Cov. 1816, contains a
most curious and valuable collection of information[5] relative to the
plays once performed there, and the manner in which the actors were
dressed. In 1456, Queen Margaret was at Coventry, when she saw “alle
the pagentes pleyde save domesday, which might not be pleyde for lak
of day.” Even as late as 1575, “certain good harted men of Coventree”
had the honour of performing before Queen Elizabeth in the celebrated
entertainment at Kenilworth, and gained considerable applause.[6] And
Heywood, in a passage which has been frequently quoted, alludes to the
devil as a famous character in the old Coventry mysteries:—

  “For as good happe wolde have it chaunce,
  Thys devyll and I were of olde acqueyntaunce;
  For oft, in the play of Corpus Christi,
  He hath played the devyll at Coventry.”[7]

The Coventry Mysteries attracted the attention of the antiquary, Dugdale,
at an early period, and he has given us the following curious and
important account of them:—

“Before the suppression of the monasteries, this city was very famous
for the pageants that were play’d therein, upon Corpus-Christi day;
which occasioning very great confluence of people thither from far and
near, was of no small benefit therto; which pageants being acted with
mighty state and reverence by the friers of this house, had theaters
for the severall scenes, very large and high, placed upon wheels, and
drawn to all the eminent parts of the city, for the better advantage of
spectators: and contain’d the story of the New-Testament, composed into
old English Rithme, as appeareth by an ancient MS. [in bibl. Cotton.
sub effigie Vesp. D. 9.] intituled _Ludus Corporis Christi_, or _Ludus
Coventriæ_. I have been told by some old people, who in their younger
years were eye-witnesses of these pageants so acted, that the yearly
confluence of people to see that shew was extraordinary great, and
yielded no small advantage to this city.”[8]—_Dugdale’s Antiquities of
Warwickshire_, fol. Lond. 1656, p. 116, col. 1.

I scarcely think, however, that this notice of the MS. affords much
evidence in favour of James’s title, except so far as it shows that
Dugdale himself had no doubt whatever about its correctness. It will be
observed that Dugdale does not give a right reference to the press-mark
of the manuscript, and he had probably not examined the volume with much
attention, or he could scarcely have omitted to notice the following
passage at the end of the prologue, which has been adduced to prove that
these mysteries were not exclusively[9] performed before the “gentyllys
and ȝemanry” of Coventry:—

  “A Sunday next, yf that we may,
  At vj. of the belle we gynne oure play
  In N. towne.”

“The letter N,” observes Mr. Collier,[10] “is placed for the _nomen_ of
the town, which was to be filled up as occasion required, by the person
making the proclamation.” If the opinion I have formed of their locality
be correct, I can account for this by supposing that the prologues of the
vexillators belong to another series of plays, or that these mysteries
were occasionally performed at other places. The summaries of the
pageants, as given in the prologue, are often confusedly numbered; and it
must be confessed that the conclusion would suit a company of strolling
players much better than the venerable order of the Grey Friars. In
the order of the pageants, I have not regarded the speeches of the
vexillators; and the divisions in the MS. being very incorrectly given,
I have endeavoured to make as correct an arrangement as possible, taking
the two other series of mysteries as my guide.

At the commencement of the twenty-ninth pageant, Contemplatio, an
allegorical personage, who acts as prologue-speaker, explains the events
and moralises on occasion, but who is in no way concerned in the action,
says—

“We intendyn to procede the matere that we lefte the last ȝere:”

which proves that the remainder of these pageants were not played the
same year as the preceding twenty-eight mysteries.

In offering the first edition of the Coventry Mysteries to the members of
the Shakespeare Society, I am anxious to state that I have endeavoured
to give the reader as faithful a copy of the original manuscript as was
possible, with all its errors and defects. These are not few, for the
MS. is evidently the work of a scribe who was not very well acquainted
with his copy. He makes barbarous work of the few Latin passages which
occur, and verbal errors are of frequent occurrence; and yet, on mature
deliberation, I came to the conclusion that it would be more advisable
to leave these corrections for the notes, and thus give the reader an
opportunity of forming his own opinion on passages which are certainly
corrupt, but which may possibly admit of more than one method of
explanation.

The frequent occurrence of the double letter _ff_ in the manuscript, and
in places where it could not be used for the capital letter, implies a
dialectical distinction, the exact meaning of which has not yet been
discovered. I have carefully preserved them in the text.

The Glossary will be found useful to those who are learned in the
philology of our early language, as there are many words of very
unfrequent occurrence; but I have constructed it more especially with a
view to the wants of those who have not made our early poetry a matter
of study. In doing so, I thought that I should be consulting the best
interests of the Shakespeare Society, as a large majority of its members
belong, in all probability, to the latter class.

                                                          J. O. HALLIWELL.

Alfred Place, London, June 21st, 1841.


FOOTNOTES

[1] I am not without hopes of one or two more collections turning up. In
MS. Addit. 4791, fol. 157, is given a list of the plays represented at
Dublin on Corpus Christi day, 1468, which differs materially from the
contents of any known series. The play of the “Sacrifice of Abraham,” in
Trinity College, Dublin, may be one of these. It has been printed by Mr.
Collier.

[2] Wood’s Athenæ, by Bliss, vol. ii., p. 458. Hegge does not allude to
the MS. in any of his writings.

[3] MS. Cotton. Julius, C. iii., fol. 193. James was then resident at
Oxford.

[4] In the old catalogue of the Cottonian library, commenced in the year
1621, in MS. Harl. 6018, there is no notice of the present MS. I find,
however, in a list of books “lent out of my study befor this 23 Aprill,
1621,” an entry which may be interesting to the reader: “Ælfricus Grammar
Saxon to Ben: Jonson.” This was doubtlessly “the most ancient grammar
written in the Saxon tongue and character,” which Kynaston saw in his
hands. See Gifford’s Jonson, vol. ix., p. 254.

[5] Collected from the records of the corporation. Mr. Sharp has also
printed a Coventry play of a later date, which does not contain the
dialectical peculiarity mentioned above.

[6] Laneham’s Letter, 12mo. Lond. 1575, p. 32.

[7] _Playe called the foure P. P._ sig. d. ii. Sharp has given us many
particulars relative to this character. See also Collier’s _Hist. Dram.
Poet._ vol. ii. p. 262-266.

[8] The reader will not perhaps be displeased to see this passage as it
stands in the original MS. of Dugdale’s work:—“Before the suppression of
the monasteries, this cittye was very famous for the pageants that were
play’d therein upon Corpus Christi day. These pageants were acted with
mighty state and reverence by the fryers of this house, and conteyned the
story of the New Testament which was composed into old English rime. The
theatres for the severall scenes were very large and high; and, being
placed upon wheeles, were drawne to all the eminent places of the cittye,
for the better advantage of the spectators. In that incomparable library
belonging to Sir Thomas Cotton, there is yet one of the bookes which
perteyned to this pageant, entitled _Ludus Corporis Christi_, or _Ludus
Coventriæ_. I myselfe have spoke with some old people who had, in their
younger yeares, bin eyewitnesses of these pageants soe acted; from whom
I have bin told that the confluence of people from farr and neare to see
that shew was extraordinary great, and yielded noe small advantage to
this cittye.”

[9] “It appears, by the latter end of the prologue, that these plays
or interludes were not only played at Coventry, but in other towns and
places upon occasion.”—_Wright’s Historia Histrionica_, 8vo. Lond. 1699,
p. 17.

[10] History of Dramatic Poetry, vol. ii. p. 156.




CONTENTS.


                                                            PAGE
     1. Prologue                                               1
     2. i. The Creation                                       19
     3. ii. The Fall of Man                                   24
     4. iii. Cain and Abel                                    33
     5. iv. Noah’s Flood                                      40
     6. v. Abraham’s Sacrifice                                49
     7. vi. Moses and the Two Tables                          58
     8. vii. The Prophets                                     65
     9. viii. The Barrenness of Anna                          70
    10. ix. Mary in the Temple                                79
    11. x. Mary’s Betrothment                                 90
    12. xi. The Salutation and Conception                    105
    13. xii. Joseph’s Return                                 117
    14. xiii. The Visit to Elizabeth                         124
    15. xiv. The Trial of Joseph and Mary                    131
    16. xv. The Birth of Christ                              145
    17. xvi. The Adoration of the Shepherds                  156
    18. xvii. The Adoration of the Magi                      161
    19. xviii. The Purification                              172
    20. xix. The Slaughter of the Innocents                  179
    21. xx. Christ disputing in the Temple                   189
    22. xxi. The Baptism of Christ                           199
    23. xxii. The Temptation                                 205
    24. xxiii. The Woman taken in Adultery                   213
    25. xxiv. Lazarus                                        223
    26. xxv. The Council of the Jews                         239
    27. xxvi. The Entry into Jerusalem                       252
    28. xxvii. The Last Supper                               259
    29. xxviii. The Betraying of Christ                      280
    30. xxix. King Herod                                     288
    31. xxx. The Trial of Christ                             293
    32. xxxi. Pilate’s Wife’s Dream                          308
    33. xxxii. The Condemnation and Crucifixion of Christ    311
    34. xxxiii. The Descent into Hell                        329
    35. xxxiv. The Burial of Christ                          331
    36. xxxv. The Resurrection                               338
    37. xxxvi. The Three Maries                              354
    38. xxxvii. Christ appearing to Mary                     360
    39. xxxviii. The Pilgrim of Emaus                        364
    40. xxxix. The Ascension                                 377
    41. xl. The Descent of the Holy Ghost                    381
    42. xli. The Assumption of the Virgin                    383
    43. xlii. Doomsday                                       401
    44. Notes                                                407
    45. Glossary                                             419




THE COVENTRY MYSTERIES.




PROLOGUE.


_Primus vexillator._

  Now gracyous God, groundyd of alle goodnesse,
    As thi grete glorie nevyr begynnyng had,
  So thou socour and save alle tho that sytt and sese,
    And lystenyth to oure talkyng with sylens stylle and sad,
  ffor we purpose us pertly stylle in this prese,
    The pepyl to plese with pleys ful glad.
  Now lystenyth us, lovely, bothe more and lesse,
    Gentyllys and ȝemanry of goodly lyff lad,
            This tyde.
  We xal ȝou shewe, as that we kan,
  How that this werd ffyrst began,
  And how God made bothe molde and man,
            Iff that ȝe wyl abyde.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the ffyrst pagent, we thenke to play
    How God dede make, thorowe his owyn myth,
  Hevyn so clere upon the fyrst day,
    And therin he sett angelle fful bryth.

  Than angelle with songe, this is no nay,
    Xal worchep God, as it is ryth;
  But Lucyfer, that angelle so gay,
    In suche pompe than is he pyth,
            And set in so grete pride,
  That Goddys sete he gynnyth to take,
  Hese lordys pere hymself to make,
  But than he ffallyth a ffend ful blake,
            ffrom hevyn in helle to a[bide.]

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the secunde pagent by Godys myth,
    We thenke to shewe and pley, be-dene,
  In the other sex days, by opyn syth,
    What thenge was wrought ther xal be sene;
  How best was made and foule of flyth,
    And last was man made, as I wene;
  Of mannys o ryb, as I ȝow plyth,
    Was woman wrougth mannys make to bene,
            And put in paradyse.
  Ther were floures bothe blew and blake,
  Of alle frutes thei myth ther take,
  Saff frute of cunnyng thei xulde forsake,
            And towche it in no wyse.

  The serpent toke Eve an appyl to byte,
    And Eve toke Adam a mursel of the same,
  Whan thei had do thus aȝens the rewle of ryte,
    Than was oure Lord wrothe and grevyd al with grame.
  Oure Lord gan appose them of ther grete delyte,
    Bothe to askuse hem of that synful blame,
  And than Almyghty God, ffor that gret dyspite,
    Assygned hem grevous peyn, as ȝe xal se in game,
            In dede,
  Seraphyn, an angelle gay,
  With brennyng swerd, this is verray,
  From paradise bete hem away,
            In Bybyl as we rede.

_Primus vexillator._

  We purpose to shewe in the thryd pagent,
    The story of Caym and of hese brother Abelle,
  Of here tythynges now be we bent
    In this pagent the trewthe to telle.
  How the tythyng of Abel with feyr was brent,
    And accept to God, yf ȝe wyl dwelle,
  We purpose to shewe, as we have ment,
    And how he was kyllyd of his brother so felle;
            And than
  How Caym was cursyd in al degré,
  Of Godys owyn mowthe, ther xal ȝe se,
  Of trewe tythyng this may wel be,
            Exaw[m]ple to every man.

_Secundus vexillator._

  The iii.ᵈᵉ pagent is now ȝow tolde;
    The ffourte pagent of Noe xal be,
  How God was wrothe with man an molde,
    Because fro synne man dede not fle.
  He sent to Noe an angel bolde,
    A shyp ffor to makyn and swymmen on the se,
  Upon the water bothe wood and coolde,
    And viij. sowles ther savyd xulde be.
            And j. peyre of everiche bestes in brynge.
  Whan xl.ᵗⁱ days the flode had fflowe,
  Than sente Noe out a crowe,
  And after hym he sent a dowe,
            That brouth ryth good tydyng.

_Tertius vexillator._

  Of Abraham is the fyfte pagent,
    And of Ysaac his sone so fre,
  How that he xulde with fere be brent,
    And slayn with swerd, as ȝe xal se.
  Abraham toke with good atent
    His sone Ysaac, and knelyd on kne,
  His suerd was than ful redy bent,
    And thouth his chylde ther offered xuld be,
            Upon an hylle ful ryff.
  Than God toke tent to his good wyl,
  And sent an angel ryth sone hym tyl,
  And bad Abraham a shep to kyl,
            And savyd his chyldys lyff.

_Primus vexillator._

  The sexte pagent is of Moyses,
    And of tweyn tabelys that God hym took,
  In the whiche were wrete, without les,
    The lawes of God to lerne and lok.
  And how God charged hym be wordys these,
    The lawes to lerne al of that book,
  Moyses than doth nevyr more sese,
    But prechyth duly both ȝere and woke,
            The lawes as I ȝow telle.
  The ten comaundementes alle be-dene,
  In oure play ȝe xal hem sene,
  To alle tho that there wyl bene,
            If that ȝe thenke to duelle.


_Secundus vexillator._

  Off the gentyl Jesse rote,
    The sefnt pagent forsothe xal ben,
  Out of the whiche doth sprynge oure bote,
    As in prophecye we redyn and sen;
  Kyngys and prophetes with wordys fful sote,
    Schulle prophesye al of a qwene,
  The whiche xal staunche oure stryff and moote,
    And wynnyn us welthe withoutyn wene,
            In hevyn to abyde.
  They xal prophecye of a mayde,
  Alle ffendys of here xal be affrayde,
  Here sone xal save us, be not dismayde,
            With hese woundys wyde.

_Tertius vexillator._

  Of the grete bushop Abyacar,
    The tende pagent xal be without lesyng,
  The whiche comaundyth men to be war,
    And brynge here douteres to dew weddyng;
  Alle that ben xiiij. ȝere and more,
    To maryage he byddyth hem bryng,
  Wherevyr thei be, he chargyth sore,
    That thei not ffayle for no lettyng,
            The lawe byddyth so serteyn than.
  Than Joachym and Anne so mylde,
  Thei brynge forthe Mary that blyssyd chylde,
  But she wold not be defylyde,
            With spot nor wem of man.

  In chastyté that blysful mayde
    Avowyd there here lyff to lede.
  Than is the busshop sore dysmayde,
    And wonderyth sore al of this dede;
  He knelyd to God, as it is sayde,
    And prayth than for help and rede.
  Than seyth an angel, “be not afrayde,
    Of this dowte take thou no drede,
            But for the kynrede of Davyd thou sende;
  Lete hem come with here offryng,
  And in here handys white ȝerdys brynge,
  Loke whose ȝerde doth ffloure and sprynge,
            And he xal wedde that mayden hende.”

_Primus vexillator._

  In the x.ᵗᵉ pagent, sothe to say,
    A masangere fforthe is sent;
  Davydis kynrede without delay
    They come fful sone with good entent.
  Whan Joseph offeryd his ȝerde that day,
    Anon ryth fforth in present
  The ded styk do floure fful gay,
    And than Joseph to wedlok went,
            Ryth as the angel bad.
  Than he plyth to his wyff,
  In chastyté to ledyn here lyff,
  The busshop toke here iij. maydenys ryff,
            Som comforte there she had.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xj.ᵈᵉ pagent goth Gabryelle,
    And doth salute oure lady ffre,
  Than grett with chylde, as I ȝow telle,
    That blyssyd mayde, forsothe is she.
  Tho iij. maydenys that with here dwelle,
    Here gret speche, but noon thei se,
  Than they suppose that sum angelle,
    Goddys masangere that it xuld be.
            And thus
  The Holy Gost in here is lyth,
  And Goddys sone in here is pygth,
  The aungelle doth telle what he xal hyght,
            And namyth the chylde Jhesus.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xij. pagent, as I ȝow telle,
    Joseph comyth hom fro fer countré,
  Oure ladyes wombe with chylde doth swelle,
    And than Joseph ful hevy is he;
  He doth forsake here with hert ful felle,
    Out of countré he gynnyth to fle,
  He nevyr more thenkyth with here to dwelle,
    And than oure lady ryth sore wepyth she.
            An angelle seyd hym ryf,
  “God is with thi wyff sertayn,
  Therfore, Joseph, turne hom agayn.”
  Than is Joseph in herte ful fayn,
            And goth ageyn onto his wyff.

_Primus vexillator._

  The xiiij.ᵗᵉ pagent, I sey ȝow be-dene,
    Xal be of Joseph and mylde Mary,
  How they were sclawndryd with trey and tene,
    And to here purgacion thei must hem hy.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xv. pagent shewe we xal,
    How Joseph went withoute varyauns,
  ffor mydwyvys to helpe oure lady at alle,
    Of childe that she had delyverauns.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xvj. pagent Cryst xal be born,
    Of that joy aungelys xul synge,
  And telle the shepherdys in that morn
    The blysseful byrth of that kyng.
  The shepherdys xal come hym befforn,
    With reverens and with worchepyng,
  ffor he xal savyn that was forlorn,
    And graunt us lyff evyr more lestyng,
            I-wys.
  This gle in grythe
  Is mater of myrthe,
  Now Crystys byrthe,
            Bryng us to his blys!

_Primus vexillator._

  The xv.ᵗᵉ pagent come kynges iij.,
    With gold, myrre, and ffrankynsens,
  Kyng Herowdys styward hem doth se,
    And bryngyth alle to his presens.
  The Kynges of Coleyn with hert ful ffre,
    Tolde kyng Herownde here dylygens,
  That thei south in that countré
    A kyng of kynges, ffrom fere thens
            A sterre led hem the way.
  The chylde is ȝoung and lyth in stalle.
  He xal be kyng of kynges alle,
  Beffore hym we thynk on kne to ffalle,
            And worchep hym this day.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xvj. pagent as wroth as wynde
    Is kyng Herownde, the sothe to say,
  And cruel knytes and unkende
    To sle male chylderyn he sendyth that day.
  But Cryst Jhesu thei may not ffynde,
    For Joseph hath led that childe away
  Unto Egypth, as we have mende,
    As angele to Joseph dyd byd and say
            In hyȝht.
  Tho chylderyn that syt in here moderes lap,
  To sowkyn ful swetly here moderes pap,
  The knythtes do sle hem evyn at a swap,
            This is a rewly syth.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xvij. pagent the knythtes, be-dene,
    Shulle brynge dede childeryn befor the kyng;
  Whan kyng Herownde that syth hath sene,
    fful glad he is of here kyllyng.
  Than kyng Herownde, withowtyn wene,
    Is sett to mete at his lykyng,
  In his most pride xal come gret tene,
    As ȝe xal se at oure pleyng.
            His sorwe xal awake;
  Whan he is sett at hese most pryde,
  Sodeyn deth xal thrylle his syde,
  And kylle his knyttes that with hym byde;
            The devyl ther soulys xal take.

_Primus vexillator._

  In the xviij. pagent we must purpose,
    To shewe whan Cryst was xij. ȝer of age,
  How in the temple he dede appose
    And answerd doctoris ryth wyse and sage.
  The blyssyd babe withowte glose,
    Overcam olde clerkes with suyche langage,
  That thei meveylyd, ȝe xal suppose,
    How that he cam to suche knowlage.
            And in this whyle,
  Thre days he was oute
  ffro his modyr, without doute,
  Wepyng she sowth hym rownde aboute
            Jherusalem many a myle.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xix. pagent xal seynt Jhon
    Baptyse Cryst, as I ȝow say,
  In the watyr of flom Jordone,
    With which devys, as we best may,
  The Holy Gost xal ovyr hym on,
    The ffaderes voys xal be herd that day,
  Out of hevyn that blisful trone,
    The fadyr xal be herd, this is no nay,
            And forth with pleyn.
  The Holy Gost xal be hys gyde
  Into desert therin to abyde,
  Xl.ᵗⁱ days a terme ful wyde,
            And xl.ᵗⁱ nyghtes to faste serteyn.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xx.ᵗⁱ pagent alle the develys of helle,
    They gadere a parlement, as ȝe xal se,
  They have grete doute the trewth to telle,
    Of Cryst Jhesu whath he xulde be.
  They sende Sathan, that ffynde so ffelle,
    Cryst for to tempte in fele degré:
  We xal ȝow shewe, if ȝe wyl dwelle,
    How Cryst was temptyd in synnys thre
            Of the deyvl Sathane;
  And how Cryst answeryd onto alle,
  And made the ffende awey to falle,
  As we best may this shewe we xalle,
            Thorwe grace of God and man.

_Primus vexillator._

  The xxj.ᵗⁱ pagent of a woman xal be,
    The whiche was take in adultrye;
  The Pharysewys ffalsed ther ȝe xal se,
    Cryst to convycte how they were slye.
  They conseyvyd this sotylté,
    Yf Cryst this woman dede dampne trewly,
  Ageyn his prechyng than dede he,
    Whiche was of peté and of mercy;
            And yf he dede here save,
  Than were he aȝens Moyses lawe,
  That byddyth with stonys she xulde be slawe,
  Thus they thowth undyr ther awe
            Cryst Jhesu ffor to have.

_Secundus vexillator._

  The grettest meracle that evyr Jhesus
    In erthe wrouth beforn his passyon,
  In xxij.ᵗⁱ pagent we purpose us
    To shewe in dede the declaracion.
  That pagent xal be of Lazarus,
    In whos place and habytacion
  Cryst was logyd, the Gospel seyth thus,
    And ofte tymes toke ther consolacion.
            But ȝyt
  Lazarus, as I ȝow say,
  Was iiij. days ded and beryed in clay,
  ffrom deth to lyve the iiij.ᵗᵉ day,
            Cryst reysed hym ffrom that pyt.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xxiij.ᵗⁱ pagent, Palme Sunday,
    In pley we purpose ffor to shewe,
  How chylderyn of Ebrew with ffloures ful gay,
    The wey that Cryst went thei gun to strewe.

_Primus vexillator._

  In the xxiiij.ᵗⁱ pagent, as that we may,
    Cryst and his apostelys alle on rewe,
  The mawnde of God ther xal they play,
    And sone declare it with wordys ffewe.
            And than
  Judas that fals traytour,
  ffor xxx.ᵗⁱ platys of werdly tresour,
  Xal betray oure Savyour
            To the Jewys certan.

_Secundus vexillator._

  ffor grevous peyn, this is no les,
  In the xxv.ᵗⁱ pagent, Cryst xal pray
  To the fadyr of hevyn that peyn for to ses,
    His shamful deth to put away.
  Judas that traytour, befor gret pres,
    Xal kys his mouthe and hym betray,
  Alle his dyscyples than do dyscres,
    And forsake Cryst, the sothe to say,
            ffor doute thei do hem hede.
  Hese dyscyplys alle everychone
  Do renne awey and leve hym alone,
  They lete hym stondyn amonge his ffon,
            And ronne away ffor drede.

_Tertius vexillator._

  Than in the xxvj.ᵗⁱ pagent,
    To Cayphas Cryst xal be brouth,
  Tho Jewys fful redy ther xul be bent,
    Cryst to acuse with worde and thouth.
  Seynt Petyr doth folwe with good intent,
    To se with Cryst what xuld be wrouth;
  ffor Crystes dyscyple whan he is hent,
    Thryes he doth swere he knew hym nowth,—
            A kok xal crowe and crye;
  Than doth Petyr gret sorwe make,
  ffor he his lord thus dede forsake,
  But God to grace hym sone doth take,
            Whan he doth aske mercye.

_Primus vexillator._

  In the xxvij. pagent, sere Pylat
    Is sett in sete as hy justyce;
  Whan he is set in his astat,
    Thre thevys be brout of synful gyse,
  And Cryst that lovyd nevyr stryff nor bat,
    But trewthe and goodnesse on every wyse,
  As for a thef with ryth gret hat,
    Is browth to stondyn at that same syse.
            And than, as I ȝow say,
  The wyff of Pylat goth to rest,
  Coveryd with clothis al of the best,
  Than ffor to slepe she is ful prest,
            Alle this we thenke to play.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xxviij. pagent xal Judas,
    That was to Cryst a ffals traytour,
  With wepyng sore evyr crye, alas,
    That evyr he solde oure Savyour.
  He xal be sory ffor his trespas,
    And brynge aȝen alle his tresour,
  Alle xxx. pens to sere Cayphas,
    He xal them brynge with gret dolowre,
            ffor the whiche Cryst was bowth.
  ffor gret whanhope, as ȝe xal se,
  He hangyth hymself upon a tre,
  ffor he noth trostyth in Godys peté,
            To helle his sowle is browth.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xxix. pagent, to Pylatus wyff
    In slepe aperyth the devyl of helle,
  ffor to savyn Crystes lyff,
    The devyl here temptyth, as I ȝow telle.
  Sche sendyth to Pylat anon ful ryff,
    And prayth that Cryst he xuld not qwelle;
  Than Pylat is besy and ryth blyff,
    Cryst for to savyn he ȝevyth councelle,
            ffor he dede nevyr trespas.
  The Jewys do crye fast ffor to kylle,
  The rythful man thei aske to spylle,
  A thef thei save with herty wylle,
            That callyd is Barrabas.

_Primus vexillator._

  In the xxx. pagent thei bete out Crystes blood,
    And nayle hym al nakyd upon a rode tre,
  Betwen ij. thevys, i-wys they were to wood,
    They hyng Cryst Jhesu, gret shame it is to se.
  Vij. wurdys Cryst spekyth hangyng upon the rode,
    The weche ȝe xal here alle tho that wyl ther be,
  Than doth he dye ffor oure allether good;
    His modyr doth se that syth, gret mornyng makyth she,
            ffor sorwe she gynnyth to swowne.
  Seynt John evyn ther as I ȝow plythe,
  Doth chere oure lady with al his mythe,
  And to the temple anon forth rythe,
            He ledyth here in that stownde.

_Secundus vexillator._

  We purpose to shewe in oure pleyn place,
    In the xxxj.ᵗⁱ pagent, thorwe Godys mythe,
  How to Crystes herte a spere gan pace,
    And rent oure lordys bryst in ruly plyth.
  ffor Longeus that olde knyth, blynd as he was,
    A ryth sharpe spere to Crystes herte xal pythe,
  The blod of his wounde to his oyn xal tras,
    And thorwe gret meracle ther hath he syth.
            Than in that morn,
  Crystes soule goth downe to helle,
  And ther ovyrcomyth the fend so felle,
  Comfortyth the soulys that therin dwelle,
            And savyth that was fforlorn.

_Tertius vexillator._

  Joseph and Nycodemus to Cryst trew servaunt
    In the xxxij. page[nt] the body thei aske to have.
  Pylat ful redyly the body doth hem graunt,
    Than thei with reverens do put it in grave.
  The Jewys more wyckyd than ony geawunt,
    ffor Crystes ded body kepers do thei crave,
  Pylat sendyth iiij. knytes that be ryth hardaunt,
    To keep the blody body in his dede conclave.
            And ȝit be his owyn myth,
  The body that was hevy as led,
  Be the Jewys nevyr so qwed,
  Aryseth from grave that ther lay ded,
            And ffrayth than every knyth.

_Primus vexillator._

  In the xxiij. pagent the soule of Cryst Jhesu
    Xal brynge alle his ffrendys ffrom helle to paradyse,
  The soule goth than to the grave, and be ryth gret vertu
    That body that longe ded hath loyn to lyf aȝen doth ryse.
  Than doth Cryst Jhesu onto his modyr sew,
    And comfortyth alle here care in temple ther she lyse,
  With suche cher and comforth his modyr he doth indew,
    That joy it is to here ther speche for to devyse.
            And than
  Oure lady of hefne so cler,
  In herte sche hath ryth glad chere,
  Whan here sone thus doth apere,
            Here care awey is tan.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xxxiiij. pagent xal Maryes thre
    Seke Cryst Jhesu in his grave so coolde;
  An aungel hem tellyth that aresyn is he;
    And whan that this tale to them is tolde,
  To Crystes dyscyplis with wurdys fful fre,
    They telle these tydynges with brest ful bolde.
  Than Petyr and John, as ȝe xal se,
    Down rennyn in hast over lond and wolde,
            The trewth of this to have.
  Whan thei ther comyn, as I ȝow say,
  He is gon ffrom undyr clay,
  Than thei wytnesse anoon that day,
            He lyth not in his grave.

_Tertius vexillator._

  Onto Mary Mawdelyn as we have bent,
    Cryst Jhesu xal than apere,
  In the xxxv.ᵗⁱ pagent,
    And she wenyth he be a gardenere.
  Mary, be name verament,
    Whan Cryst here callyth with speche ful clere,
  She fallyth to ground with good entent,
    To kys his fete with gladsom chere.
            But Cryst byddyth here do way,
  He byddyth his feet that sche not kys,
  Tyl he have styed to hefne blys,
  To Crystes dyscyplys Mary i-wys
            Than goth the trewthe to say.

_Primus vexillator._

  In the xxxvj.ᵗⁱ pagent xal Cleophas
    And Sent Luke to a castel go,
  Of Crystes deth as thei fforth pas
    They make gret mornyng and be ful wo,
  Than Cryst them ovyrtok, as his wyl was,
    And walkyd in felachep fforth with hem too,
  To them he doth expowne bothe more and las
    Alle that prophetes spake ad of hymself also;
            That nyth in fay,
  Whan thei be set within the castelle,
  In brekyng of bred thei know Cryst welle,
  Than sodeynly, as I ȝow telle,
            Cryste is gon his way.

_Secundus vexillator._

  In the xxxvij. pagent than purpos we,
    To Thomas of Ynde Cryst xal apere,
  And Thomas evyn ther, as ȝe xal se,
    Xal put his hands in his woundes dere.

_Tertius vexillator._

  In the xxxviij.ᵗⁱ pagent up stye xal he
    Into hefne that is so clere,
  Alle hese apostele there xul be,
    And woundere sore and have gret dwere,
            Of that fferly syth.
  Ther xal come aungelle tweyne,
  And comfforte hem, this is certeyne,
  And tellyn that he xal comyn ageyne,
            Even by his owyn myth.

_Primus vexillator._

  Than ffolwyth next sekyrly,
    Of Wyttsunday that solempne ffest,
  Whyche pagent xal be ix. and thretty,
    To the apostelys to apere be Crystes hest;
  In Hierusalem were gaderyd xij. opynly,
    To the Cenacle comyng ffrom West to Est,
  The Holy Gost apperyd fful vervently,
    With brennyng ffere thyrlyng here brest,
            Procedyng from hevyn trone.
  Alle maner langage hem spak with tung,
  Latyn, Grek, and Ebrew amonge,
  And affter thei departyd and taryed not long,
            Here deth to take ful sone.

_Secundus vexillator._

  The xl.ᵗⁱ pagent xal be the last,
    And domysday that pagent xal hyth,
  Who se that pagent may be agast
    To grevyn his lord God eyther day or nyth;
  The erthe xal qwake, bothe breke and brast,
    Beryelys and gravys xul ope ful tyth,
  Ded men xul rysyn and that ther in hast,
    And ffast to here ansuere thei xul hem dyth,
            Beffore Godys fface.
  But prente wyl this in ȝour mende,
  Who so to God hath be unkende,
  ffrenchep ther xal he non ffynde,
            Ne ther get he no grace.

_Tertius vexillator._

  Now have we told ȝow alle be-dene
    The hool mater that we thynke to play;
  Whan that ȝe come, ther xal ȝe sene
    This game wel pleyd in good aray.
  Of holy wrytte this game xal bene,
    And of no fablys be no way,
  Now God them save from trey and tene,
    ffor us that prayth upon that day,
            And qwyte them wel ther mede.
  A Sunday next, yf that we may,
  At vj. of the belle we gynne oure play,
  In N. towne, wherfore we pray,
            That God now be ȝoure spede. _Amen._




I. THE CREATION.


  _Deus._ Ego sum alpha et Ω, principium et finis.

  My name is knowyn, God and kynge,
    My werk for to make now wyl I wende,
  In myself restyth my reynenge,
    It hath no gynnyng ne non ende;
  And alle that evyr xal have beynge,
    It is closyd in my mende,
  Whan it is made at my lykynge,
    I may it save, I may it shende,
            After my plesawns.
  So gret of myth is my pousté,
  Alle thyng xal be wrowth be me,
  I am oo God in personys thre,
            Knyt in oo substawns.

  I am the trewe trenyté,
    Here walkyng in this wone;
  Thre personys myself I se,
    Lokyn in me God alone.
  I am the ffadyr of powsté,
    My Sone with me gynnyth gon,
  My Gost is grace in magesté,
    Weldyth welthe up in hevyn tron.
            O God thre I calle,
  I a fadyr of myth,
  My sone kepyth ryth,
  My gost hath lyth,
            And grace with alle.
  Myself begynnyng nevyr dyd take,
    And endeles I am thorw myn own myth,
  Now wole I begynne my werke to make,—
    ffyrst I make hevyn with sterrys of lyth
  In myrth and joy evermore to wake,
    In hevyn I bylde angelle fful bryth,
  My servauntes to be, and for my sake,
    With merth and melody worchepe my myth;
            I belde them in my blysse.
  Aungelle in hevyn evyrmore xal be,
  In lythful clere bryth as ble,
  With myrthe and song to worchip me,
            Of joys thei may not mys.

_Hic cantent angeli in cœlo._ “Tibi omnes angeli, tibi cœli et
universæ potestates, Tibi cherubyn et seraphyn incessabili voce
proclamant,—Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus! Dominus Deus Sabaoth.”

  _Lucifer._ To whos wurchipe synge ȝe this songe,
    To wurchip God or reverens me?
  But ȝe me wurchipe ȝe do me wronge,
    ffor I am the wurthyest that evyr may be.
  _Angeli boni._ We wurchipe God of myth most stronge,
    Whiche hath fformyd bothe us and the,
  We may nevyr wurchyp hym to longe,
    ffor he is most worthy of magesté.
            On knes to God we ffalle.
  Oure lorde God wurchyp we,
  And in no wyse honowre we the,
  A gretter lord may nevyr non be,
            Than he that made us alle.

  _Lucifer._ A worthyer lorde forsothe am I,
    And worthyer than he evyr wyl I be,
  In evydens that I am more wurthy,
    I wyl go syttyn in Goddes se.
  Above sunne and mone and sterres on sky
    I am now set, as ȝe may se;
  Now wurchyp me ffor most mythty,
    And for ȝour lord honowre now me,
            Syttyng in my sete.
  _Angeli mali._ Goddys myth we forsake,
  And for more wurthy we the take,
  The to wurchep honowre we make,
            And ffalle down at thi ffete.

  _Deus._ Thu Lucyfere ffor thi mekyl pryde,
    I bydde the ffalle from hefne to helle;
  And alle tho that holdyn on thi syde,
    In my blysse nevyr more to dwelle.
  At my comawndement anoon down thou slyde,
    With merthe and joye nevyr more to melle,
  In myschyf and manas evyr xalt thou abyde,
    In byttyr brennyng and fyer so felle,
            In peyn evyr to be pyht.
  _Lucyfer._ At thy byddyng thi wyl I werke,
  And pas fro joy to peyne smerte,
  Now I am a devyl ful derke,
            That was an aungelle bryht.

  Now to helle the wey I take,
    In endeles peyn ther to be pyht.
  ffor fere of fyre a fart I crake,
    In helle doonjoone myn dene is dyth.
  _Deus._ Now hevyn is made ffor aungelle sake,
    The fyrst day and the fyrst nyth;
  The secunde day watyr I make,
    The walkyn also ful fayr and bryth.
            The iij.ᵈᵉ day I parte watyr from erthe,
  Tre and every growyng thyng,
  Bothe erbe and floure of suete smellyng,
  The iij.ᵈᵉ day is made be my werkyng.
            Now make I the day that xal be the fferthe.

  Sunne and mone and sterrys also,
    The forthe day I make in same;
  The v.ᵗᵉ day werme and ffysche that swymme and go,
    Byrdys and bestes, bothe wylde and tame;
  The sexte day my werk I do,
    And make the man Adam be name,
  In ertheleche paradys withowtyn wo,
    I graunt the bydyng, lasse thou do blame:

  fflesche of thi fflesche, and bon of thi bone,
    Adam here is thi wyf and make,
  Both ffysche and foulys that swymmyn and gone,
    To everyche of hem a name thou take;
  Both tre and frute and bestys echone,
    Red and qwyte, bothe blew and blake,
  Thou ȝeve hem name be thiself alone,
    Erbys and gresse both beetes and brake;
            Thi wyff thou ȝeve name also.
  Lok that ȝe not ses,
  ȝowre ffrute to encres,
  That ther may be pres
            Me worchipe for to do.

  Now come fforthe Adam to paradys,
    Ther xalt thou have alle maner thynge,
  Bothe flesche and ffysche and frute of prys,
    Alle xal be buxum at thi byddyng.
  Here is pepyr, pyan, and swete lycorys,
    Take hem alle at thi lykyng,
  Bothe appel and pere and gentyl rys,
    But towche nowth this tre that is of cunnyng,
            Alle thynge saff this ffor the is wrought;
  Here is alle thinge that the xulde plese,
  Alle redy made onto thin ese,
  Ete not this frute ne me dysplese,
            ffor than thou deyst, thou skapyst nowth.

  Now have I made alle thynge of nowth,
    Hevyn and erthe, foulle and best:—
  To alle thynge that myn hand hath wrowth,
    I graunt myn blyssyng that evyr xal lest;
  My wey to hefne is redy sowth,
    Of werkyng I wole the vij.ᵗᵉ day rest,
  And alle my creatures that be abowth,
    My blyssyng ȝe have both est and west.
            Of werkyng the vij.ᵗᵉ day ȝe sees;
  And alle tho that sees of laboryng here,
  The vij.ᵗᵉ day withowtyn dwere,
  And wurchyp me in good manere,
            Thei xal in hefne have endles pes.

  Adam go forthe and be prynce in place,
    ffor to hefne I sped my way;
  Thi wyttys wel loke thou chase,
    And gostly governe the, as I say.




II. THE FALL OF MAN.


  _Adam._ Holy ffadyr blyssyd thou be,
    ffor I may walke in welthe anow,
  I ffynde datys gret plenté,
    And many ffele frutes ful every bow;
  Alle this wele is ȝevyn to me,
    And to my wyf that on me lowh,
  I have no nede to towche ȝon tre,
    Aȝens my lordys wyl to werke now;
            I am a good gardenere;
  Every frute of ryche name,
  I may gaderyn with gle and game,
  To breke that bond I were to blame
            That my lord bad me kepyn here.

  _Eva._ We may bothe be blythe and glad,
    Oure lordys comaundement to fulfylle,
  With ffele frutys be we ffayr ffad,
    Woundyr dowcet and nevyr on ille.
  Every tre with frute is sprad,
    Of them to take as plesyth us tylle,
  Oure wytte were rakyl and ovyr don bad,
    To fforfete ageyns oure lordys wylle
            In ony wyse.
  In this gardeyn I wyl go se,
  Alle the ffloures of fayr bewté,
  And tastyn the frutes of gret plenté.
            That be in paradyse.

  _Serpens._ Heyl ffayr wyff and comely dame!
    This ffrute to ete I the cownselle,
  Take this appyl and ete this ssame,
    This ffrute is best as I the telle.
  _Eva._ That appyl to ete I were to blame,
    ffrom joy oure lorde wolde us expelle,
  We xuld dye and be put out with schame,
    In joye of paradyse nevyr more to duelle.
            God hymself thus sayde,
  What day of that frute we ete,
  With these wurdys God dyd us threte,
  That we xuld dye our lyff to lete,
            Therffore I am affrayde.

  _Serpens._ Of this appyl yf ȝe wyl byte,
    Evyn as God is, so xal ȝe be,
  Wys of connyng as I ȝow plyte,
    Lyke onto God in al degré.
  Sunne and mone and sterrys bryth,
    ffysche and foule, bothe sond and se,
  At ȝour byddyng bothe day and nyth,
    Alle thynge xal be in ȝowre powsté;
            ȝe xal be Goddys pere.
  Take this appyl in thin hond,
  And to byte therof thou ffond,
  Take another to thin husbond,
            Thereof have thou no dwere.

  _Eva._ So wys as God is in his gret mayn,
    And ffelaw in kunnyng ffayn wold I be.
  _Serpens._ Ete this appyl, and in certeyn
    That I am trewe, sone xalt thou se.
  _Eva._ To myn husbond with herte fful fayne,
    This appyl I bere, as thou byddyst me,
  This frute to ete I xal asayn,
    So wys as God is yf we may be,
            And Goddys pere of myth.
  To myn husbond I walke my way,
  And of this appyl I xal asay,
  To make hym to ete, yf that I may,
            And of this ffrewte to byth.

_Hic Eva reveniet Adæ viro suo et dicet ei._

  My semely spowse and good husbond,
    Lystenyth to me, sere, I ȝow pray,
  Take this ffayr appyl alle in ȝour hond,
    Therof a mursel byte and asay.
  To ete this appyl, loke that ȝe fonde,
    Goddys ffelaw to be alway,
  Alle his wysdam to undyrstonde,
    And Goddys pere to be ffor ay,
            Alle thyng for to make,—
  Bothe ffysche and foule, se and sond,
  Byrd and best, watyr and lond;
  This appyl thou take out of myn hond,
            A bete therof thou take.

  _Adam._ I dare not towche thin hand ffor dred
    Of oure lord God omnypotent,
  If I xuld werke after thi reed,
    Of God oure makere I xuld be shent.
  If that we do this synful dede,
    We xal be ded by Goddys jugement.
  Out of thin hand with hasty spede,
    Cast out that appyl anon present,
            ffor fer of Goddys threte.
  _Eva._ Of this appyl yf thou wylt byte,
  Goddys pere thou xalt be pyht,
  So wys of kunnyng, I the plyht,
            This frute yf thou wylt ete.

  _Adam._ If we it ete oureself we kylle,
    As God us told we xuld be ded;
  To ete that frute and my lyf to spylle,
    I dar not do aftyr thi reed.
  _Eva._ A ffayr aungelle thus seyd me tylle,
    “To ete that appyl take nevyr no dred,
  So kunnyng as God in hevyn hille,
    Thou xalt sone be withinne a sted,
            Therfore this frute thou ete.”
  _Adam._ Off Goddys wysdam for to lere,
  And in kunnyng to be his pere,
  Of thyn hand I take it here,
            And xal sone tast this mete.

_Adam dicet sic._

  Alas! alas! ffor this fals dede,
    My flesly frend my fo I fynde,
  Schameful synne doth us unhede,
    I se us nakyd before and behynde.
  Oure lordes wurd wold we not drede,
    Therfore we be now caytyvys unkynde,
  Oure pore prevytés ffor to hede,
    Summe ffygge-levys fayn wolde I fynde,
            ffor to hyde oure schame.
  Womman, ley this leff on thi pryvyté,
  And with this leff I xal hyde me,
  Gret schame it is us nakyd to se,
            Oure lord God thus to grame.

  _Eva._ Alas! that evyr that speche was spokyn,
    That the fals aungel seyd onto me,
  Alas! oure makers byddyng is brokyn,
    ffor I have towchyd his owyn dere tre.
  Oure fflescly eyn byn al unlokyn,
    Nakyd for synne ouresylf we se,
  That sory appyl that we han sokyn,
    To dethe hathe brouth my spouse and me,
            Ryth grevous is oure synne.
  Of mekyl shame now do we knowe,
  Alas! that evyr this appyl was growe,
  To dredful deth now be we throwe,
            In peyne us evyr to pynne.

  _Deus._ Adam, that with myn handys I made,
    Where art thou now? what hast thou wrought?
  _Adam._ A! lord, for synne oure floures do ffade,
    I here thi voys, but I se the nought.
  _Deus._ Adam, why hast thou synnyd so sone,
  Thus hastyly to breke my bone,
  And I made the mayster, undyr mone,
            Trewly of every tre.
  O tre I kept for my owe,
  Lyff and deth therin I knowe,
  Thi synne fro lyf now the hath throwe,
            ffrom deth thou mayst not fle.

  _Adam._ Lord I have wrought aȝens thi wylle,
  I sparyd nat mysylf to spylle,
  The woman that thou toke me tylle,
            Sche brougth me therto.
  It was here counselle and here reed,
  Sche bad me do the same deed,
  I walke as werme withowtyn wede,
            A wey is schrowde and sho.

  _Deus._ Womman that arte this mannys wyffe,
  Why hast thou steryd ȝour bothers stryffe?
  Now ȝe be ffrom ȝour ffayr lyffe,
            And are demyd for to deye.
  Unwys womman, sey me why,
  That thou hast don this fowle foly,
  And I made the a gret lady,
            In paradys for to pleye?

  _Eva._ Lord! whan thou wentyst from this place,
  A werm with an aungelys face,
  He hyth us to be ful of grace,
            The frute yf that we ete.
  I dyd his byddyng, alas! alas!
  Now we be bowndyn in dethis las,
  I suppose it was Sathanas,
            To peyne he gan us pete.

  _Deus._ Thou werm with thi wylys wyk,
  Thi fals fablis thei be ful thyk,
  Why hast thou put dethis pryk
            In Adam and his wyff?
  Thow thei bothyn my byddyng have brokyn,
  Out of whoo ȝet art not wrokyn,
  In helle logge thou xalt be loky[n],
            And nevyr mo lacche lyff.

  _Diabolus._ I xal the sey whereffore and why
  I ded hem alle this velony,
  ffor I am ful of gret envy,
            Of wrethe and wyckyd hate.
  That man xulde leve above the sky,
  Where as sumtyme dwellyd I,
  And now I am cast to helle sty,
            Streyte out at hevyn gate.

  _Deus._ Adam! ffor thou that appyl boot,
  Aȝens my byddyng, welle I woot,
  Go teyl thi mete with swynk and swoot,
            Into thi lyvys ende.
  Goo nakyd, ungry, and bare ffoot,
  Ete bothe erbys, gres, and root,
  Thy bale hath non other boot,
            As wrecche in werlde thou wende.

  Womman thou sowtyst this synnyng,
  And bad hym breke myn byddyng,
  Therfore thou xalt ben undyrlyng,
            To mannys byddyng bend.
  What he byddyth the, do thou that thynge,
  And bere thi chyldere with gret gronynge,
  In daungere and in deth dredynge,
            Into thi lyvys ende.

  Thou wyckyd worm fful of pryde,
  ffowle envye syt be thi syde,
  Upon thi gutt thou xalt glyde,
            As werm wyckyd in kende.
  Tyl a maydon in medyl-erth be borne,
  Thou ffende I warn the beforn,
  Thorwe here thi bed xal be to-torn,
            On wombe awey thou wende.

  _Diabolus._ At thi byddyng ffowle I falle,
  I krepe hem to my stynkyng stalle,
  Helle pyt and hevyn halle,
            Xul do thi byddyng bone.
  I ffalle downe here a ffowle freke,
  ffor this ffalle I gynne to qweke,
  With a ffart my breche I breke,
            My sorwe comyth ful sone.

  _Deus._ ffor ȝour synne that ȝe have do,
  Out of this blysse sone xal ȝe go,
  In erthely labour to levyn in wo,
            And sorwe the xal atast.
  ffor your synne and mysdoyng,
  An angelle with a swerd brennyng,
  Out of this joye he xal ȝow dyng,
            ȝour welthe awey is past.

_Hic recedit Deus, et angelus seraphicus cum gladio fflammea verberat
Adam et Evam extra Paradisum._

  _Seraphim._ȝe wrecchis unkend and ryht unwyse,
    Out of this joye hyȝ ȝow in hast,
  With fflammyng swerd ffrom paradyse
    To peyn I bete ȝow, of care to tast.
  ȝour myrthe is turnyd to carfulle syse,
    ȝour welthe with synne awey is wast,
  ffor ȝour ffalse dede of synful gyse,
    This blysse I spere ffrom ȝow ryth fast.
            Here in come ȝe no more;
  Tyl a chylde of a mayd be born,
  And upon the rode rent and torn,
  To save alle that ȝe have forlorn,
            ȝour welthe ffor to restore.

  _Eva._ Alas! alas! and wele away,
    That evyr towchyd I the tre;
  I wende as wrecche in welsom way,
    In blake busshys my boure xal be.
  In paradys is plenté of pleye,
    ffayr frutys ryth gret plenté,
  The ȝatys be schet with Godys keye,
    My husbond is lost because of me.
            Leve spowse now thou fonde,
  Now stomble we on stalk and ston,
  My wyt awey is fro me gon,
  Wrythe on to my necke bon,
            With hardnesse of thin honde.

  _Adam._ Wyff, thi wytt is not wurthe a rosche,
    Leve woman, turne thi thought,
  I wyl not sle fflescly of my fflesche,
    ffor of my flesche thi fflesche was wrought.
  Oure hap was hard, oure wytt was nesche,
    To paradys whan we were brought,
  My wepyng xal be longe ffresche,
    Schort lykyng xal be longe bought.
            No more telle thou that tale,
  ffor yf I xulde sle my wyff,
  I sclow myself withowtyn knyff,
  In helle logge to lede my lyff,
            With woo in wepyng dale.

  But lete us walke forthe into the londe,
    With ryth gret labour oure fode to fynde,
  With delvyng and dyggyng with myn hond,
    Oure blysse to bale and care to-pynde.
  And, wyff, to spynne now must thou ffonde,
    Oure nakyd bodyes in clothe to wynde,
  Tylle sum comforthe of Godys sonde,
    With grace releve oure careful mynde.
            Now come go we hens, wyff.

  _Eva._ Alas! that ever we wrought this synne,
  Oure bodely sustenauns for to wynne,
  ȝe must delve and I xal spynne,
            In care to ledyn oure lyff.




III. CAIN AND ABEL.


  _Abeele._ I wolde ffayn knowe how I xuld do,
    To serve my lord God to his plesyng;
  Therfore, Caym, brother, lete us now go
    Unto oure ffadyr withowte lettyng,
  Suenge hym in vertu and in norture
    To com to the hyȝer joy celestyalle,
  Remembryng to be clene and pure,
    For in mysrewle we myth lythly falle
            Aȝens hevyn kynge.
  Lete us now don oure dyligens,
  To come to oure faderes presens,
  Good brother, passe we hens,
            To knowe ffor oure levynge.

  _Caym._ As to my fadyr, lete us now tee
    To knowe what xal be his talkyng;
  And that I holde it but vanyté,
    To go to hym ffor any spekyng,
            To lere of his lawe.
  ffor if I have good anow plenté,
  I kan be mery, so mot y the,
  Thow my fadyr I nevyr se,
            I ȝyf not therof an hawe.

  _Abel._ Ryth sovereyn fadyr, semely sad and sure,
    Ever we thank ȝow in hert, body, and thowth,
  And alwey shulle whylle oure lyf may indure,
    As inwardly in hert it kan be sought,
            Bothe my brother and I.
  ffadyr, I ffalle onto ȝour kne,
  To knowe how we xul rewlyd be,
  ffor Godys that ffallyth bothe hym and me,
            I wolde ffayn wete trewly.

  _Adam._ Sonys, ȝe arn to spekyn naturaly,
    The ffyrst ffrute of kendely engendrure,
  Befforn whom, saff ȝour modyr and I,
    Were nevyr non of mannys nature.
  And ȝit were we al of another portature,
    As ȝe have me oftyn herd seyd sothly;
  Wherfore, sonys, yf ȝe wyl lyff sad and sure,
    ffyrst I ȝow counseylle most syngulerly,
            God ffor to love and drede.
  And suche good as God hath ȝow sent,
  The fyrst frute offyr to hym in sacryfice brent,
  Hym evyr besechyng with meke entent,
            In alle ȝour werkys to save and spede.

  _Abeelle._ Gramercy, ffadyr, ffor ȝour good doctrine,
    ffor as ȝe us techyn so xal we do,
  And as ffor me thoro Goddys grace dyvyne,
    I wyl fforthwith applye me therto.
  _Cayme._ And thow me be lothe I wyl now also
    Onto ȝour counselle, ffadyr, me inclyne;
  And ȝitt I say now to ȝow bothe too,
    I had levyr gon hom welle ffor to dyne.
  _Adam._ Now, God, graunt good sacryfice to ȝow bothe too,
    He vowchesaff to acceptyn ȝow and alle myne,
  And ȝeve ȝow now grace to plesyn hym soo,
    That ȝe may come to that blysse that hymself is inne,
            With gostly grace.
  That alle ȝour here levyng
  May be to his plesyng,
  And at ȝour hens partyng,
            To come to good place.

_Abelle dicet._

  Almyhtty God, and God ful of myth,
    Be whom alle thing is made of nowth,
  To the myn hert is redy dyht,
    For upon the is alle my thought.
  O sovereyn lord! reygnyng in eternyté,
    With alle the mekenesse that I kan or may,
  This lombe xal I offre it up to the,—
    Accept it, blyssyd Lord! I the pray.
  My ȝyft is but sympyl, this is no nay,
    But my wyl is good and evyr xal be,
  The to servyn and worchepyn bothe nyht and day,
    And therto thi grace, Lord, grawnt thou me,
            Throwhe thi gret mercy,
  Whiche in a lombys lyknes
  Thou xalt for mannys wyckydnes
  Onys ben offeryd in peynfulnes
            And deyn ful dolfoly.

  ffor trewly, Lord, thow art most worthy
    The best to have in eche degré,
  Bothe beste and werst ful certeynly,
    Alle is had thorowe grace of the.
  The best schep fulle hertyly,
    Amonges my flok that I kan se,
  I tythe it to God of gret mercy,
    And bettyr wolde, if bettyr myht be,—
            Evyn here is myn offryng.
  I tythe to the with ryht good wylle,
  Of the best thou sentyst me tylle.
  Now, gracyous God on hevyn hille,
            Accept now my tythyng.

  _Caym._ Amonges alle ffolys that gon on grownd,
    I holde that thou be on of the most,
  To tythe the best that is most sownd,
    And kepe the werst that is nere lost.
  But I more wysly xal werke this stownde,
    To tythe the werst, and make no bost,
  Off alle my cornys that may be fownde,
    In alle my ffeldys bothe crofte and cost,
            I xal lokyn on every syde.
  Here I tythe this unthende sheff,
  Lete God take it or ellys lef,
  Thow it be to me gret repreff,
            I ȝeve no ffors this tyde.

  _Abelle._ Now Caym, brother, thou dost ful ille,
    ffor God the sent bothe best and werst,
  Therfore thou shewe to hym good wylle,
    And tythe to God evyr of the best.
  _Caym._ In feyth, thou shewyst now a febylle skylle,
    It wolde me hyndyr and do me greff,
  What were God the better, thou sey me tylle,
    To ȝevyn hym awey my best sheff,
            And kepe myself the wers?
  He wylle neyther ete nor drynke,
  ffor he doth neyther swete nor swynke:
  Thou shewyst a ffebyl reson, me thynke,
            What thou fonnyst as a best I gesse.

  _Abelle._ ȝit me thynkyth my wyt is good.
    To God evermore sum love to shewe,
  Off whom we have oure dayly food,
    And ellys we had but lytyl drewe.
  _Caym._ ȝitt me thynkeht thi wytt is wood,
    ffor of thi lore I ffynde but ffewe;
  I wylle never the more chawnge my mood,
    ffor no wordys that thou dost shewe;
            I sey I wylle tythe the werst.
  _Abelle._ Now God, that syt in hefne above,
  On whom is sett alle myn hool love,
  This wyckyd wylle from the he showe,
            As it plesyth hym best!

_Hic ardent decimum Abel et Caym; quo facto, dicent_,

  _Caym._ Herke, Abel, brother, what aray is this,
    Thy tythyng brennyth as ffyre fful bryght,
  It is to me gret wondyr i-wys,
    I trow this is now a straunge syght.
  _Abelle._ Goddys wylle fforsothe it is,
    That my tythyng with fyre is lyth,
  ffor of the best were my tythis,
    And of the werst thou dedyst hym dyght,
            Bad thyng thou hym bede.
  Of the best was my tythyng,
  And of the werst was thin offryng,
  Therfor God Almyghty, hevyn kyng,
            Alowyht ryht nowth thi dede.

  _Caym._ What? thou stynkyng losel, and is it so?
    Doth God the love and hatyht me?
  Thou xalt be ded, I xal the slo,
    Thi Lord thi God thou xalt nevyr se!
  Tythyng more xalt thou nevyr do,
    With this chavyl bon I xal sle the,
  Thi deth is dyht, thi days be go,
    Out of myn handys xalt thou not fle,
            With this strok I the kylle.—
  Now this boy is slayn and dede,
  Of hym I xal nevyr more han drede;
  He xal hereafter nevyr ete brede,
            With this gresse I xal hym hylle.

  _Deus._ Caym, come fforthe and answere me,
    Asoyle my qwestyon anon ryght,
  Thy brother Abel, wher is now he?
    Ha don, and answere me as tyght.
  _Caym._ My brothers kepere ho made me?
    Syn whan was I his kepyng knyght?
  I kan not telle wher that he be,
    To kepe hym was I nevyr dyght,
            I knowe not wher he is.
  _Deus._ Acursyd Caym, thou art untrewe,
  And for thi dede thou xalt sore rewe;
  Thi brothers blood that thou slewe,
            Askyht vengeauns of thi mys.

  Thu xalt be cursyd on the grounde,
    Unprophitable where so thou wende,
  Bothe veyn and nowthty and nothyng sounde,
    With what thing thou medele thou xalt it shende.
  _Caym._ Alas! in whoo now am I wounde,
    Acursyd of God, as man unkende;
  Of any man yf I be founde,
    He xal me slo, I have no ffrende,
            Alas and weleaway!
  _Deus._ Of what man that thou be sclayne,
  He xal have vij. folde more payn,
  Hym were bettyr never to be sayn
            On lyve be nyth ne day.

  _Caym._ Alas! alas! whedyr may I go?
    I dare nevyr se man in the vesage,
  I am woundyn as a wrecche in wo,
    And cursyd of God ffor my ffalfage.
  Unprofytabyl and vayn also,
    In felde and towne, in strete and stage,
  I may nevyr make merthis mo,
    I wot nevyr whedyr to take passage;
            I dare not here abyde.
  Now wyl I go wende my way,
  With sore syeng and welaway,
  To loke where that I best may
            ffrom mannys ssyht me hyde.




IV. NOAH’S FLOOD.


_Introitus Noe._

  _Noe._ God of his goodnesse and of grace grounde,
    By whoys gloryous power alle thyng is wrought,
  In whom alle vertu plentevously is ffounde,
    Withowtyn whos wyl may be ryth nought;
  Thy servauntes save, Lord, fro synful sownde,
    In wyl, in werk, in dede, and in thouht;
  Oure welth in woo lete nevyr be fownde,
    Us help, Lord, from synne that we be in brought,
            Lord God fful of myght!
  Noe, seres, my name is knowe,
  My wyff and my chyldere here on rowe,
  To God we pray with hert ful lowe,
            To plese hym in his syght.

  In me Noe, the secunde age
    Indede begynnyth, as I ȝow say;
  Afftyr Adam, withoutyn langage,
    The secunde fadyr am I in fay.
  But men of levyng be so owtrage,
    Bothe be nyght and eke be day,
  That lesse than synne the soner swage,
    God wyl be vengyd on us sum way,
            Indede.
  Ther may no man go ther owte,
  But synne regnyth in every rowte,
  In every place rownde abowte
            Cursydnes doth sprynge and sprede.

  _Uxor Noe._ Allemyghty God, of his gret grace,
    Enspyre men with hertely wylle,
  For to sese of here trespace,
    ffor synfulle levyng oure sowle xal spylle.
  Synne offendyth God in his face,
    And agrevyth oure Lorde ffulle ylle,
  It causyth to man ryght grett manace,
    And scrapyth hym out of lyvys bylle,
            That blyssyd book.
  What man in synne doth alle wey scleppe,
  He xal gon to helle ful deppe,
  Than xal he nevyr after creppe
            Out of the brennyng brook.

  I am ȝour wyff, ȝour childeryn these be,
    Onto us tweyn it doth longe,
  Hem to teche in alle degré
    Synne to forsakyn and werkys wronge.
  Therfore, sere, for love of me,
    Enforme hem wele evyr amonge,
  Synne to forsake and vanyté
    And vertu to ffolwe that thei ffonge,
            Oure Lord God to plese.
  _Noe._ I warne ȝow, childeryn, on and alle,
  Drede oure lord God in hevy[n] halle,
  And in no forfete that we ne ffalle,
            Oure Lord for to dysplese.

  _Shem._ A! dere ffadyr, God forbede
    That we xulde do in ony wyse
  Ony werke of synful dede,
    Oure lord God that xulde agryse.
  My name is Shem, ȝour son of prise,
    I xal werke aftere ȝour rede,
  And also, wyff, the weylle awyse,
    Wykkyd werkys that thou none brede,
            Never in no degré.
  _Uxor Seem._ fforsothe, sere, be Goddys grace,
  I xal me kepe from alle trespace,
  That xulde offende Goddys fface,
            Be help of the Trynyté.

  _Cham._ I am Cham, ȝour secunde sone,
    And purpose me be Goddys myght,
  Nevyr suche a dede for to don,
    That xuld agreve God in syght.
  _Uxor Cham._ I pray to God me grawnt this bone,
    That he me kepe in suche a plyght,
  Mornynge, hevenynge, mydday, and none,
    I to affendyn hym day nor nyght.
            Lord God, I the pray,
  Bothe wakynge and eke in slepe,
  Gracyous God, thou me keppe,
  That I nevyr in daunger crepe,
            On dredffulle domys-day.

  _Japhet._ Japhet, thi iij.ᵈᵉ sone, is my name;
    I pray to God, wher so we be,
  That he us borwe fro synfulle shame,
    And in vertuous levynge evyrmore kepe me.
  _Uxor Japhet._ I am ȝour wyff, and pray the same,
    That God us save on sonde and se,
  With no grevauns that we hym grame,
    He grawnt us grace synne to fle,—
            Lord God, now here oure bone.
  _Noe._ Gracyous God, that best may,
  With herty wyl to the we pray,
  Thou save us sekyr bothe nyght and day,
            Synne that we noon done.

  _Deus._ Ow, what menyht this myslevyng man,
    Whiche myn hand made and byldyd in blysse?
  Synne so sore grevyht me ȝa in certayn,
    I wol be vengyd of this grett mysse.
  Myn aungel dere, thou xalt gan
    To Noe that my servaunt is,
  A shypp to make on hond to tan
    Thou byd hym swythe ffor hym and his,
            ffrom drynchyng hem to save,
  ffor, as I am God off myght,
  I xal dystroye this werd downe ryght,
  Here synne so sore grevyht me in syght,
            Thei xal no mercy have.

  ffecisse hominem nunc pœnitet me!
    That I made man sore doth me rewe,
  Myn handwerk to sle sore grevyth me,
    But that here synne here deth doth brewe.
  Go sey to Noe, as I bydde the,
    Hymself, his wyf, his childeryn trewe,
  Tho viij. sowlys in shyp to be,
    Thei xul not drede the flodys fflowe,
            The fflod xal harme them nowht.
  Of alle ffowlys and bestys thei take a peyre,
  In shypp to save, bothe ffoule and ffayere,
  ffrom alle dowtys and gret dyspeyre,
            This vengeauns or it be wrought.

  _Angelus ad Noe._ Noe! Noe! a shypp loke thou make,
    And many a chaumbyr thou xalt have therinne;
  Of every kyndys best a cowpyl thou take,
    Within the shypp here lyvys to wynne.
  ffor God is sore grevyd with man for his synne,
    That alle this wyde werd xal be dreynt with flood,
  Saff thou and thi wyff xal be kept from this gynne,
    And also thi chylderyn with here vertuys good.

  _Noe._ How xuld I have wytt a shypp for to make,
    I am of ryght grett age, v. c. ȝere olde,
  It is not for me this werk to undyrtake,
    ffor ffeythnnesse of age my leggys gyn ffolde.
  _Angelus._ This dede ffor to do be bothe blythe and bolde,
    God xal enforme the and rewle the ful ryght,
  Of berd and of beste take, as I the tolde,
    A peyr into the shypp, and God xal the qwyght.

  _Noe._ I am ful redy as God doth me bydde,
    A shypp for to make be myght of his grace,
  Alas! that ffor synne it xal so be betydde,
    That vengeauns of flood xal werke this manase.
  God is sore grevyd with oure grett tresspas,
    That with wylde watyr the werd xal be dreynt;
  A shyppe for to make now lete us hens pas,
    That God aȝens us of synne have no compleynt.

_Hic transit Noe cum familia sua pro navi, quo exeunte, locum interludii
subintret statim Lameth conductus ab adolescente, et dicens_,

  _Lameth._ Gret mornyng I make, and gret cause I have;
    Alas! now I se not, for age I am blynde,
  Blyndenes doth make me of wytt for to rave,
    Whantynge of eye-syght in peyn doth me bynde.
  Whyl I had syht, ther myht nevyr man fynde
    My pere of archerye in alle this werd aboute;
  ffor ȝitt schet I nevyr at hert, are, nere hynde,
    But yf that he deyd, of this no man have doute.

  Lameth “the good archere,” my name was ovyr alle,
    ffor the best archere myn name dede ever sprede;
  Record of my boy, here wytnes this he xal,
    What merk that were set me to deth it xuld blede.
  _Adolescens._ It is trewe, mayster, that ȝe seyn, indede;
    ffor that tyme ȝe had ȝoure bowe bent in honde,
  If that ȝour prycke had be half a myle in brede,
    ȝe wolde the pryk han hitte, if ȝe ny had stonde.

  _Lameth._ I xuld nevyr affayled what marke that ever were sett,
    Whyl that I myght loke and had my clere syght;
  And ȝitt, as me thynkyht, no man xuld shete bett
    Than I xuld do now, if myn hand were sett aryght.
  Aspye some marke, boy, my bowe xal I bende wyght,
    And sett myn hand evyn to shete at some best;
  And I dare ley a wagour his deth for to dyght,
    The marke xal I hitt, my lyff do I hest.

  _Adolescens._ Undyr ȝon grett bushe, mayster, a best do I se,
    Take me thin hand swythe and holde it ful stylle,
  Now is thin hand evyn as evyr it may be,
    Drawe up thin takylle ȝon best for to kylle.
  _Lameth._ My bowe xal I drawe ryght with herty wylle,
    This brod arwe I shete that best ffor to saylle;
  Now have at that busche ȝon best for to spylle,
    A sharppe schote I shote, therof I xall not faylle.

  _Cayn._ Out, out, and alas! myn hert is on sondyr.
    With a brod arwe I am ded and sclayn!
  I dye here on grounde, myn hert is alle to tundyr,
    With this brod arwe it is clovyn on twayn!
  _Lameth._ Herke, boy, cum telle me the trewthe in certeyn,
    What man is he that this cry doth thus make?
  _Adolescens._ Caym thou hast kyllyd, I telle the ful pleyn,
    With thi sharp shetyng his dethe hath he take.

  _Lameth._ Have I slayn Cayme? Alas! what have I done?
    Thou stynkynge lurdeyn, what hast thou wrought?
  Thou art the why I scle hym so sone,
    Therfore xal I kylle the here, thou skapyst nowght.

_Hic Lameth cum arcu sua verberat adolescentem ad mortem, dicente
adolescente_,

  _Adolescens._ Out, out, I deye here! my deth is now sought!
    This theffe with his bowe hath broke my brayn!
  Ther may non helpe be, my dethe is me brought,
    Ded here I synke down as man that is sclayn!

  _Lameth._ Alas! what xal I do? wrecche, wykkyd on woolde,
    God wyl be vengyd ful sadly on me;
  ffor deth of Caym I xal have vij. folde
    More peyn than he had that Abelle dede sle.
  These to mennys deth fulle sore bought xal be,
    Upon alle my blood God wylle venge this dede,
  Wherefore sore wepyng hens wyl I fle,
    And loke where I may best my hede sone heyde.

_Hic recedat Lameth et statim intrat Noe cum navi cantantes_,

  _Noe._ With doolful hert syenge sad and sore,
    Grett mornyng I make ffor this dredful flood!
  Of man and of best is dreynte many a skore,
    Alle this werd to spylle these flodys be ful wood.
  And alle is for synne of mannys wylde mood,
    That God hath ordeyned this dredfulle vengeaunce;
  In this flood spylt is many a mannys blood,
    ffor synfulle levynge of man we have gret grevauns.

  Alle this hundryd ȝere ryght here have I wrought,
    This schypp for to make, as God dede byd me;
  Of alle maner bestes a copylle is in brought,
    Within my shypp borde on lyve for to be.
  Ryght longe God hath soferyd amendyng to se;
    Alle this hundryd ȝere God hath shewyd grace.
  Alas! fro gret syn man wyl not fle,
    God doth this vengeauns for oure gret trespase.

  _Uxor Noe._ Alas! for gret ruthe of this gret vengeaunce,
    Gret doyl it is to se this watyr so wyde!
  But ȝit thankyd be God of this ordenaunce,
    That we be now savyd on lyve to abyde.
  _Seem._ ffor grett synne of lechory alle this doth betyde,
    Alas! that evyr suche synne xulde be wrought!
  This fflood is so gret on every a syde,
    That alle this wyde werd to care is now brought.

  _Uxor Seem._ Becawse of chylderyn of God that weryn good,
    Dede forfete ryght sore what tyme that thei were,
  Synfully compellyd to Caymys blood,
    Therfore be we now cast in ryght grett care.
  _Cham._ ffor synful levynge this werde doth for-fare;
    So grevous vengeauns myght nevyr man se;
  Ovyr alle this werd wyde ther is no plot bare,
    With watyr and with flood God vengyd wylle be.

  _Uxor Cham._ Rustynes of synne is cawse of these wawys,
    Alas! in this fflood this werd xal be lorn;
  ffor offens to God brekyng his lawys,
    On rokkys ryght sharp is many a man torn.
  _Japhet._ So grevous fflodys were nevyr ȝett beforne,
    Alas! that lechory this vengeauns doth gynne!
  It were welle bettyr ever to be unborn,
    Than ffor to forfetyn evyr more in that synne.

  _Uxor Japhet._ Oure lord God I thanke of his gret grace,
    That he doth us save from this dredful payn!
  Hym for to wurchipe in every stede and place,
    We beth gretly bownde with myght and with mayn.
  _Noe._ Xl.ᵗⁱ days and nyghtes hath lasted this rayn,
  And xlᵗⁱ days this grett flood begynnyth to slake;
  This crowe xal I sende out to seke sum playn,
    Good tydynges to brynge, this massage I make.

_Hic emittat corvum, et parum expectans iterum dicat_,

  This crowe on sum careyn is falle for to ete,
    Therfore a newe masangere I wylle fforthe now sende;
  ffly fforth, thou fayr dove, ovyr these waterys wete,
    And aspye afftere sum dry lond, oure mornyng to amend.

_Hic evolet columba; qua redeunte cum ramo viride olivæ_,

  Joye now may we make of myrth that that were frende,
    A grett olyve bushe this dowe doth us brynge;
  ffor joye of this tokyn ryght hertyly we tende
    Our lord God to worchep, a songe let us synge.

_Hic decantent hos versus._

  Mare vidit et fugit,
  Jordanis conversus est retrorsum.
  Non nobis, Domine, non nobis,
  Sed nomini tuo da gloriam.

_Et sic recedant cum navi._




V. ABRAHAM’S SACRIFICE.


_Introitus Abrahe, etc._

  Most myghty makere of sunne and of mone,
    Kyng of kynges, and Lord over alle,
  Allemyghty God in hevyn trone,
    I the honowre and evyr more xal!
  My Lord, my God! to the I kalle,
    With herty wylle, Lord, I the pray,
  In synfulle lyff lete me nevyr falle,
    But lete me leve evyr to thi pay.

  Abraham my name is kydde,
    And patryarke of age ful olde;
  And ȝit be the grace of God is bredde,
    In myn olde age, a chylde fulle bolde.
  Ysaac, lo! here his name is tolde,
    My swete sone that stondyth me by,
  Amonges alle chylderyn that walkyn on wolde,
    A lovelyer chylde is non trewly.

  I thanke God with hert welle mylde,
    Of his gret mercy and of his hey grace,
  And pryncepaly ffor my suete chylde,
    That xal to me do gret solace.
  Now, suete sone, ffayre fare thi fface,
    fful hertyly do I love the,
  ffor trewe herty love now in this place,
    My swete childe, com, kysse now me.

  _Ysaac._ At ȝoure byddynge ȝour mouthe I kys,
    With lowly hert I ȝow pray,
  ȝoure fadyrly love lete me nevyr mysse,
    But blysse me, ȝour chylde, bothe nyght and day.
  _Abraham._ Almyghty God, that best may,
    His dere blyssyng he graunt the,
  And my blyssyng thou have alle way,
    In what place that evyr thou be.

  Now, Ysaac, my sone so suete,
    Almyghty God loke thou honoure,
  Wiche that made bothe drye and wete,
    Shynyng sunne and scharpe schoure.
  Thu art my suete childe, and par amoure
    fful wele in herte do I the love,
  Loke that thin herte, in hevyn toure
    Be sett to serve oure Lord God above.

  In thi ȝonge lerne God to plese,
    And God xal quyte the weyl thi mede:
  Now, suete sone, of wordys these
    With alle thin hert thou take good hede.
  Now fare weyl, sone, God be thin spede!
    Evyn here at hom thou me abyde,
  I must go walkyn, ffor I have nede,
    I come aȝen withinne a tyde.

  _Ysaac._ I pray to God, ffadyr of myght,
    That he ȝow spede in alle ȝour waye,
  From shame and shenshipp, day and nyht,
    God mote ȝow kepe in ȝour jornay.
  _Abraham._ Now fare weylle, sone! I the pray
    Evyr in thin hert loke God thou wynde,
  Hym to serve, bothe nyght and day,—
    I pray to God sende the good mynde.
  Ther may no man love bettyr his childe,
    Than Isaac is lovyd of me;
  Almyghty God, mercyful and mylde,
    ffor my swete son I wurchyp the!
  I thank the, Lord, with hert ful fre,
    ffor this fayr frute thou hast me sent.
  Now, gracyous God, wher so he be,
    To save my sone evyr more be bent.

  Dere Lord, I pray to the also,
    Me to save for thi servvaunte;
  And sende me grace nevyr for to do
    Thyng that xulde be to thi displesaunte.
  Bothe ffor me and for myn infaunte,
    I pray the, Lord God, us to help,—
  Thy gracyous goodnes thou us grawnt,
    And save thi servaunt from helle qwelp.

  _Angelus._ Abraham, how! Abraham,
    Lyst and herke weylle onto me.
  _Abraham._ Al redy, sere, here I am;
    Telle me ȝour wylle what that it be.
  _Angelus._ Almyghty God thus doth bydde the,—
    Ysaac thi sone anon thou take,
  And loke hym thou slee anoon, lete se,
    And sacrafice to God hym make.

  Thy welbelovyd childe thou must now kylle,
    To God thou offyr hym, as I say,
  Evyn upon ȝon hey hylle,
    That I the shewe here in the way.
  Tarye not be nyght nor day,
    But smertly thi gate thou goo;
  Upon ȝon hille thou knele and pray
    To God, and kylle the childe ther and scloo!

  _Abraham._ Now Goddys comaundement must nedys be done,
    Alle his wyl is wourthy to be wrought;
  But ȝitt the fadyr to scle the sone,
    Grett care it causyth in my thought.
  In byttyr bale now am I brought
    My swete childe with knyf to kylle;
  But ȝit my sorwe avaylith ryght nowth,
    For nedys I must werke Goddys wylle.

  With evy hert I walke and wende,
    My childys deth now for to be,
  Now must the fadyr his suete sone schende
    Alas! for ruthe it is peté!
  My swete sone, come hedyr to me:
    How, Isaac, my sone dere,
  Com to thi ffadyr, my childe so fre,
    ffor we must wende to-gedyr in fere.

  _Isaac._ Alle redy fadyr, evyn at ȝour wylle,
    And at ȝour byddyng I am ȝow by,
  With ȝow to walk ovyr dale and hille,
    At ȝoure callyng I am redy.
  To the fadyr evyr most comly,
    It ovyth the childe evyr buxom to be;
  I wyl obey, ful hertyly,
    To alle thyng that ȝe bydde me.

  _Abraham._ Now, son, in thi necke this fagot thou take,
    And this fyre here in thinne honde,
  ffor we must now sacrefyse go make,
    Evyn aftyr the wylle of Goddys sonde.
  Take this brennyng bronde,
    My swete childe, and lete us go;
  Ther may no man that levyth in londe,
    Have more sorwe than I have wo.

  _Ysaac._ ffayr fadyr, ȝe go ryght stylle,
    I pray ȝow, fadyr, speke onto me.
  _Abraham._ Mi gode childe, what is thi wylle?
    Telle me thyn hert, I pray to the.
  _Ysaac._ ffadyr, fyre and wood here is plenté,
    But I kan se no sacryfice;
  What ȝe xulde offre fayn wold I se,
    That it were don at the best avyse.

  _Abraham._ God xal that ordeyn that sytt in hevynne,
    My swete sone, ffor this offryng,
  A derrere sacryfice may no man nempne,
    Than this xal be, my dere derlyng.
  _Ysaac._ Lat be, good fadyr, ȝour sad wepynge!
    ȝour hevy cher agrevyth me sore:
  Telle me, fadyr, ȝour grett mornyng,
    And I xal seke sum help therfore.

  _Abraham._ Alas! dere sone, for nedys must me,
    Evyn here the kylle, as God hath sent;
  Thyn owyn fadyr thi deth must be,—
    Alas! that evyr this bowe was bent.
  With this fyre bryght thou must be brent,
    An aungelle seyd to me ryght so:
  Alas! my chylde, thou xalt be shent!
    Thi careful fadyr must be thi ffo!

  _Ysaac._ Almyghty God, of his grett mercye,
    fful hertyly I thanke the sertayne:
  At Goddys byddyng here for to dye,
    I obeye me here for to be sclayne.
  I pray ȝow, fadyr, be glad and fayne,
    Trewly to werke Goddys wylle:
  Take good comforte to ȝow agayn,
    And have no dowte ȝour childe to kylle.
  ffor Godys byddyng forsothe it is,
    That I of ȝow my deth schulde take:
  Aȝens God ȝe don amys,
    Hys byddyng yf ȝe xuld forsake.
  ȝowre owyn dampnacion xulde ȝe bake,
    If ȝe me kepe from this reed;
  With ȝour swerd my deth ȝe make,
    And werk evyrmore the wylle of God.

  _Abraham._ The wylle of God must nedys be done!
    To werke his wylle I seyd nevyr nay;
  But ȝit the ffadyr to sle the sone,
    My hert doth clynge and cleve as clay.
  _Ysaac._ ȝitt werke Goddys wylle, fadyr, I ȝow pray,
    And sle me here anoon forthe ryght,
  And turne fro me ȝour face away,
    Myne heed whan that ȝe xul of smyght.

  _Abraham._ Alas! dere childe, I may not chese,—
    must nedys my swete sone kylle!
  My dere derlyng, now must me lese,
    Myn owyn sybb blood now xal I spylle!
  ȝitt this dede or I fulfylle,
    My swete sone, thi mouth I kys.
  _Ysaac._ Al redy, fadyr, evyn at ȝour wylle
    I do ȝour byddyng, as reson is.

  _Abraham._ Alas! dere sone, here is no grace,
    But nedis ded now must thou be!
  With this kerchere I kure thi face,
    In the tyme that I sle the.
  Thy lovely vesage wold I not se,
    Not for alle this werdlys good:
  With this swerd, that sore grevyht me,
    My childe I sle and spylle his blood!

  _Angelus._ Abraham! Abraham! thou fadyr fre.
    _Abraham._ I am here redy, what is ȝour wylle?
  _Angelus._ Extende thin hand in no degré,
    I bydde thou hym not kylle!
  Here do I se by ryght good skylle,
    Allemyghty God that thou dost drede.
  For thou sparyst nat thi sone to spylle,—
    God wylle aqwhyte the welle thi mede.

  _Abraham._ I thank my God in hevyn above,
    And hym honowre for this grett grace!
  And that my Lord me thus doth prove,
    I wylle hym wurchep in every place.
  My childys lyff is my solace,
    I thank myn God evyr for his lyff,
  In sacrifice here or I hens pace,
    I sle this shepe with this same knyff.

  Now this shepe is deed and slayn,
    With this fyre it xal be brent;
  Of Isaac my sone I am ful fayn,
    That my swete childe xal not be shent.
  This place I name, with good entent,
    The hille of Godys vesytacion:
  ffor hedyr God hath to us sent
    His comforte, aftyr grett trybulacion.

  _Angelus._ Herke, Abraham, and take good heyd!
    By hymself God hath thus sworne,
  ffor that thou woldyst a done this dede,
    He wylle the blysse bothe evyn and morne.
  ffor thi dere childe thou woldyst have lorn,
    At Goddys byddyng, as I the telle;
  God hath sent the word beforn,
    Thi seed xal multyplye, wher so thou duelle.

  As sterres in hevyn byn many and fele,
    So xal thi seed encrese and growe;
  Thou xalt ovyrcome, in welthe and wele,
    Alle thi fomen reknyd be rowe.
  As sond in the se doth ebbe and flowe,
    Hath cheselys many unnumerabylle,
  So xal thi sede, thou mayst me trowe,
    Encres and be evyr prophytabylle.

  ffor to my speche thou dedyst obeye,
    Thyn enmyes portes thou shalt possede;
  And alle men on erthe, as I the seye,
    Thei xal be blyssed in thi sede.
  Almyghty God thus the wylle mede,
    ffor that good wylle that thou ast done,
  Therfore thank God, in word and dede,
    Bothe thou thiself, and Ysaac thi sone.

  _Abraham._ A! my lord God to wurchep on kne now I falle!
    I thank the, Lord, of thi mercy!
  Now, my swete childe, to God thou kalle,
    And thank we that Lord now hertyly.
  _Isaac._ With lowly hert to God I crye,—
    I am his servvant bothe day and nyght!
  I thank the, Lord, in hevyn so hyȝe,
    With hert, with thought, with mayn, with myght!

  _Abraham._ Gramercy, Lord, and kyng of grace!
    Gramercy, Lord over lordys alle!
  Now my joye returnyth his trace,
    I thank the, Lorde, in hevyn thin halle.
  _Isaac._ Ovyr alle kynges crownyd kyng, I the kalle!
    At thi byddyng to dye with knyff,
  I was fful buxum evyn as thi thralle;—
    Lord, now I thank the, thou grauntyst me lyff.

  _Abraham._ Now we have wurchepyd oure blyssyd lorde,
    On grounde knelyng upon oure kne;
  Now lete us tweyn, sone, ben of on acorde,
    And goo walke hom into oure countré.
  _Ysaac._ ffadyr, as ȝe wylle, so xal it be,
    I am redy with ȝow to gon;
  I xal ȝow folwe with hert fulle fre;
    Alle that ȝe bydde me, sone xal be don.

  _Abraham._ Now, God alle thyng of nowth that made,
    Evyr wurcheppyd he be on watyr and londe!
  His gret honowre may nevyr more fade,
    In felde nor town, se nor on sonde!
  As althyng, Lord, thou hast in honde,
    So save us alle, wher so we be,—
  Whethyr we syttyn, walk, or stonde,
    Evyr on thin handwerke thou have pyté!

_Explicit._




VI. MOSES AND THE TWO TABLES.


_Introitus Moyses._

  He that made alle thynge of nought,
    Hevyn and erthe, bothe sunne and mone,
  Save alle that his hand hath wrought,
    Allemyghty God in hevyn trone!
  I am Moyses that make this bone,
    I pray the, Lord God, with alle my mende,
  To us inclyne thi mercy sone,
    Thi gracyous lordchep lete us fynde.

  The to plesyn in alle degré,
    Gracyous God and Lord ovyr alle,
  Thou graunte us grace, wher so we be,
    And save us sownd fro synfulle falle.
  Thy wylle to werke to us thi thralle,
    Enforme and teche us all thi plesans,
  In purenesse put us that nevyr not falle,
    And grounde us in grace ffrom alle grevauns.

_Hic Moyses videns rubrum ardentem admirande dicit_,

  A! mercy, God, what menyth ȝon syte?
    A grene busche as fyre doth flame,
  And kepyth his colowre fayr and bryghte,
    ffresche and grene withowtyn blame.
  It fyguryth sumthynge of ryght gret fame,
    I kan not seyn what it may be,
  I wylle go nere, in Goddys name,
    And wysely loke this busche to se.
  _Deus._ Moyses, how! Moyses,
    Herke to me anon this stounde.
  _Moyses._ I am here, Lorde, withowtyn les,
    ȝowre gracyous wylle to do I am bounde.
  _Deus._ Thu take thi schon anon ful rownde
    Of thi fete in hast, lete se,
  fful holy is that place and grownde,
    Ther thou dost stonde, I sey to the.
  _Moyses._ Barfoot now I do me make,
    And pulle of my schon fro my fete:
  Now have I my schon of take,
    What is ȝour wylle, Lord? fayn wold I wete.
  _Deus._ Com nere, Moyses, with me to mete,
    These tabelleis I take the in thin honde,
  With my ffynger in hem is wrete
    Alle my lawys, thou undyrstonde.

  Loke that thou preche alle abowte,
    Hoo so wylle have frenshipp of me,
  To my lawys loke thei lowte,
    That thei be kept in alle degré.
  Go forthe and preche anon, let se,
    Loke thou not ses nyght nor day.
  _Moyses._ ȝour byddyng, Lord, alle wrought xal be,
    ȝour wylle to werk I walk my way.

  “Custodi precepta domini Dei tui.” _Deutronomini_ vj.ᵗᵒ

  The comaundment of thi Lord God, man, loke thou kepe,
    Where that thou walk, wake, or slepe,
  Every man take good hede,
    And to my techynge take good intent;
  For God hath sent me now indede,
    ȝow for to enforme his comaundment;
  ȝow to teche God hath me sent,
    His lawys of lyff that arn ful wyse;
  Them to lern be dyligent,
    ȝoure soulys may thei save at the last asyse.

  The preceptes that taught xal be,
    Be wretyn in these tablys tweyn:
  In the fyrst ben wretyn thre,
    That towche to God, this is serteyn.
  In the secund tabyl be wretyn ful pleyn,
    The tother vij. that towche mankende:
  Herk now welle, man, what I xal seyn,
    And prent thise lawys welle in thi mende.

_Primum mandatum._ “Non habebis Deos alienos.”

  The fyrst comaundement of God, as I ȝow say,
    Of the fyrst tabyl forsothe is this,
  Thou xalt have, neythyr nyght nore day,
    Noon other God but the kyng of blysse.
  Undyrstonde wele what menyth this,
    Every man in his degré,
  And sett nevyr ȝour hert amys,
    Upon this werdlys vanyté.

  ffor if thou sett thi love so sore
    Upon ryches and werdly good,
  Thi wurdly rycches thou takyst evermore
    Evyn for thi God, as man ovyr wood;
  Amend the, man, and chaunge thi mood,
    Lese not thi sowle for werdlys welthe,
  Only hym love whiche bodyly ffood
    Doth ȝeve alle day, and gostly helthe.

_Secundum mandatum._ “Non assumens nomen Dei tui in vanum.”

  The secund precept of the fyrst tabylle,
    The name of God take nevyr in vayne,
  Swere none othis be noon fals fabylle,—
    The name of God thou nevyr dysteyn.
  Bewhare of othis for dowte of peyn,
    Amonges ffelachepp whan thou dost sytt,
  A lytyl othe, this is serteyn,
    May dampne thy sowle to helle pytt.

  Man, whan thou art sett at the nale,
    And hast thi langage as plesyth the,
  Loke thin othis be non or smale,
    And ȝett alwey loke trewe thei be.
  But swere not oftyn by rede of me,
    ffor yf thou use oftyn tyme to swere,
  It may gendyr custom in the;
    Byware of custom, ffor he wyl dere.

_Tercium mandatum._ “Memento ut sabbatum sanctificet.”

  The iij.ᵈᵉ comaundment of God, as I rede,
    Dothe bydde the halwe welle thin halyday,
  Kepe the welle ffro synfulle dede,
    And care not gretly ffor ryche aray.
  A ryght pore man, this is non nay,
    Of sympyl astat in clothis rent,
  May be bettyr than ryche with garmentes gay,
    Oftyn tyme doth kepe this comaundment.

  ffor ryche men do shewe oftyntyme pompe and pride,
    On halydayes, as oftyn is sene;
  Whan pore men passe and go besyde,
    At wurthy festys riche men wolle bene.
  Thyn halyday thou kepyst not clene
    In gloteny to lede thi lyff,
  In Goddys hous ȝe xulde be-dene
    Honoure your God, bothe mayden and wyff.

_Quartum Mandatum._ “Honora patrem tuum et matrem tuam.”

  Off the secunde tabylle the fyrst comaundment,
    And in the ordyr the iiij.ᵗᵉ, I sey in fay,
  He byddyth the evermore with hert bent,
    Bothe ffadyr and modyr to wurchep alway.
  Thow that thi fadyr be pore of array,
    And ȝow never so ryche of golde and good,
  ȝitt loke thou wurchep hym nyght and day,
    Of whom thou hast bothe fflesche and blood.

  In this comaundmente includyd is
    The bodyli fadyr and modyr also,
  Includyd also I fynde in this,
    Thi gostly fadyr and modyr therto.
  To thi gostly ffadyr evyr reverens do,
    Thi gostly modyr is holy cherche;
  These tweyn save thi sowle fro woo,
    Ever them to wurchep loke that thou werche.

_Quintum mandatum._ “Non occides.”

  The ffyfft comaundement byddyth alle us,
    Scle no man, no whight that thou kylle;
  Undyrstonde this precept thus,
    Scle no wyght with wurd nor wylle.
  Wykkyd worde werkyht oftyntyme grett ille,
    Be war therfore of wykkyd langage,
  Wyckyd speche many on doth spylle,
    Therfore of speche bethe not owtrage.

_Sextum mandatum._ “Non makaberis.”

  The sexte comaundement byddith every man,
    That no wyght lede no lecherous lay,
  fforfett never be no woman,
    Lesse than the lawe alowe thi play.
  Trespas nevyr with wyff, ne may,
    With wedow, nor with non othyr wyght;
  Kepe the clene, as I the say,
    To whom thou hast thi trowth plyght.

_Septimum mandatum._ “Non furtum facies.”

  Do no thefte, no thynge thou stele,
    The vij.ᵗᵉ precept byddyth the ful sore;
  Whylle thou arte in welthe and wele,
    Evylle gett good loke thou restore.
  Off handys and dede be trewe evyrmore,
    ffor yf thin handys lymyd be,
  Thou art but shent, thi name is lore,
    In ffelde and towne, and in alle countré.

_Octavum mandatum._ “Non loqueris contra proximum tuum falsum
testimonium.”

  The viij.ᵗᵉ precept thus doth the bydde,
    ffals wyttnes loke non thou bere,
  The trowthe nevyr more loke that thou hyde,
    With ffals wyttnes no man thou dere.
  Nowther ffor love, ne dred, ne fere,
    Sey non other than trowthe is,
  ffals wytnes yf that thou rere,
    Aȝens God thou dost grettly amys.

_Nonum mandatum._ “Non desiderabis uxorem proximi tui, etc.”

  The ix.ᵗᵉ precept of lawe of lyff,
    Evyn thus doth bydde every man,
  Desyre not thi neybores wyff,
    Thow she be fayr and whyte as swan,
  And thi wyff brown; ȝitt natt for-than
    Thi neybores wyff thou nevyr rejoyse,
  Kepe the clene, as evyr thou can,
    To thin owyn wyff, and thin owyn choyse.

_Decimum mandatum._ “Non concupisces domum proximi tui, non servum, non
ancillam, non bos, non asinum, nec omnia quæ illius sunt, etc.”

  The x.ᵈᵉ comaundement of God and last is this,
    Thi neybores hous desyre thou nowth,
  Maydon, nor servaunt, nor nowth of his,
    Desyre hem nevyr in wylle nor thowth.
  Oxe nere asse that he hath bought,
    Nere no thynge that longyht hym to,
  Godys lawe must nedys be wrought,
    Desyre no thynge thin neybore ffro.

  The vj.ᵗᵉ comaundement of lechery
    Doth exclude the synfulle dede,
  But theys tweyn last most streytly,
    Bothe dede and thought thei do forbede.
  In wylle nere thought no lechory thou lede,
    Thi thought and wylle thou must refreyn,
  Alle thi desyre, as I the rede,
    In clennes of lyff thiself restreyn.

  ffrendys, these be the lawys that ȝe must kepe,
    Therfore every man sett welle in mende,
  Wethyr that thou do wake or slepe,
    These lawys to lerne thou herke ful hynde.
  And Godys grace xal be thi ffrende,
    He socowre and save ȝow in welthe fro woo!
  ffare welle, gode frendys, for hens wyll I wende,
    My tale I have taught ȝow, my wey now I goo.

_Explicit Moyses._




VII. THE PROPHETS.


_Ysaias._

  I am the prophete callyd Isaye,
    Replett with Godys grett influens,
  And sey pleynly, be spyryte of prophecie,
    That a clene mayde, thourghe meke obedyens,
  Shalle bere a childe whiche xal do resystens
    Ageyn foule ȝabulon, the devyl of helle,
  Mannys soule ageyn hym to defens,—
    Opyn in the felde the fend he xal felle.

  Wherefore I seye quod virgo concipiet
    Et pariet filium nomen Emanuel,
  Oure lyf for to save he xal suffyr dethe,
    And bye us to his blysse in hevyn for to dwelle.
  Of sacerdotale lynage, the trewth I ȝow telle,
    fflesche and blood to take God wylle be borne;
  Joye to man in erth, and in hevyn aungelle
    At the chyldys byrthe joye xal make that morn.

_Radix Jesse._

  Egredietur virga de radice Jesse,
    Et flos de radice ejus ascendet.
  A blyssyd braunche xal sprynge of me,
    That xal be swettere than bawmys brethe;
  Oute of that braunche, in Nazareth
    A flowre xal blome of me, Jesse rote,
  The whiche by grace xal dystroye dethe,
    And brynge mankende to blysse most sote.

_Davyd Rex._

  I am David, of Jesse rote,
    The fresche kyng by naturalle successyon,
  And of my blood xal sprynge oure bote,
    As God hymself hath mad promyssyon;
  Of regalle lyff xal come suche foyson,
    That a clene mayde modyr xal be,
  Ageyns the devellys fals illusyon,
    With regalle power to make man fre.

_Jeremias propheta._

  I am the prophete Jeremye,
    And fulliche acorde in alle sentence
  With kyng David and with Ysaie,
    Affermynge pleynly beforn this audyens,
  That God of his highe benyvolens,
    Of prest and kynge wylle take lynage,
  And bye us alle ffrom oure offens,
    In hevyn to have his herytage.

_Salamon Rex._

  I am Salamon the secunde kynge,
    And that wurthy temple for sothe made I,
  Whiche that is fygure of that mayde ȝynge,
    That xal be modyr of grett Messy.

_Ezechiel propheta._

  A vysion of this, fful veryly,
    I Eȝechiel have had also,
  Of a gate that sperd was trewly,
    And no man but a prince myght therin go.

_Roboas Rex._

  The iij.ᵈᵉ kynge of the jentylle Jesse,
    My name is knowe, kyng Roboas,
  Of oure kynrede ȝitt men xul se
    A clene mayde trede downe foule Sathanas.

_Micheas propheta._

  And I am a prophete calde Mycheas,
    I telle ȝou pleynly that thus it is,
  Evyn lyke as Eve modyr of wo was,
    So xal a maydyn be modyr off blyss.

_Abias Rex._

  I, that am calde kynge Abias,
    Conferme for trewe that ȝe han seyd;
  And sey also as in this cas,
    That alle oure myrthe comyth of a mayd.

_Danyel propheta._

  I prophete Danyel am welle apayed,
    In fygure of this I saw a tre;
  Alle the fendys of helle xalle ben affrayd,
    Whan maydenys ffrute theron thei se.

_Asa Rex._

  I, kynge Asa, beleve alle this,
    That God wylle of a maydyn be borne,
  And, us to bryngyn to endles blys,
    Ruly on rode be rent and torn.

_Jonas propheta._

  I, Jonas, sey that on the iij.ᵈᵉ morn
    ffro dethe he xal ryse, this is a trewe talle,
  Fyguryd in me, the whiche longe beforn
    Lay iij. days beryed within the qwalle.

_Josophat rex._

  And I, Josophat, the vj.ᵗᵉ kynge serteyne,
    Of Jesse rote in the lenyalle successyon,
  Alle that my progenitouris hath befor me seyn,
    ffeythfully beleve withowtyn alle dubytacion.

_Abdias propheta._

  I, Abdias prophete, make this protestacion,
    That aftyr he is resyn to lyve onys aȝen,
  Dethe xal be drevyn to endles dampnacion,
    And lyff xal be grawntyd of paradys ful pleyn.

_Joras Rex._

  And I, Joras, also in the numbre of sefne,
    Of Jesse rote kynge, knowlyche that he
  Aftyr his resurreccion returne xal to hefne,
    Bothe God and verry man ther endles to be.

_Abacuche propheta._

  I, Abacuche prophete, holde wele with the,
    Whan he is resyn he xal up stye,
  In hevyn as juge sitt in his se,
    Us for to deme whan we xal dye.

_Ozias Rex._

  And I, Ozyas, kynge of hygh degré,
    Spronge of Jesse rote, dare welle sey this,
  Whan he is gon to his dygnyté,
    He xal send the sprytt to his discyplis.

_Joelle propheta._

  And I, Joel, knowe fulle trewe that is,
    God bad me wryte in prophesye,
  He wolde sende downe his sprytt i-wys,
    On ȝonge and olde ful sekyrlye.

_Joathas rex._

  My name is knowe, kyng Joathan,
    The ix.ᵉ kynge spronge of Jesse,
  Of my kynrede God wol be man,
    Mankend to save, and that joyth me.

_Aggeus propheta._

  With ȝow I do holde that am prophete Aggee,
    Com of the same hygh and holy stok,
  God of oure kynrede in dede born wyl be,
    ffrom the wulf to save al shepe of his flok.

_Achas rex._

  Off Jesse kyng Achas is my name,
    That falsly wurchepyd ydolatrye,
  Tyl Ysaie putt me in blame,
    And seyd a mayd xulde bere Messye.

_Ozyas propheta._

  Off that byrthe wyttnes bere I,
    A prophete Osyas men me calle,
  And aftyr that tale of Isaye,
    That mayd xal bere Emanuelle.

_Ezechias rex._

  My name is knowyn, kyng Eȝechias,
    The xj.ᵗᵉ kyng of this geneologye,
  And say fforsothe, as in this cas,
    A mayde be mekenes xal brynge mercye.

_Sophosas propheta._

  I a prophete callyd Sophonye,
    Of this matyr do bere wyttnes,
  And for trowth to sertyfie,
    That maydens byrthe oure welthe xal dresse.

_Manasses rex._

  Of this nobylle and wurthy generacion,
    The xij. kyng am I Manasses,
  Wyttnessynge here, be trew testyficacion,
    That maydenys childe xal be prince of pes.

_Baruk propheta._

  And I, Baruk prophete, conferme wurdys thes,
    Lord and prince of pes, thow that chylde be,
  Al his fomen ageyn hym that pres,
    Ryght a grym syre at domysday xal he be.

_Amon rex._

  Amon kynge, ffor the last conclusyon,
    Al thynge beforn seyd ffor trowthe do testyfie,
  Praynge that lord of oure synne remyssyon,
    At that dredful day he us graunt mercye.

  Thus we alle of this genealogye,
    Accordynge in on here in this place,
  Pray that heyȝ lorde whan that we xal dye,
    Of his gret goodnesse to grawnt us his grace!

_Explicit Jesse._




VIII. THE BARRENNESS OF ANNA.


  _Contemplacio._ Cryst conserve this congregacion
    Fro perellys past, present, and future,
  And the personys here pleand, that the pronunciacion
    Of here sentens to be seyd mote be sad and sure.
  And that non oblocucyon make this matere obscure,
    But it may profite and plese eche persone present,
  ffrom the gynnynge to the endynge so to endure,
    That Cryst and every creature with the conceyte be content.

  This matere here mad is of the modyr of mercy,
    How be Joachym and Anne was here concepcion,
  Sythe offred into the temple, compiled breffly,
    Than maryed to Joseph, and so folwyng the salutacion.
  Metyng with Elyzabeth and therwith a conclusyon,
    In fewe wurdys talkyd, that it xulde nat be tedyous,
  To lernyd nyn to lewd nyn to no man of reson,
  This is the processe, now preserve ȝow Jhesus!

  Thereffore of pes I ȝow pray alle that ben here present,
    And take hed to oure talkyn what we xal say,
  I be-teche ȝow that lorde that is evyr omnypotent,
    To governe ȝow in goodnes, as he best may,
            In hevyn we may hym se.
  Now God that is hevyn kynge,
  Sende us alle hese dere blyssynge,
  And to his towre he mote us brynge.
            Amen, ffor charyté!

  _Ysakar._ The prestys of God offre sote ensens
    Unto here God, and therfore they be holy;
  We that mynistere here in Goddys presens,
    In us xuld be fownd no maner of ffoly.
  Ysakar, prynce of prestys, am I,
    That this holyest day here have mynystracion,
  Certyfyenge alle tribus in my cure specyaly,
    That this is the hyest fest of oure solennyȝacion.

  This we clepe _festum Encenniorum_,
    The new ffest of whiche iij. in the ȝere we exercyse;
  Now alle the kynredys to Jerusalem must cum,
    Into the temple of God here to do sacryfyse;
  Tho that be cursyd my dygnyté is to dysspyse,
    And tho that be blyssyd here holy sacrefyse to take;
  We be regal sacerdocium, it perteyneth us to be wysse,
    Be fastyng, be prayng, be almes, and at du tyme to wake.

  _Joachym._ Now alle this countré of Galylé,
    With this cetye of Nazareth specyal,
  This ffest to Jerusalem must go we,
    To make sacrefyce to God eternal.
  My name is Joachym, a man in godys substancyalle,
    Joachym is to say, he that to God is redy,
  So have I be and evyr more xal,
    ffor the dredful domys of God sore drede I.

  I am clepyd ryghtful, why wole ȝe se?
    ffor my godys into thre partys I devyde,
  On to the temple and to hem that ther servyng be,
    Anodyr to the pylgrimys and pore men; the iij.ᵈᵉ ffor hem with me
      abyde.
  So xulde every curat in this werde wyde,
    ȝeve a part to his chauncel i-wys,
  A part to his parochoneres that to povert slyde,
    The thryd part to kepe for hym and his.
  But, blyssyd wyff Anne, sore I drede
    In the temple this tyme to make sacryfice;
  Becawse that no frute of us dothe procede,
    I fere me grettly the prest wole me dysspice.
  Than grett slawndyr in the tribus of us xulde aryse:
    But this I avow to God, with alle the mekenes I can,
  ȝyff of his mercy he wole a childe us devyse,
    We xal offre it up into the temple to be Goddys man.

  _Anna._ ȝour swemful wurdys make terys trekyl downe be my face,
    I-wys, swete husband, the fawte is in me;
  My name is Anne, that is to sey, grace,
    We wete not how gracyous God wyl to us be.
  A woman xulde bere Cryst, these profecyes have we,
    If God send frute and it be a mayd childe;
  Withe alle reverens I vow to his magesté,
    Sche xal be here foot-mayd to mynyster here most mylde.

  _Joachym._ Now lete be it as God wole, ther is no more,
    Tweyn turtelys ffor my sacryfice with me I take;
  And I beseche, wyff, and evyr we mete more,
    That hese grett mercy us meryer mut make.
  _Anna._ For dred and ffor swem of ȝour wourdys I qwake,
    Thryes I kysse ȝow with syghys ful sad;
  And to the mercy of God mekely I ȝow betake,
    And tho that departe in sorwe, God make ther metyng glad!

  _Senior tribus._ Worchepful sere Joachym, be ȝe redy now?
    Alle ȝour kynrede is come ȝow to exorte,
  That thei may do sacrifice at the temple with ȝow,
    ffor ȝe be of grett wurchep, as men ȝow report.
  _Joachym._ Alle synfulle, seke, and sory, God mote comforte,
    I wolde I were as men me name!
  Thedyr in Goddys name now late us alle resorte:
    A Anne, Anne, Anne, God scheeld us fro shame!

  _Anne._ Now am I left alone, sore may I wepe,
    A, husbond! ageyn God wel mote ȝow brynge!
  And fro shame and sorwe he mote ȝow kepe,
    Tyl I se ȝow ageyn I kan not sees of wepynge.
  _Senior._ Prynce of oure prestys, if it be ȝour plesynge,
    We be com mekely to make our sacrefice.
  _Ysakar._ God do ȝow mede, bothe elde and ȝynge,
    Than devowtly we wyl begynne servyse.

_There they xal synge this sequens, “Benedicta sit beata Trinitas.” And
in that tyme Ysakar with his ministeres ensensythe the autere, and than
thei make her offryng, and Isaker seyth_,

  Comyth up, serys, and offeryth alle now,
    ȝe that to do sacryfice worthy are:
  Abyde a qwyle, sere, whedyr wytte thou?
    Thou and thi wyff arn barrany and bare;
  Neyther of ȝow ffruteful nevyr ȝett ware,
    Whow durste thou amonge fruteful presume and abuse?
  It is a tokyn thou art cursyd thare,
    Wherefore with grett indygnacion thin offeryng I refuse!

_Et refudit sacrificium Joachi._

  Amonge alle this pepyl barreyn be no mo,
    Therefore comyth up and offeryth here alle:
  Thou, Joachym, I charge the fast out the temple thou go;
    Than with Goddys holy wourde blysse ȝow I shalle!

_Et redit flendo._

  _Ministro catando._ Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini!
  _Johns._ Qui fecit cœlum et terram!
  _Minister._ Sit nomen Domini benedictum!
  _Chorus._ Ex hoc nunc et usque in sæculum!
  _Episcopus._ Benedicat vos divina majestas et una deitas,
  Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus! _Chorus._ Amen.

_Signando manu cum cruce solenniter, et recedant tribus extra templum._

  Now of God and man blyssyd be ȝe alle,
    Homward aȝen now returne ȝe,
  And in this temple abyde we xalle,
    To servyn God in Trinyté.

  _Joachym._ A! mercyfful Lord, what is this lyff?
    What have I do, Lorde, to have this blame?
  ffor hevynes I dare not go hom to my wyff,
    And amonge my neybores I dare not abyde ffor shame.
  A Anne! Anne! Anne! al oure joye is turnyd to grame,
    ffrom ȝour blyssyd ffelacheppe I am now exilyd,
  And ȝe here onys of this ffowle fame,
    Sorwe wyl sle ȝow to se me thus revylyd.

  But son God soferyth thys us must sofron nede,
    Now wyl I go to my shepherdys and with hem abyde,
  And ther evyrmore levyn in sorwe and in drede,
    Shame makyth many man his hed for to hyde.
  Ha! how de ȝe, felas? in ȝow is lytel pryde,
    How fare ȝe and my bestys? this wete wolde I veryly.
  _Primus pastor._ A! welcome hedyr! blyssyd mayster, we pasture hem ful
      wyde,
    They be lusty and fayr and grettly multyply.
  How do ȝe, mayster? ȝe loke al hevyly!
    How dothe oure dame at hom? sytt she and sowyht?
  _Joachym._ To here the speke of here it sleyth myn hert veryly,
    How I and sche doth, God hymself knowythe!
  The meke God lyftyth up, the proude over-throwyht,
    Go do what ȝe lyst; se ȝour bestys not stray.
  _Secundus pastor._ Aftere grett sorwe, mayster, evyr gret grace growyht;
    Sympyl as we kan, we xal for ȝow pray.
  _Tertius Pastor._ ȝa, to pray ffor careful it is grett nede,
    We alle wul prey ffor ȝow knelende,
  God of his goodnes send ȝow good spede,
    And of ȝour sorwe ȝow sone amende!

  _Joachym._ I am nott wurthy, Lord, to loke up to hefne!
    My synful steppys anvempnyd the grounde;
  I loth folest that levyth thou, Lord, hyest in thi setys sefne,
    What art thou, Lord? what am I wrecche werse than an hownde?
  Thou hast sent me shame whiche myn hert doth wounde;
    I thank the more herefore than for alle my prosperité:
  This is a tokyn thou lovest me,—now to the I am bounde;
    Thou seyst thou art with hem that in tribulacion be.

  And ho so have the, he nedyth not care thanne;
    My sorwe is feryng I have do sum offens;
  Punchyth me, Lorde, and spare my blyssyd wyff Anne,
    That syttyth and sorwyth ful sore of myn absens!
  Ther is not may profyte but prayour to ȝour presens;
    With prayores prostrat byfore thi person I wepe;
  Have mende on oure avow, for ȝour meche magnyficens,
    And my lovyngest wyff Anne, Lord, for thi mercy kepe!

  _Anna._ A! mercy, Lord! mercy! mercy! mercy!
    We are synfolest; it shewyth that ȝe send us alle this sorwe:
  Why do ȝe thus to myn husbond, Lord? why, why, why?
    For my barynes he may amend this thiself and thou lyst to morwe,
  And it plese so thi mercy, the, my Lord, I take to borwe,
    I xal kepe myn avow qwyl I leve and leste,
  I fere me I have offendyd the; myn hert is ful of sorwe:
    Most mekely I pray thi pety, that this bale thou wyl breste.

_Here the aungel descendith the hefne syngyng_,

  “_Exultet cœlum laudibus!_
  _Resultet terra gaudiis!_
  _Archangelorum gloria_
  _Sacra canunt solemnia._”

  _Joachym._ Qwhat art thou, in Goddys name, that makyst me adrad?
    It is as lyth abowt me as al the werd were fere.

  _Angelus._ I am an aungel of God come to make the glad!
    God is plesyd with thin helmes, and hath herd thi prayere;
  He seyth thi shame, thi repreff, and thi terys cler:
    God is a vengere of synne, and not nature doth lothe!
  Whos wombe that he sparyth and makyth barreyn her,
    He doth to shewe his myth and his mercy bothe!

  Thu seest that Sara was nynty ȝer bareyn,
    Sche had a sun Ysaac, to whom God ȝaff his blyssynge;
  Rachel also had the same peyn,
    She had a son Joseph, that of Egypt was kynge.
  A strongere than Sampson nevyr was be wrytynge,
    Nor an holyere than Samuel, it is seyd thus;
  ȝett here moderes were bareyn bothe in the gynnynge;
    The concepcion of alle swyche, it is ful mervelyous.

  And in the lyke wyse Anne, that blyssyd wyff,
    Sche xal bere a childe xal hygthe Mary,
  Whiche xal be blyssyd in here body and have joys ffyff,
    And fful of the Holy Goost inspyred syngulyrly.
  Sche xal be offryd into the temple solemply,
    That of here non evyl ffame xuld sprynge thus,
  And as sche xal be bore of a barrany body,
    So of here xal be bore without nature Jhesus,

  That xal be savyour unto al mankende!
    In tokyn, whan thou come to Jherusalem, to the gyldyn gate,
  Thou xalt mete Anne thi wyff, have this in thi mende;
    I xal sey here the same here sorwys to rebate.
  _Joachym._ Of this incomparabyl comfort I xal nevyr forgete the date,
    My sorwe was nevyr so grett, but now my joy is more;
  I xal hom in hast, be it nevyr so late.
    A, Anne! blyssyd be that body of the xal be bore!
  Now farewel, myn shepherdys, governe ȝow now wysly.

    _Primus pastor._ Have ȝe good tydynges, mayster? than we be glad!
  _Joachym._ Prayse God for me, for I am not wourthy!
    _Secundus pastor._ In feyth, sere, so we xal with alle oure sowlys sad.
  _Tertius pastor._ I holde it helpfful that on of us with ȝow be had.
    _Joachym._ Nay, abyde with ȝour bests, sone, in Goddys blyssynge.
  _Primus pastor._ We xal make us so mery now this is be-stad,
    That a myle on ȝour wey ȝe xal here us synge.

  _Anne._ Alas! ffor myn husbond me is ful wo,
    I xal go seke hym what so evyr be-falle;
  I wote not in erth whiche wey is he go,
    ffadyr of hefne, ffor mercy to your ffete I falle.
  _Angelus._ Anne, thin husbond ryght now I was with-alle,
    The aungel of God, that bare hym good tydynge,
  And as I seyd to hym so to the sey I xal,
    God hath herd thi preyour and thi wepynge.

  At the goldyn gate thou xalte mete hym ful mylde,
    And in grett gladnes returne to ȝour hous;
  So be proces thou xalt conseyve and bere a childe,
    Whiche xalt hyght Mary, and Mary xal bere Jhesus,
  Whiche xal be Savyour of alle the werd and us,—
    Aftere grett sorwe evyr grett gladnes is had!
  Now myn inbasset I have seyd to ȝow thus,
    Gooth in oure Lordys name, and in God beth glad!

  _Anne._ Now blyssyd be oure Lorde and alle his werkys ay!
    Alle heffne and erthe mut blysse ȝow for this!
  I am so joyful I not what I may say!
    Ther can no tounge telle what joye in me is!
  I to bere a childe that xal bere alle mannys blyss,
    And have myn hosbonde ageyn; ho mythe have joys more?
  No creature in erthe is grauntyd more mercy i-wys!
    I xal hyȝe me to the ȝate to be ther before.

_Here goth the aungel aȝen to hefne._

  A! blyssyd be our Lord! myn husbond I se.
    I xalle on myn knes and to hym-ward crepe.
  _Joachym._ A! gracyous wyff Anne, now frutefull xal he be!
    ffor joy of this metyng in my sowle I wepe;
  Have this kusse of clennesse and with ȝow it kepe,
    In Goddys name now go we, wyff, hom to our hous.
  _Anne._ Ther was nevyr joy sank in me so depe,
    Now may we say, husbond, God is to us gracyous,
            Verily.
  _Joachym._ ȝa, and if we have levyd wel here before,
  I pray the, Lord, thin ore,
  So mote we levyn evyr more,
            And be thi grace more holyly.

  _Anne._ Now hom-ward, husbond, I rede we gon,
    Ryth hom al to our place,
  To thank God that sytt in trone,
    That thus hath sent us his grace.




IX. MARY IN THE TEMPLE.


  _Contemplacio._ Sovereynes, ȝe han sen shewyd ȝow before,
    Of Joachym and Anne here botheres holy metynge,
  How our lady was conseyvid, and how she was bore;
    We passe ovyr that, breffnes of tyme consyderynge.
  And how our lady, in here tendyr age and ȝyng,
    Into the temple was offryd, and so forthe proced,
  This sentens sayd xal be hire begynnyng,
    Now the Modyr of mercy in this be our sped!

  And as a childe of iij. ȝere age here she xal appere,
    To alle pepyl that ben here present,
  And of here grett grace now xal ȝe here,
    How she levyd evyr to Goddys entent
            With grace.
  That holy matere we wole declare,
  Tyl ffortene ȝere how sche dyd ffare;
  Now of ȝour speche I pray ȝow spare,
            Alle that ben in this place.

_Here Joachym and Anne, with oure lady betwen hem, beyng al in whyte as
a childe of iij. ȝere age, presente here into the temple, thus seyng
Joachym_,

  _Joachym._ Blyssyd be oure Lord, ffayr ffrute have we now!
    Anne, wyff, remembyr wole ȝe,
  That we made to God an holy avow,
    That oure fyrst childe the servaunt of God xulde be!
  The age of Mary oure dowtere is ȝeres thre,
    Therfore to thre personys and on God lete us here present;
  The ȝonger she be drawyn the bettyr semyth me,
    And for teryeng of our avow of God we myth be shent!
  _Anne._ It is as ȝe say, husbond, indede,
    Late us take Mary our dowter us betwen,
  And to the temple with here procede:
    Dowtere, the aungel tolde us ȝe xulde be a qwen!
  Wole ȝe go se that lord ȝour husbond xal ben,
    And lerne for to love hym and lede with hym ȝour lyf?
  Telle ȝour ffadyr and me her, ȝour answere let sen;
    Wole ȝe be pure maydyn and also Goddys wyff?
  _Maria._ ffadyr and modyr, if it plesynge to ȝow be,
    ȝe han mad ȝour avow, so ssothly wole I,
  To be Goddys chast servaunt whil lyff is in me,
    But to be Goddys wyff I was nevyr wurthy;
  I am the sympelest that evyr was born of body.
    I have herd ȝow seyd God xulde have a modyr swete,
  That I may leve to se hire, God graunt me for his mercy,
    And abyl me to ley my handys undyr hire fayr fete.

_Et genuflectet ad Deum._

  _Joachym._ I-wys, dowtere, it is wel seyd,
    ȝe answere and ȝe were twenty ȝere olde.
  _Anne._ Whith ȝour speche, Mary, I am wel payd,
    Can ȝe gon alone? lett se beth bolde.
  _Maria._ To go to Goddys hous wole ȝe now beholde,
    I am joyful thedyrward, as I may be.
  _Joachym._ Wyff, I ryght joyful oure dowter to beholde.
  _Anne._ So am I wys, husbond; now in Goddys name go we!
  _Joachym._ Sere, prince of prestes, and it plese ȝow,
    We that were barreyn God hath sent a childe,
  To offre here to Goddys service we mad oure avow,
    Here is the same mayde, Mary most mylde.
  _Isakar._ Joachym, I have good mende how I ȝow revyled,
    I am ryght joyful that God hath ȝove ȝow this grace,
  To be amonge fruteful now be ȝe reconsylid,
    Come, swete Mary, come, ȝe have a gracyous face!

_Joachym flectendo ad Deum, sic dicens_,

  _Joachym._ Now, ffadyr, and Sone, and Holy Gost,
    On God and personys thre!
  We offre to the, Lorde of myghtes most,
    Oure dowtere thi servaunt evyr more to be!
  _Anna._ Ther-to most bounde evyr more be we:
    Mary, in this holy place leve ȝow we xalle;
  In Goddys name now up go ȝe!
    Oure fadyr, oure prest, lo! doth ȝow calle.
  _Maria._ Modyr, and it plese ȝow, fyrst wole I take my leve
    Of my fadyr and ȝow my modyr i-wys;
  I have a fadyr in hefne, this I beleve,
    Now, good ffadyr, with that fadyr ȝe me blysse!
  _Joachym._ In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti!
  _Maria._ Amen! Now ȝe, good modyr.
  _Anne._ In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti!
  _Maria._ Amen!
  _Maria._ Now, oure Lord, thank ȝow for this!
    Here is my fadyr and my modyr bothe,
  Most mekely I beseche I may ȝow kys;—
    Now forȝeve me yf evyr I made ȝow wrothe!

_Et explexendo osculabit patrem et matrem._

  _Joachym._ Nay, dowtere, ȝe offendyd nevyr God nor man;
    Lovyd be that lord ȝow so doth kepe!
  _Anne._ Swete dowtyr, thynk on ȝour modyr An,
    ȝour swemynge smytyht to myn hert depe.
  _Maria._ ffadyr and modyr, I xal pray for ȝow and wepe,
    To God with al myn hert specyaly;
  Blysse me day and nyght evyr her ȝe slepe,
    Good ffadyr and modyr, and be mery.
  _Joachym._ A! ho had evyr suche a chylde?
    Nevyr creature ȝit that evyr was bore!
  Sche is so gracyous, she is so mylde,—
    So xulde childyr to fadyr and modyr evyr more.
  _Anne._ Than xulde thei be blyssyd and plese God sore!
    Husbond, and it plese ȝow not hens go we xal,
  Tyl Mary be in the temple above thore,
    I wold not for al erthe se here fal.
  _Episcopus._ Come, gode Mary, come, babe, I the calle;
    Thi pas pratyly to this plas pretende,
  Thou xalt be the dowtere of God eternalle,
    If the fyftene grees thou may ascende;
  It is meracle if thou do; now God the dyffende!
    ffrom Babylony to hevynly Jherusalem this is the way;
  Every man that thynk his lyf to amende,
    The fyftene psalmys in memorye of this mayde say, Maria!

_Maria! et sic deinceps usque ad finem quindecim psalmorum._

  The fyrst degré gostly applyed,
    It is holy desyre with God to be,
  In trobyl to God I have cryed,
    And in sped that lord hath herde me.

_Ad Dominum cum tribularer clamavi, et exaudivit me._

  The secunde is stody with meke inquysissyon veryly,
    How I xal have knowynge of Godys wylle,
  To the mownteynes of hefne I have lyfte myn ey,
    ffrom qwens xal comyn helpe me tylle.

_Levavi oculos meos in montes, unde veniat auxilium mihi._

  The thrydde is gladnes in mende in hope to be,
    That we xalle be savyd alle thus;
  I am glad of these tydynges ben seyd to me,—
    Now xal we go into Goddys hous.

_Lætatus sum in hiis, quæ dicta sunt mihi: in domum Domini ibimus._

  The fourte is meke obedyence, as is dette,
    To hym that is above the planetes sefne;
  To the I have myn eyn sette,
    That dwellys above the skyes in hefne!

_Ad te levavi oculos meos, qui habitas in cælis._

  The ffyfte is propyr confessyon,
    That we be nought withowth God thus;
  But God in us have habytacion,
    Peraventure oure enemyes shulde swelle us.

_Nisi quia Dominus erat in nobis, dicat nunc Israel: nisi quia Dominus
erat in nobis._

  The sexte is confidens in Goddys strenght alon,
    ffor of alle grace from hym comyth the strem:
  They that trust in God, as the mownt Syon,
    He xal not be steryd endles, that dwellyth in Jherusalem.

_Qui confidunt in Domino, sicut mons Syon, non commovebitur in æternum,
qui habitat in Hierusalem._

  The sefte is undowteful hope of immortalyté,
    In oure Lorde is as gracy and mercy;
  Whan oure Lord convertyth oure captivité,
    Than are we mad as joyful mery.

_In convertendo domus captivitatem Syon: facti sumus sicut consolati._

  The eyted is contempt of veyn glory in us,
    ffor hym that al mankende hath multyplyed;
  But yf oure Lord make here oure hous,
    They an laboryd in veyn that it have edyfied.

_Nisi Dominus ædificaverit domum, in vanum laboraverunt qui ædificant
eam._

  The nynte is a childely for in dede,
    With a longyng love in oure Lorde that ay is;
  Blyssyd arn alle they that God drede,
    Whiche that gon in his holy weys.

_Beati omnes, qui timent Dominum, qui ambulant in viis ejus._

  The tende is myghty soferauns of carnal temptacion,
    ffor the fleschly syghtes ben fers and fel;
  Ofte ȝoughe is ffowthe with sueche vexacion,
    Than seynge God say, so clepyd Israel.

_Sæpe expugnaverunt me a juventute mea, dicat nunc Israel._

  The elefnte is accusatyff confessyon of iniquité,
    Of whiche ful noyous is the noyis;
  Fro depnes, Lord, I have cryed to the!
    Lord, here in sped my sympyl voys!

_De profundus clamavi ad te, Domine! Domine, exaudi vocem meam!_

  The twelfte is mekenes, that is fayr and softe,
    In mannys sowle withinne and withowte;
  Lord, myn herte is not heyved on lofte,
    Nyn myn eyn be not lokynge abowte.

_Domine, non est exaltatum cor meum, neque elati sunt oculi mei._

  The threttene is ffeyth therwith,
    With holy dedys don expresse;
  Have mende, Lorde of Davyth,
    And of alle his swettnes!

_Memento, Domine, David, et omnis mansuetudinis ejus._

  The ffourtene is brothyrly concorde i-wys,
    That norchych love of creatures echon;
  Se how good and how glad it is,
    Bretheryn, ffor to dwelle in on.

_Ecce quam bonum, et quam jocundum habitare fratres in unum._

  The fyftene is gracyous with on acorde,
    Whiche is syne of Godly love, semyth me;
  Se now blysse, oure Lorde,
    Alle that oure lordys servauntes be.

_Ecce nunc, benedicite Dominum, omnes servi Domini!_

  _Episcopus._ A! gracyous Lord, this is a mervelyous thynge,
    That we se here alle in syght,
  A babe of thre ȝer age so ȝynge,
    To come up these greeys so up ryght;
  It is an hey meracle, and by Goddys myght
    No dowth of she xal be gracyous.
  _Maria._ Holy ffadyr, I beseche ȝow forthe ryght,
    Sey how I xal be rewlyd in Goddys hous.

  _Episcopus._ Dowtere, God hath ȝovyn us commaundementes ten,
    Whiche shortely to say be comprehendyd in tweyn,
  And tho must be kept of alle Crysten men,
    Or ellys here jugement is perpetual peyn.
  ȝe must love God severeynly and ȝour evyn Crystyn pleyn,
    God fyrsst ffor his hyȝ and sovereyn dygnyté:
  He lovyd ȝow fyrst, love hym ageyn,
    ffor of love to his owyn lyknes he made the.

  Love ffadyr, Sone, and Holy Gost!
    Love God the Fadyr, ffor he gevyth myght;
  Love God the Sone, ffor he gevyth wysdom thou wost;
    Love God the Holy Gost, ffor he gevyth love and lyght.
  Thre personys and on God thus love of ryght,
    With alle thin hert, with alle thi sowle, with alle thi mende,
  And with alle the strenghthis in the be dyght,
    Than love thin evyn Crystyn as thiself withowtyn ende.

  Thu xalt hate nothynge but the devyl and synne:
    God byddyth the lovyn thi bodyly enmy;
  And as for ȝourself here, thus xal ȝe begynne,—
    ȝe must serve and wurchep God here dayly;
  ffor what prayȝer with grace and mercy,
    Sethe have a resonable tyme to fede,
  Thanne to have a labour bodyly,
    That therin be gostly and bodely mede.
  ȝour abydynge xal be with ȝour maydenys ffyve,
    Whyche tyme as ȝe wole have consolacion.
  _Maria._ This lyff me lyketh as my lyve:
    Of her namys I beseche ȝow to have informacion.
  _Episcopus._ There is the fyrst Meditacion,
    Contryssyon, Compassyon, and Clennes,
  And that holy mayde Fruyssyon:
    With these blyssyd maydenes xal be ȝour besynes.
  _Maria._ Here is an holy ffelachepp, I fele
    I am not wurthy amonge hem to be:
  Swete systeres, to ȝow alle I knele,
    To receyve, I beseche, ȝour charyté.
  _Episcopus._ They xal, dowtere, and on the tothere syde se,
    Ther ben sefne prestys indede,
  To schryve, to teche, and to mynystryn to the,
    To lerne the Goddys lawys and Scrypture to rede.
  _Maria._ ffadyr, knew I here namys, wele were I.
  _Episcopus._ Ther is Dyscressyon, Devocion, Dylexcion, and Deliberacion,—
  They xal tende upon ȝow besyly;
    With Declaracion, Determynacion, Dyvynacion;
  Now go ȝe, maydenys, to ȝour occupacion,
    And loke ȝe tende this childe tendyrly;
  And ȝe, serys, knelyth, and I xal gyve ȝow Goddys benyson,
    In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti!

_Et recedent cum ministris suis omnes virgines, dicentes “Amen.”_

  To ȝow, ffadyr and modyr, I me comende,
    Blyssyd be the tyme ȝe me hedyr brought.
  _Joachym._ Dowtere, the ffadere of oure feyth the mot defende,
    As he of his myght made alle thynge of nowth.
  _Anne._ Mary, to the sowle solas he sende,
    In whos wysdam alle this werd was wrought!
  Go we now hens, husbonde so hende,
    For owth of care now are we brought.

_Hic Joachim et Anna recedent domum._

  _Maria._ Be the Holy Gost at hom be ȝe brought,
    Systeres (_ad virgines_) ȝe may go do what ȝe xalle,
  To serve God fyrst here is al my thought,
    Beforn this holy awtere on my knes I falle!

  Lord, sefne petycions I beseche ȝow of here,
    ffyrst that I may kepe thi love and thi lawe;
  The secunde to lovyn myn evyn Crystyn as myself dere;
    The thrydde from alle that thou hatyst me to withdrawe;
  The fourte alle vertuys to thi plesauns knawe;
    The fyfte to obey the ordenaryes of the temple echeon;
  The sexte, and that alle pepyl may serve the with awe,
    That in this holy tempyl fawte be non.

  The sefnte, Lord, I haske with grett ffere,
    That I may se onys in my lyve,
  That lady that xal Goddys sone bere,
    That I may serve here with my wyttes fyve.
  If it plese ȝow, and ellys it is not therwith to stryve,
    With prayers prostrat ffor these gracys I wepe:
  O, my God! devocion depe in me dryve,
    That my hert may wake in the, thow my body slepe.

_Here the aungel bryngyth manna in a cowpe of gold lyke to confeccions,
the hefne syngynye, the aungel seyth_,

  Merveyle not, mekest maydone, of my mynystracion,
    I am a good aungel sent of God alle-myght,
  With aungelys mete ffor ȝour sustentacion,
    ȝe to receyve it ffor natural myght;
  We aungellys xul serve ȝow day and nyght:
    Now fede ȝow therwith in Goddys name.
  We xal lerne ȝow the lyberary of oure Lordys lawe lyght,
    ffor my sawys in ȝow shewyth sygnes of shame.
  _Maria._ To thank oure soveryen Lord not sufficyth my mende,
    I xal fede me of this fode my Lord hath me sent;
  Alle maner of savowres in this mete I fynde,
    I felt nevyr non so swete ner so redolent.
  _Angelus._ Eche day therwith ȝe xal be content;
    Aunge alle howrys xal to ȝow apere.
  _Maria._ Mercy, my makere, how may this be ment?
    I am the sympelest creature that is levynge here.
  _Angelus._ In ȝour name Maria ffyve letterys we han,—
    M. Mayde most mercyfulle and mekest in mende;
  A. Averte of the anguysche that Adam began;
    R. Regina of regyon reyneng withowtyn ende;
  I. Innocent be influens of Jesses kende;
    A. Advocat most autentyk ȝour autecer Anna,
  Hefne and helle here kneys down bende,
    Whan this holy name of ȝow is seyd, MARIA.
  _Maria._ I qwake grettly ffor dred to here this comendacion!
    Good swete aungel, why wole ȝe sey thus?
  _Aungelle._ ffor ȝe xal hereaftere have a salutacion,
    That xal this excede, it is seyd amonge us;
  The Deyté that dede xal determyn and dyscus,
    ȝe xal nevyr, lady, be lefte here alone.
  _Maria._ I crye the mercy, Lorde, and thin erthe cus,
    Recomendyng me to that Godhyd that is tryne in trone.

_Hic osculet terram. Here xal comyn alwey an aungel with dyvers
presentes, goynge and comynge, and in the tyme thei xal synge in hefne
this hympne. “Jhesu corona virginum.” And after ther comyth a minister
fro the buschop with a present and seyth_,

  _Minister._ Prynce of oure prestes, Ysakare be name,
    He hath sent ȝow hymself his servyce in dede;
  And bad ȝe xulde ffede ȝow spare for no shame,
    In this tyme of mete no lenger ȝe rede.
  _Maria._ Recomende me to my fadyr, sere, and God do hym mede,
    These vesselys aȝen sone I xal hym sende;
  I xal bere it my systeres, I trowe thei have more nede,
    Goddys foyson is evyr to his servauntes hendyr than we wende.
  Systeres, oure holy ffadyr Isakare
    Hath sent us hese servyce here ryght now;
  ffede ȝow therof hertyly, I pray ȝow nat spare,
    And if owght beleve, specyaly I pray ȝow,
  That the pore men the relevys ther of have now;
    ffayn and I myth I wolde do the dedys of mercy;
  Pore ffolk ffaryn God knowyth how,
    On hem evyr I have grett pety.

  _Contemplacio._ Lo! sofreynes here ȝe have seyn,
    In the temple of oure ladyes presentacion,
  She was nevyr occapyed in thynges veyn,
    But evyr besy in holy ocupacyon;
  And we beseche ȝow of ȝoure pacyens,
    That we pace these materes so lythly away,
  If thei xulde be do with good prevydens,
    Eche on wolde suffyce ffor an hoole day.
  Now xal we precede to here dissponsacion,
    Whiche aftere this was xiiij. ȝere,
  Tyme sufficyth not to make pawsacion,
    Hath pacyens with us, we beseche ȝow here,
            And in short spas,
  The parlement of hefne sone xal ȝe se,
  And how Goddys sone come man xal he,
  And how the salutacion aftere xal be,
            Be Goddys holy gras.




X. MARY’S BETROTHMENT.


_Tunc venit ab Ysakar espiscopus._

  Lystenyth lordynges, both hye and lowe,
    And tendyrly takyth heyd onto my sawe,
  Beth buxom and benygne ȝour busshopp to knowe,
    ffor I am that lord that made this lawe.
  With hertys so hende herkyn nowe,
    ȝoure damyselys to weddying ȝa loke that ȝe drawe,
  That passyn xiiij. ȝere, ffor what that ȝe owe,
    The lawe of God byddyth this sawe,
            That at xiiij. ȝere of age
  Every damesel, what so sche be,
  To the encrese of more plenté,
  Xulde be browght in good degré,
            Onto here spowsage.

  _Joachym._ Herke now, Anne, my jentyl spowse,
    How that the buschop his lawe hath tolde,
  That what man hath a dowtyr in his house,
    That passyth xiiij. ȝeres olde,
  He muste here brynge, I herde hym kowse,
    Into the tempyl a spowse to wedde,
  Wherfore oure dowtyr ryth good and dowse,
    Into the tempyl sche must be ledde,
            And that anoon ryght sone.
  _Anne._ Sere, I grawnt that it be so,
  Aȝen the lawe may we not do,
  With here togedyr lete us now go,
            I hold it ryght weyl done.

  _Joachym._ Sere busshopp, here, aftyr thin owyn hest,
    We have here brought oure dowtyr dere;
  Mary, my swete childe, she is ful prest
    Of age, she is ful xiiij. ȝere.
  _Episcopus._ Welcome, Joachym, onto myn areste,
    Bothe Anne thi wyff and Mary clere;
  Now, Mary, chylde to the lawe thou leste,
    And chese the a spowse to be thi ffere,
            That lawe thou must ffulffylle.
  _Maria._ Aȝens the lawe wyl I nevyr be,
  But mannys ffelachep xal nevyr folwe me,
  I wyl levyn evyr in chastyté
            Be the grace of Goddys wylle.

  _Episcopus._ A! ffayre mayde, why seyst thou so?
    What menyth the for to levyn chast?
  Why wylt thou not to weddyng go?
    The cawse thou tell me, and that in hast.
  _Maria._ My ffaydr and my modyr sertys also,
    Er I was born, ȝe may me trast,
  Thei were bothe bareyn, here frute was do;
    They come to the tempyl at the last,
            To do here sacryfice.
  Bycause they hadde nothyr frute nere chylde,
  Reprevyd thei wore of wykkyd and wyllde,
  With grett shame thei were revylyd,—
            Al men dede them dyspyce.

  My ffadyr and my modyr thei wepte fulle sore,
    fful hevy here hertys wern of this dede;
  With wepynge eyn thei preyd therfore
    That God wolde socowre hem and sende hem sede.
  Iff God wold graunt hem a childe be bore,
    They behest the chylde here lyf xulde lede,
  In Goddys temple to serve evyrmore,
    And wurchep God in love and drede.
            Than God fful of grace,
  He herd here longe prayour,
  And than sent hem bothe seed and flowre:
  Whan I was born in here bowre,
            To the temple offryd I was.

  Whan that I was to the temple brought,
    And offerde up to God above,
  Ther hested I, as myn hert thought,
    To serve my God with hertyly love.
  Clennesse and chastyté myn hert owth,
    Erthely creature nevyr may shove;
  Suche clene lyff xuld ȝe nought
    In no maner wyse reprove;
            To this clennesse I me take.
  This is the cawse, as I ȝow telle,
  That I with man wylle nevyr melle,
  In the servyse of God wyl I evyr dwelle,—
            I wyl nevyr have other make.

  _Episcopus._ A! mercy God, these wordys wyse,
    Of this fayr mayde clene;
  Thei trobyl myn hert in many wyse,
    Her wytt is grett, and that is sene;
  In clennes to levyn in Godys servise,
    No man here blame non here tene,
  And ȝit in lawe thus it lyce,
    That suche weddyd xulde bene:
            Who xal expownd this oute?
  The lawe doth after lyff of clennes,
  The lawe doth bydde suche maydenes expres
  That to spowsyng they xulde hem dres:
            God help us in this dowhte!
  This ansuere grettly trobelyth me:
    To mak a vow to creatures it is lefful,—
  Vovete and reddite in Scripture have we,
    And to observe oure lawe also it is nedful.
  In this to dyscerne to me it is dredful;
    Therfore to cowcelle me in this cas, I calle
  The holde and the wyse and swiche as ben spedful.—
    In this sey ȝour avyse, I beseche ȝow alle.
  _Minister._ To breke our lawe and custom it wore hard indede,
    And on that other syde to do aȝen Scrypture;
  To ȝeve sentens in this degré ȝe must take goo hede,
    ffor dowteles this matere is dyffuse and obscure.
  Myn avyse here in this, I ȝow ensure,
    That we prey alle God to have relacion;
  ffor be prayour grett knowleche men recure,
    And to this I counselle ȝou to ȝeve assygnacion.
  _Episcopus._ Trewly ȝour counselle is ryght good and eylsum,
    And as ȝe han seyd, so xal it be:
  I charge ȝow, bretheryn and systerys, hedyr ȝe com,
    And togedyr to God now pray we,
  That it may plese his fynyte deyté,
    Knowleche in this to sendyn us!
  Mekely eche man ffalle downe on kne,
    And we xal begynne _Veni Creator spiritus_.

_Et hic cantent “Veni Creator.” And whan “Veni Creator” is doun, the
buschop xal seyng_,

  Now, lord God, of lordys wysest of alle,
    I pray the, Lorde, knelyng on kne,
  With carefulle herte I crye and calle,
    This dowteful dowte enforme thou me.
  _Angelus._ Thy prayor is herd to hyȝ hevyn halle,
    God hath me sent here downe to the,
  To telle the what that thou do xalle,
    And how thou xalt be rewlyd in iche degré.
            Take tent and undyrstond.
  This is Goddys owyn byddyng,
  That alle kynsmen of Davyd the kyng,
  To the temple xul brynge here du offryng,
            With whyte ȝardys in ther honde.

  Loke wele what tyme thei offere there,
    Alle here ȝardys in thin hand thou take,
  Take hede whose ȝerde doth blome and bere,
    And he xal be the maydenys make.
  _Episcopus._ I thank the, Lord, with mylde chere,
    Thi wurde xal I werkyn withowtyn wrake;
  I xal send for hem, bothyn fere and nere;
    To werke thi wyl I undyrtake:
            Anon it xal be do.
  Herk, masangere, thou wend thi way,
  Davyd kynsmen, as I the say,
  Byd hem come offyr this same day,
            And brynge whyte ȝardys also.

  _Nuncius._ Oy! al maner men takyth to me tent,
    That be owgth of kynrede to David the kyng;
  My lord the busshop hath for ȝow sent,
    To the temple that ȝe come with ȝour offryng.
  He chargight that ȝe hast ȝow, for he is redy bent,
    ȝow to receyve at ȝour comyng;
  He byddeth ȝow fferthermore in handys that ȝe hent,
    A fayre white ȝerde everyche of ȝow ȝe bryng,
            In hyght.
  Tary not, I pray ȝow;
  My lord, as I say ȝow,
  Now to receyve so
            Is fulle redy dyght.

  _Joseph._ In great labore my lyff I lede,
    Myn ocupasyon lyth in many place,
  ffor febylnesse of age my jorney I may nat spede;
    I thank the, gret God, of thi grace!

_Primus generacionis David._

  What chere, Joseph, what ys the case,
    That ye lye here on this ground?
  _Joseph._ Age and febylnesse doth me embrace,
    That I may nother welle goo ne stond.

_Secundus generacionis._

  We be commandyd be the beschoppys sond,
    That every man of Davyd kynrede,
  In the tempyll to offyr a wond;
    Therfor in this jorney let us procede.
  _Joseph._ Me to traveylle yt is no nede,
    I prey you, frendes, go forth your wey.

_Tertius generacionis._

  This come forth, Joseph, I you rede,
    And knowyth what the buschop wolle sey.

_Quartus generacionis._

  Ther ys a mayd whos name ys clepyd Mary,
    Doughter to Joachym, as it is told:
  Here to mary thei wolle asay
    To som man dowty and bold.

  _Joseph._ Benedicite, I cannot undyrstande
    What oure Prince of Prestes doth men,
  That every man xuld come and brynge with hym a whande,
    Abyl to be maryed, that is not I, so mote I then.
  I have be maydon evyr, and evyr more wele ben,
    I chaungyd not ȝet of alle my long lyff;
  And now to be maryed sum man wold wen,
    It is a straunge thynge an old man to take a ȝonge wyff.

  But nevyr the lesse no doute of we must forth to towne,
    Now neybores and kynnysmen lete us forth go:
  I xal take a wand in my hand and cast of my gowne,
    Yf I falle than, I xalle gronyn for wo.
  Ho so take away my staff, I say he were my fo,
    ȝe be men that may wele ren go ȝe before;
  I am old and also colde, walkyng doth me wo;
    Therfor now wole I to my staff holde I, this jurny to wore.
  _Episcopus._ Seres, ȝe xal undyrstande
    That this is the cawse of your comynge,
  And why that eche of ȝow bryngyth a wande,
    ffor of God we have knowynge.
  Here is to be maryde a mayde ȝynge,
    Alle ȝour roddys ȝe xal brynge up to me;
  And on hese rodde that the Holy Gost is syttynge,
    He xal the husband of this may be.

_Hic portent virgas._

  _Joseph._ It xal not be, I ley a grote,
    I xal abyde behynde prevyly;
  Now wolde God I were at hom in my cote,
    I am aschamyd to be seyn veryly.

_Primus generacionis David._

  To wurchep my lord God hedyr am I come,
    Here ffor to offyr my dewe offrynge,
  A fayr white ȝarde in hand have I nome,
    My lord, sere busshop, at ȝour byddynge.

_Secundus generacionis David._

  Off Davythis kynred sertes am I com,
    A ffayr white ȝarde in hand now I bryng;
  My lord the busshop, after ȝour owym dom,
    This ȝarde do I offre at ȝour chargyng,
            Ryht here.

_Tercius generacionis David._

  And I a ȝarde have bothe fayr and whyght,
  Here in myn hond it is redy dyght,
  And here I offre it forth within syght,
            Ryght in good manere.

_Quartus generacionis David._

  I am the fourte of Davidis kyn,
    And with myn offrynge my God I honoure;
  This fayr whyte ȝarde is offryng myn,
    I trost in God of sum socoure.
  Com on, Joseph, with offrynge thin,
  And brynge up thin, as we have oure,
  Thou taryst ryth longe behynde certeyn;
    Why comyst not forth to Goddys toure?
            Com on, man, for shame.
  _Joseph._ Com ȝa, ȝa, God help, fulle fayn I wolde,
  But I am so agyd and so olde,
  That bothe myn leggys gyn to folde,
            I am ny almost lame.
  _Episcopus._ A! mercy Lord, I kan no sygne aspy,
    It is best we go ageyn to prayr.
  _Vox._ He brought not up his rodde ȝet trewly,
    To whom the mayd howyth to be maryed her.
  _Episcopus._ Whath, Joseph, why stande ȝe there byhynde?
    I-wys, sere, ȝe be to blame.
  _Joseph._ Sere, I kannot my rodde ffynde;
    To come ther in trowthe me thynkyht shame.

_Episcopus comyth, thens Joseph_,

  Sere, he may evyl go that is ner lame;
    In sothe I com as fast as I may.
  _Episcopus._ Offyr up ȝour rodde, sere, in Goddys name!
    Why do ȝe not as men ȝow pray?
  _Joseph._ Now in the wurchep of God of hevyn,
    I offyr this ȝerde as lely whyte,
  Prayng that Lord of gracyous stewyn,
    With hert, with wytt, with mayn, with myght.
  And as he made the sterres seven,
    This sympyl offrynge that is so lyght,
  To his wurchep he weldyghe evyn,
    ffor to his wurchep this ȝerd is dyghte.
            Lord God, I the pray,
  To my herte thou take good hede,
  And nothynge to my synful dede,
  After my wyl thou qwyte my mede,
            As plesyth to thi pay.
  I may not lyfte myn handys heye,
    Lo! lo! lo! what se ȝe now?
  _Episcopus._ A! mercy! mercy! mercy! Lord, we crye,
    The blyssyd of God we se art thou.

_Et clamant omnes “mercy! mercy!”_

  A! gracyous God, in hevyn trone,
    Ryht wundyrful thi werkys be,
  Here may we se a merveyl one,
    A ded stok beryth floures ffre!
  Joseph in hert, withoutyn mone,
    Thou mayst be blythe with game and gle,
  A mayd to wedde thou must gone,
    Be this meracle I do wel se.
            Mary is here name;
  _Joseph._ What, xuld I wedde? God forbede!
  I am an old man, so God me spede,
  And with a wyff now to levyn in drede,
            It wore neyther sport nere game.
  _Episcopus._ Aȝens God, Joseph, thou mayst not stryve,
    God wyl that thou a wyff have;
  This fayr mayde xal be thi wyve,
    She is buxum and whyte as lave.
  _Joseph._ A! shuld I have here? ȝe lese my lyff:
    Alas! dere God, xuld I now rave?
  An old man may nevyr thryff
    With a ȝonge wyff, so God me save!
            Nay, nay, sere, lett bene,
  Xuld I now in age begynne to dote,
  If I here chyde she wolde clowte my cote,
  Blere myn ey, and pyke out a mote,
            And thus oftyn tymes it is sene.
  _Episcopus._ Joseph, now as I the saye,
    God hath assygnyd here to the;
  That God wol have do, sey thou not nay,
    Oure lord God wyl that it be so!
  _Joseph._ Aȝens my God not do I may,
    Here wardeyn and kepere wyl I evyr be;
  But fayr maydon, I the pray,
    Kepe the clene, as I xal me;
            I am a man of age.
  Therfore, sere busshop, I wyl that ȝe wete,
  That in bedde we xul nevyr mete,
  ffor i-wys mayden suete
            An old man may not rage.
  _Episcopus._ This holyest virgyn xalt thou maryn now,
    ȝour rodde foreschyth fayrest, that man may se;
  The Holy Gost we se syttyht on a bow!
    Now ȝelde we alle preysyng to the trenyté.

_Et hic cantent, “Benedicta sit beata Trinitas.”_

  Joseph, wole ȝe have this maydon to ȝour wyff,
    And here honour and kepe, as ȝe howe to do?
  _Joseph._ Nay, sere, so mote I thryff,
    I have ryght no nede therto.
  _Episcopus._ Joseph, it is Goddys wyl it xuld be so!
    Sey aftyr me, as it is skyl.
  _Joseph._ Sere, and to performe his wyl I bow therto,
    ffor alle thynge owyght to ben at his wyl.

_Episcopus, et idem Joseph._

  Sey than aftyr me,—“Here I take the, Mary, to wyff,
    To havyn to holdyn, as God his wyl with us wyl make;
  And as long as bethwen us lestyght oure lyff,
    To love ȝow as myselff, my trewthe I ȝow take.”

_Nunc ad Mariam sic dicens episcopus_,

  Mary, wole ȝe have this man,
    And hym to kepyn as ȝour lyff?
  _Maria._ In the tenderest wyse, fadyr, as I kan
    And with alle my wyttys ffyff.
  _Episcopus._ Joseph, with this ryng now wedde thi wyff,
    And be here hand now thou here take.
  _Joseph._ Sere, with this rynge I wedde here ryff,
    And take here now here ffor my make.
  _Episcopus._ Mary, mayd, withoutyn more stryff,
    Onto thi spowse thou hast him take.
  _Maria._ In chastyté to ledyn my lyff,
    I xal hym nevyr forsake,
            But evyr with hym abyde:
  And, jentylle spowse, as ȝe an seyd,
  Lete me levyn as a clene mayd,
  I xal be trewe, be not dysmayd,
            Bothe terme, tyme, and tyde.

  _Episcopus._ Here is the holyest matremony that evyr was in this werd,
    The hyȝ names of oure lord we wole now syng hy,
  We alle wole this solempn dede recorde
    Devowtly. Alma chorus Domini nunc pangat nomina Summi!
  Now goth hom alle in Godys name,
    Where as ȝour wonyng was before;
  Maydenys, to lete here go alone it wore shame,
    It wold hevy ȝour hertes sore:
  ȝe xal blysse the tyme that sche was bore,
    Now loke ȝe at hom here brynge.
  _Maria._ To have ȝour blyssyng, ffaydr, I falle ȝow before.
  _Episcopus._ He blysse ȝow that hath non hendyng,
  In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti!
  _Episcopus._ Joseph, thiselph art old of age,
    And thi wyff of age is ȝonge;
  And as we redyn in old sage,
    Many man is sclepyr of tonge.
  Therfore evyl langage for to swage,
    That ȝour good fame may leste longe,
  iij. dymysellys xul dwelle with ȝow in stage,
    With thi wyff to be evyrmore amonge.
            I xal these iij. here take;
  Susanne the fyrst xal be,
  Rebecca the secunde xal go with the,
  Sephore the thrydde,—loke that ȝe thre
            This maydon nevyr ȝe forsake.
  _Susanne._ Sere, I am redy att ȝour wylle,
    With this maydon for to wende.
  _Rebecca._ ȝour byddyng, sere, xalle ffulffyl,
    And ffolwe this maydon ffayr and hende.
  _Sephor._ To ffolwe hyre it is good skyl,
    And to ȝour byddynge wole I bende.
  _Joseph._ Now, sere buschop, hens go I wyl,
    For now comyth onto my mende
            A matere that nedful is.
  _Episcopus._ ffarewel, Joseph and Mary clere,
  I pray God kepe ȝow alle in fere,
  And sende ȝow grace in good manere
            To serve the kynge of blysse.
  _Maria._ ffadyr and modyr, ȝe knowe this cas,
    Whow that it doth now stonde with me;
  With myn spowse I must forth passe,
    And wott nevyr whan I xal ȝow se;
  Therfore I pray ȝow here in this plas,
    Of ȝour blyssynge for charyté;
  And I xal spede the betyr and have more gras,
    In what place that evyr I be;
            On knes to ȝow I falle.
  I pray ȝow, fadyr, and modyr dere,
  To blysse ȝour owyn dere dowtere,
  And pray ffor me in alle manere,
            And I ffor ȝow alle.
  _Joachym._ Almyghty God, he mote the blysse,
    And my blyssynge thou have also;
  In alle goodnesse ged the wysse,
    On londe or on watyr, wherevyr thou go.
  _Anna._ Now God the kepe from every mysse,
    And save the sownd in welthe from wo!
  I pray the, dowtyr, thou onys me kys,
    Or that thi modyr part the fro.
            I pray to God the save.
  I pray the, Mary, my swete chylde,
  Be lowe and buxhum, meke and mylde,
  Sad and sobyr and nothyng wylde,
            And Goddys blyssynge thou have.
  _Joachym._ fforwel, Josephe, and God ȝow spede,
    Wher so ȝe be in halle or boure.
  _Joseph._ Almyghty God, ȝour weys lede,
    And save ȝow sownd from alle doloure.
  _Anna._ Goddys grace on ȝow sprede,
    ffarewel, Mary, my swete fflowre,
  ffareweyl, Joseph, and God ȝow rede,
    ffareweyl my chylde and my tresowre,
            ffarewel, my dowtere ȝyng.
  _Maria._ ffarewel, fadyr and modyr dere,
  At ȝow I take my leve ryght here,
  God that sytt in hevyn so clere,
            Have ȝow in his kepyng.
  _Joseph._ Wyf, it is ful necessary this ȝe knowe,
    That I and my kynrede go hom before,
  For in sothe we have non hous of oure owe,
    Therfore I xal gon ordeyn and thanne come ȝow fore.
  We ar not ryche of werdly thynge,
    And ȝet of our sustenauns we xal not mys,
  Therfore abydyth here stylle to ȝour plesynge,
    To worchep ȝour God is alle ȝour blysse.

  He that is and evyr xal be
    Of hefne and helle ryche kynge,
  In erth hath chosyn poverté,
    And alle ryches and welthis refusynge.
  _Maria._ Goth, husbond, in oure lordys blyssynge,
    He mote ȝow spede in alle ȝour nede,
  And I xal here abyde ȝour aȝen comynge,
    And on my sawtere-book I xal rede.
  Now blyssyd be oure Lord ffor this,
    Of hefne and erthe and alle that beryth lyff,
  I am most bound to ȝow, Lord, i-wys,
    ffor now I am bothe mayde and wyff.

  Now, Lord God, dysspose me to prayour,
    That I may sey the holy psalmes of Davyth,
  Wheche book is clepyd the Sawtere,
    That I may preyse the, my God, therwith.
  Of the vertuys therof this is the pygth,
    It makyht sowles fayr, that doth it say,
  Angelys be steryd to help us therwith,
    It lytenyth therkenesse and puttyth develys away.

  The song of Psalmus is Goddys dete,
    Synne is put awey therby;
  It lernyth a man vertuys ful to be,
    It feryth mannys herte gostly.
  Who that it usyth customably,
    It claryfieth the herte, and charyté makyth cowthe,
  He may not ffaylen of Goddys mercy,
    That hath the preysenge of God evyr in his mowthe.

  O holy Psalmys! O holy book!
    Swetter to say than any ony!
  Thou lernyst hem, love Lord, that on the look,
    And makyst hym desyre thyngys celestly.
  With these halwyd psalmys, Lord, I pray the specyaly,
    ffor alle the creatures qwyke and dede,
  That thou wylt shewe to hem thi mercy,
    And to me specyaly that do it rede.

  I have seyd sum of my sawtere, and here I am
    At this holy psalme in dede,
  “Benedixisti, Domine, terram tuam,”
    In this holy labore, Lord, me spede.
  _Joseph._ Mary, wyff and mayd most gracyous,
    Displese ȝow not, I pray ȝow, so long I have be.
  I have hyryd for us a lytyl praty hous,
    And ther in ryght hesely levyn wole we.
  Come forthe, Mary, and folwe me,
    To Naȝareth now wele we go,
  And alle the maydonys, bothe ffayr and fre,
    With my wyff comyth forthe also.
  Now lystenyth welle, wyff, what I telle the,
    I must gon owth hens fer the fro,
  I wylle go laboryn in fere countré,
    With trewthe to maynteyn oure housholde so.
            This ix. monthis thou seyst me nowth:
  Kepe the clene, my jentyl spowse,
  And alle thin maydenys in thin howse,
  That evyl langage I here not rowse,
            ffor hese love that alle hath wrought.
  _Maria._ I pray to God he spede ȝour way,
    And in sowle helthe he mote ȝow kepe,
  And sende ȝow helthe, bothe nyth and day,
    He shylde and save ȝow from al shenschepe.
  Now, Lord of grace, to the I pray,
    With morny mood on kne I krepe,
  Me save from synne, from tene and tray,
    With hert I murne, with eye I wepe.
            Lord God of peté,
  Whan I sytt in my conclave,
  Alle myn hert on the I have,
  Gracyous God, my maydenhed save,
            Evyr clene in chastyté.




XI. THE SALUTATION AND CONCEPTION.


  _Contemplacio._ ffowre thowsand sex undryd foure ȝere I telle,
    Man ffor his offens and ffowle foly,
  Hath loyn ȝeres in the peynes of helle,
    And were wurthy to ly therin endlesly.
  But thanne xulde perysche ȝour grete mercy,
    Good Lord, have on man pyté,
  Have mende of the prayour seyd by Ysaie,
    Lete mercy meke thin hyest magesté.

  Wolde God thou woldyst breke thin hefne myghtye,
    And com down here into erthe;
  And levyn ȝeres thre and threttye,
    Thyn famyt ffolke with thi ffode to fede.
  To staunche thi thryste lete thi syde blede,
    ffor erst wole not be mad redempcion.
  Cum vysite us in this tyme of nede,
    Of thi careful creatures, Lord, have compassyon!

  A! woo to us wrecchis that wrecchis be,
    ffor God hath addyd ssorowe to sorwe;
  I prey the, Lorde, thi sowlys com se,
    How thei ly and sobbe, bothe eve and morewe.
  With thi blyssyd blood ffrom babys hem borwe,
    Thy careful creaturys cryenge in captyvyté,
  A! tary not, gracyous Lord, tyl it be to-morwe,
    The devyl hath dysceyved hem be his iniquité.

  A! quod Jeremye, who xal gyff wellys to myn eynes,
    That I may wepe bothe day and nyght?
  To se oure bretheryn in so longe peynes,
    Here myschevys amende may thi meche myght.
  As grett as the se, Lord, was Adamys contryssyon ryght,
    ffrom oure hed is ffalle the crowne,
  Man is comeryd in synne, I crye to thi syght,
    Gracyous Lord! Gracyous Lord! Gracyous Lord, come downe!

  _Virtutes._ Lord! plesyth it thin hiȝ domynacion,
    On man that thou made to have pyté,
  Patryarchys and prophetys han mad supplycacion,
    Oure offyse is to presente here prayeres to the.
  Aungelys, archaungelys, we thre
    That ben in the fyrst ierarchie,
  ffor man to thin hy magesté,
    Mercy! mercy! mercy! we crye.

  The aungel, Lord, thou made so gloryous,
    Whos synne hath mad hym a devyl in helle,
  He mevyd man to be so contraryous,
    Man repentyd, and he in his obstynacye doth dwelle.
  Hese grete males, good Lord, repelle,
    And take man onto thi grace,
  Lete thi mercy, make hym with aungelys dwelle,
    Of Locyfere to restore the place.

  _Pater._ Propter miseriam inopum, et gemitum pauperum nunc exurgam.
  ffor the wretchydnes of the nedy,
    And the porys lamentacion,
  Now xal I ryse that am Almyghty,
    Tyme is come of reconsyliacion,
  My prophetys with prayers have made supplicacion,
    My contryte creaturys crye alle for comforte,
  Alle myn aungellys in hefne, withowte cessacion,
    They crye that grace to man myght exorte.

  _Veritas._ Lord, I am thi dowtere, Trewthe,
    Thou wilt se I be not lore,
  Thyn unkynde creatures to save were rewthe,
    The offens of man hath grevyd the sore.
  Whan Adam had synnyd, thou seydest yore,
    That he xulde deye and go to helle,
  And now to blysse hym to restore,
    Twey contraryes mow not togedyr dwelle.

  Thy trewthe, Lord, xal leste withowtyn ende,
    I may in no wyse ffro the go,
  That wrecche that was to the so unkende,
    He may not have to meche wo.
  He dyspysyd the and plesyd thi ffo,
    Thou art his creatour and he is thi creature,
  Thou hast lovyd trewthe, it is seyd evyr mo,
    Therfore in peynes lete hym evyrmore endure.

  _Misericordia._ O ffadyr of mercye and God of comforte,
    That counselle us in eche trybulacion,
  Lete ȝour dowtere Mercy to ȝow resorte,
    And on man that is myschevyd have compassyon.
  Hym grevyth fful gretly his transgressyon,
    Alle hefne and erthe crye ffor mercy,
  Me semyth ther xuld be non excepcion,
    Ther prayers ben offeryd so specyally.

  Threwthe sseyth she hath evyr be than,
    I graunt it wel she hath be so,
  And thou seyst endlesly that mercy thou hast kept ffor man,
    Than mercyabyl lorde, kepe us bothe to,
  Thu seyst _veritas mea et misericordia mea cum ipso_,
    Suffyr not thi sowlys than in sorwe to slepe,
  That helle hownde that hatyth the byddyth hym ho,
    Thi love man no lengere lete hym kepe.

  _Justicia._ Mercy, me mervelyth what ȝow movyth,
    ȝe know wel I am ȝour syster Ryghtwysnes,
  God is ryghtfful and ryghtffulnes lovyth,
    Man offendyd hym that is endles,
  Therfore his endles punchement may nevyr sees;
    Also he forsoke his makere that made hym of clay,
  And the devyl to his mayster he ches,
    Xulde he be savyd? nay! nay! nay!

  As wyse as is God he wolde a be,
    This was the abhomynabyl presumpcion,
  It is seyd, ȝe know wel this of me,
    That the ryghtwysnes of God hath no diffynicion.
  Therffore late this be oure conclusyon,
    He that sore synnyd ly stylle in sorwe,
  He may nevyr make a subtyl resone,
    Whoo myght thanne thens hym borwe.

  _Misericordia._ Syster Ryghtwysnes, ȝe are to vengeabyl,
    Endles synne God endles may restore,
  Above alle hese werkys, God is mercyabyl,
    Thow he forsook God be synne, be feyth he forsook hym never the more.
  And thow he presumyd nevyr so sore,
    ȝe must consyder the frelnes of mankende,
  Lerne and ȝe lyst, this is Goddys lore,
    The mercy of God is withowtyn ende.

  _Pax._ To spare ȝour speches, systeres, it syt,
    It is not onest in vertuys to ben dyscencion,
  The pes of God ovyrcomyth alle wytt,
    Thou Trewthe and Ryght sey grett reson.
  ȝett Mercy seyth best to my pleson,
    ffor yf mannys sowle xulde abyde in helle,
  Betwen God and man evyr xulde be dyvysyon,
    And than myght not I Pes dwelle.

  Therefore me semyth best ȝe thus acorde,
    Than hefne and erthe ȝe xul qweme,
  Putt bothe ȝour sentens in oure Lorde,
    And in his hyȝ wysdam lete hym deme.
  This is most fyttynge me xulde seme,
    And lete se how we ffowre may alle abyde,
  That mannys sowle it xulde perysche it wore sweme,
    Or that ony of us ffro othere xulde dyvyde.

  _Veritas._ In trowthe hereto I consente,
    I wole prey oure lorde it may so be.
  _Justicia._ I Ryghtwysnes am wele contente,
    ffor in hym is very equyté.
  _Misericordia._ And I Mercy ffro this counsel wole not fle,
    Tyl wysdam hath seyd I xal ses.
  _Pax._ Here is God now, here is unyté,
    Hefne and erthe is plesyd with pes.

  _ffilius._ I thynke the thoughtys of Pes and nowth of wykkydnes,
    This I deme to ses ȝour contraversy,
  If Adam had not deyd, peryschyd had Ryghtwysnes,
    And also Trewthe had be lost therby.
  Trewth and Ryght wolde chastyse ffoly,
    ȝiff another deth come not, Mercy xulde perysche,
  Than Pes were exyled ffynyaly,
    So tweyn dethis must be ȝow fowre to cherysche,
  But he that xal deye ȝe must knawe,
    That in hym may ben non iniquyté,
  That helle may holde hym be no lawe,
    But that he may pas at hese lyberté.
  Qwere swyche on his prevyde and se,
    And hese deth for mannys dethe xal be redempcion,
  Alle hefne and erthe seke now ȝe,
    Plesyth it ȝow this conclusyon.

  _Veritas._ I, Trowthe, have sowte the erthe withowt and withinne,
    And in sothe ther kan non be fownde,
  That is of o day byrth withowte synne,
    Nor to that dethe wole be bownde.
  _Misericordia._ I, Mercy, have ronne the hevynly regyon rownde,
    And ther is non of that charyté,
  That ffor man wole suffre a deddly wounde,
    I cannott wete how this xal be.

  _Justicia._ Sure I can fynde non sufficyent,
    ffor servauntys unprofytable we be eche one,
  Hes love nedyth to be ful ardent,
    That for man to helle wolde gon.
  _Pax._ That God may do is non but on,
    Therfore this is be hys avyse,
  He that ȝaff this counselle lete hym ȝeve the comforte alon,
    ffor the conclusyon in hym of alle these lyse.

  _ffilius._ It peyneth me that man I mad,
    That is to seyn peyne I must suffre sore,
  A counsel of the Trinité must be had,
    Whiche of us xal man restore.
  _Pater._ In ȝour wysdam, son, man was mad thore,
    And in wysdam was his temptacion,
  Therfor, sone, sapyens ȝe must ordeyn herefore,
    And se how of man may be salvation.

  _Filius._ ffadyr, he that xal do this must be bothe God and man,
    Lete me se how I may were that wede,
  And sythe in my wysdam he began,
    I am redy to do this dede.
  _Spiritus Sanctus._ I the Holy Gost of ȝow tweyn do procede,
    This charge I wole take on me,
  I love to ȝour lover xal ȝow lede,
    This is the assent of oure unyté.

  _Misericordia._ Now is the loveday mad of us fowre fynialy,
    Now may we leve in pes as we were wonte:
  Misericordia et Veritas obviaverunt sibi,
    Justicia et Pax osculatæ sunt.

_Et hic osculabunt pariter omnes._

  _Pater._ ffrom us, God, aungel Gabryel, thou xalte be sende,
    Into the countré of Galylé,
  The name of the cyté Naȝareth is kende,
    To a mayd, weddyd to a man is she.
  Of whom the name is Joseph se,
    Of the hous of Davyd bore,
  The name of the mayd ffre,
    Is Mary that xal al restore.

  _ffilius._ Say that she is withowte wo and ful of grace,
    And that I the son of the Godhed of here xal be bore.
  Hyȝe the thou were there apace,
    Ellys we xal be there the before.
  I have so grett hast to be man thore,
    In that mekest and purest virgyne,
  Sey here she xal restore,
    Of ȝow aungellys the grett ruyne.

  _Spiritus Sanctus._ And if she aske the how it myth be,
    Telle her I the Holy Gost xal werke al this,
  Sche xal be savyd thorwe oure unyté,
    In tokyn here bareyn cosyn Elyȝabeth is
  Qwyk with childe, in here grett age i-wys;
    Sey here to us is nothynge impossyble,
  Her body xal be so ful fylt with blys,
    That she xal sone thynke this sownde credyble.

  _Gabriel._ In thyn hey inbasset, Lord, I xal go,
    It xal be do with a thought,
  Beholde now, Lord, I go here to,
    I take my flyth and byde nowth.

_Ave Maria gratia plena, Dominus tecum!_

  Heyl, fful of grace, God is with the,
    Amonge alle women blyssyd art thu;
  Here this name Eva is turnyd Ave,
    That is to say withowte sorwe ar ȝe now.

  Thow sorwe in ȝow hath no place,
    ȝett of joy, lady, ȝe nede more,
  Therfore I adde and sey “fful of grace,”
    ffor so ful of grace was nevyr non bore.
  ȝett who hath grace, he nedyth kepyng sore,
    Therfore I sey “God is with the,”
  Whiche xal kepe ȝow endlesly thore,
    So amonge alle women blyssyd are ȝe.

  _Maria._ A! mercy God, this is a mervelyous herynge;
    In the aungelys wordys I am trobelyd her,
  I think how may be this gretynge,
    Aungelys dayly to me doth aper.
  But not in the lyknes of man that is my fer,
    And also thus hyȝly to comendyd be,
  And am most unwirthy, I cannot answere,
    Grett shamfastnes and grett dred is in me.

  _Gabryel._ Mary, in this take ȝe no drede,
    ffor at God grace ffownde have ȝe,
  ȝe xal conceyve in ȝour wombe indede
    A childe, the sone of the Trynyté.
  His name of ȝow Jhesu clepyd xal be,
    He xall be grett, the son of the hyest clepyd of kende,
  And of his ffadyr, Davyd, the Lord xal ȝeve hym the se,
    Reynyng in the hous of Jacob, of whiche regne xal be non ende.

  _Maria._ Aungel, I sey to ȝow,
    In what manere of wyse xal this be?
  ffor knowyng of man I have non now,
    I have evyrmore kept and xal my virginyté.
  I dowte not the wordys ȝe han seyd to me,
    But I aske it xal be do.
  _Gabryel._ The Holy Gost xal come fro above to the,
    And the vertu of hym hyest xal schadu the so.

  Therfore that Holy Gost of the xal be bore,
    He xal be clepyd the son of God sage;
  And se Elyȝabeth ȝour cosyn thore,
    She hath conseyvid a son in hyre age;
  This is the sexte monyth of here passage,
    Of here that clepyd was bareyn:—
  Nothynge is impossyble to Goddys usage.
    They thynkyth longe to here what ȝe wyl seyn.

_Here the aungel makyth a lytyl restynge, and Mary beholdyth hym, and the
Aungel seythe_,

  Mary, come of, and haste the,
    And take hede in thyn entent,
  Whow the Holy gost, blyssyd he be!
    Abydyth thin answere and thin assent;
  Thorwe wyse werke of dyvinyté,
    The secunde persone verament
  Is mad man by fraternyté,
    Withinne thiself in place present.

  fferthermore take hede this space;
    Whow alle the blyssyd spyrytys of vertu,
  That are in hefne byffore Goddys face,
    And alle the gode levers and trew
  That are here in this erthely place,
    Thyn owyn kynrede, the sothe ho knew,
  And the chosyn sowlys, this tyme of grace,
    That are in helle, and byde ther rescu.

  As Adam, Abraham, and Davyd in fere,
    And many othere of good reputacion,
  That thin answer desyre to here,
    And thin assent to the Incarnacion,
  In whiche thou standyst as persevere,
    Of alle mankende savacion;
  Gyff me myn answere now, lady dere,
    To alle these creatures comfortacion.

  _Maria._ With alle mekenes I clyne to this acorde,
    Bowynge down my face with alle benyngnyté;
  Se here the hand-mayden of oure Lorde,
    Aftyr thi worde be it don to me.
  _Gabryel._ Gramercy, my lady ffre,
    Gramercy of ȝour answere on hyght,
  Gramercy of ȝour grett humylyté,
    Gramercy, ȝe lanterne of lyght.

_Here the Holy Gost discendit with iij. bemys to our Lady, the sone of
the Godhed vest with iij. bemys to the Holy Gost, the fadyr Godly with
iij. bemys to the sone, and so entre alle thre to her bosom, and Mary
seyth_,

  _Maria._ A! now I ffele in my body be
    Parfyte God and parfyte man,
  Havyng alle schappe of chyldly carnalyté,
    Evyn al at onys thus God began.

  Nott takynge ffyrst o membyr and sythe another,
    But parfyte childhod ȝe have anon;
  Of ȝour handmayden now ȝe have mad ȝour modyr,
    Withowte peyne in fflesche and bon.
  Thus conceyved nevyr woman non,
    That evyr was beynge in this lyff;
  O, myn hyest ffadyr, in ȝour trone,
    It is worthy ȝour son, now my son, have a prerogatyff.

  I cannot telle what joy, what blysse,
    Now I fele in my body!
  Aungel Gabryel, I thank ȝow for thys,
    Most mekely recomende me to my faderes mercy.
  To have be the modyr of God fful lytyl wend I,—
    Now myn cosyn Elyȝabeth ffayn wold I se,
  How sche hath conseyvid as ȝe dede specyfy,
    Now blyssyd be the hyȝ Trynyté.

  _Gabryel._ ffareweyl, turtyl, Goddys dowtere dere,
    ffarewel, Goddys modyr, I the honowre,
  ffarewel, Goddys sustyr, and his pleynge fere,
    ffarewel, Goddys chawmere and his bowre.
  _Maria._ ffarewel, Gabryel, specyalye,
    ffarewel, Goddys masangere expresse,
  I thank ȝow for ȝour traveyl hye,
    Gramercy of ȝour grett goodnes.

  And namely of ȝour comfortabyl massage,
    ffor I undyrstande by inspyracion,
  That ȝe knowe by syngulere prevylage,
    Most of my sonys incarnacion.
  I pray ȝow take it into usage,
    Be a custom ocupacion,
  To vesyte me ofte be mene passage,—
    ȝour presence is my comfortacion.

  _Gabriel._ At ȝour wyl, lady, so xal it be,
    ȝe gentyllest of blood and hyest of kynrede,
  That reynyth in erthe in ony degré,
    Be pryncypal incheson of the Godhede.

  I comende me onto ȝow, thou trone of the Trinyté,
    O mekest mayde, now the modyr of Jhesu;
  Qwen of hefne, lady of erthe, and empres of helle be ȝe,
    Socour to alle synful that wole to ȝow sew.
  Thoro ȝour body beryth the babe oure blysse xal renew,
    To ȝow, modyr of mercy, most mekely I recomende;
  And as I began, I ende with an Ave new,
    Enjonyd hefne and erthe with that I ascende.

_Angeli cantando istam sequenciam:—_

  Ave Maria gratia plena!
  Dominus tecum, virgo serena!




XII. JOSEPH’S RETURN.


  _Joseph._ How, dame, how! undo ȝoure dore, undo!
    Are ȝe at hom? why speke ȝe notht?
  _Susanna._ Who is ther? why cry ȝe so?
    Telle us ȝour herand. Wyl ȝe ought?
  _Joseph._ Undo ȝour dore, I sey ȝow to,
    ffor to com in is alle my thought.
  _Maria._ It is my spowse that spekyth us to;
    Ondo the dore, his wyl were wrought.
  Wellecome hom, myn husbond dere,
    How have ȝe ferd in fer countré?
  _Joseph._ To gete oure levynge withowtyn dwere,
    I have sore laboryd ffor the and me.
  _Maria._ Husbond, ryght gracyously now come be ȝe,
    It solacyth me sore sothly to se ȝow in syth.
  _Joseph._ Me merveylyth, wyff, surely ȝour face I cannot se,
    But as the sonne with his bemys qwhan he is most bryth.
  _Maria._ Husbond, it is as it plesyth oure Lord, that grace of hym grew,
    Who that evyr beholdyth me veryly,
  They xall be grettly steryd to vertu,
    ffor this ȝyfte and many moo, good Lord, gramercy.
  _Joseph._ How hast thou ferde, jentyl mayde,
    Whyl I have be out of londe?
  _Maria._ Sekyr, sere, beth nowth dysmayde,
    Ryth aftyr the wyl of Goddys sonde.
  _Joseph._ That semyth evyl, I am afrayd,
    Thi wombe to hyȝe doth stonde.
  I dred me sore I am betrayd,
    Sum other man the had in honde,
            Hens sythe that I went.
  Thy wombe is gret, it gynnyth to ryse,
  Than hast thou begownne a synfulle gyse,
  Telle me now in what wyse,
            Thyself thou hast thus schent.

  Ow! dame, what thinge menyth this?
    With childe thou gynnyst ryth gret to gone.
  Sey me, Mary, this childys fadyr ho is?
    I pray the telle me, and that anon.
  _Maria._ The fadyr of hevyn and ȝe it is,
    Other fadyr hath be non;
  I dede nevyr forfete with man i-wys;
    Wherfore I pray ȝow amende ȝour mon,—
            This childe is Goddys and ȝour.
  _Joseph._ Goddys childe! thou lyist, in fay;
  God dede nevyr jape so with may,
  And I can nevyr ther, I dare wel say,
            ȝitt so nyh thi boure.
  But ȝit I sey, Mary, whoos childe is this?
  _Maria._ Goddys and ȝoure, I sey i-wys.
  _Joseph._ ȝa! ȝa! alle olde men to me take tent,
    And weddyth no wyff in no kynnys wyse,
  That is a ȝonge wenche, be myn asent,
    ffor doute and drede and swyche servyse.
  Alas! alas! my name is shent!
    Alle men may me now dyspyse,
  And seyn, “olde cokwold, thi bowe is bent
    Newly now after the Frensche gyse.”
            Alas and welaway!
  Alas! dame, why dedyst thou so?
  ffor this synne that thou hast do,
  I the forsake and from the go,
            ffor onys, evyr, and ay.
  _Maria._ Alas! gode spowse, why sey ȝe thus?
    Alas! dere hosbund, amende ȝour mod.
  It is no man, but swete Jhesus,
    He wylle be clad in flesche and blood,
            And of ȝour wyff be born.
  Sephor, ffor sothe, the aungel, thus seyd he,
  That Goddys sone in Trynité,
  ffor mannys sake a man wolde be,
            To save that is forlorn.

  _Joseph._ An aungel! allas, alas! fy for schame!
    ȝe syn now in that ȝe to say,
  To puttyn an aungel in so gret blame.
    Alas! alas! let be, do way.
  It was sum boy began this game,
    That clothyd was clene and gay;
  And ȝe ȝeve hym now an aungele name,—
    Alas! alas and welaway!
            That evyr this game betydde.
  A! dame, what thought haddyst thou?
  Here may alle men this proverbe trow,
  That many a man doth bete the bow,
            Another man hath the brydde.

  _Maria._ A! gracyous God, in hefne trone,
    Comforte my spowse in this hard cas;
  Mercyful God amend his mone,
    As I dede nevyr to gret trespas.
  _Joseph._ Lo! lo! seres, what told I ȝow,
  That it was not for my prow,
            A wyff to take me to;
  An that is wel sene now,
  ffor Mary I make god avow,
            Is grett with childe, lo!
  Alas! why is it so?
    To the busshop I wole it telle,
  That he the lawe may here do,
    With stonys here to qwelle.

  Nay! nay! ȝet God fforbede,
  That I xuld do that vegeabyl dede,
            But if I wyst wel qwy.
  I knew never with here, so God me spede,
  Tokyn of thynge in word nor dede
            That towchyd velany.
  Nevyr-the-les what for-thy,
    Thow she be meke and mylde,
  Withowith mannys company
    She myght not be with childe.

  But I ensure myn was it nevyr;
  Thow that she hath not done here devyr.
            Rather than I xuld pleynyn opynly,
  Serteynly ȝitt had I levyr
  fforsake the countré ffor evyr,
            And nevyr come in here company.
  ffor and men knew this velany,
    In repreff thei wolde me holde,
  And ȝett many bettyr than I,
    ȝa, hath ben made cokolde.

  Now, alas! whedyr xal I gonne?
    I wot nevyr whedyr nor to what place;
  ffor oftyn tyme sorwe comyth sone,
    And lenge it is or it pace,—
            No comforte may I have here.
  I wys wyff thou dedyst me wronge;
  Alas! I traryed from the to longe,
  Alle men have pety on me amonge,
            ffor to my sorwe is no chere.

  _Maria._ God, that in my body art sesyd,
  Thou knowist myn husbond is dysplesyd,
            To se me in this plight.
  ffor unknowlage he is desesyd,
  And therefore help that he were esyd,
            That he myght knowe the ful perfyght.
  ffor I have levyr abyde respyt,
    To kepe thi sone in privité,
  Grauntyd by the Holy Spyryt,
    Than that it xulde be opynd by me.
  _Deus._ Descende, I sey, myn aungelle,
  Onto Joseph, for to telle
    Suche as my wyl is;
  Byd hym with Mary abyde and dwelle,
  ffor it my sone fful snelle
            That she is with i-wys.
  _Angelus._ Almyghty God of blys,
    I am redy ffor to wende
  Wedyr as thi wyl is,
    To go bothe fer and hynde.
  Joseph, Joseph; thou wepyst shryle,
    ffro thi wyff why comyst thou owte?
  _Joseph._ Good sere, lete me wepe my ffylle,
    Go forthe thi wey and lett me nowght.
  _Angelus._ In thi wepynge, thou dost ryght ylle,
    Aȝens God thou hast myswrought;
  Go chere thi wyff with herty wylle,
    And chawnge thi chere, amende thi thought.
            Sche is a ful clene may.
  I telle the, God wyl of here be born,
  And sche clene mayd as she was beforn,
  To save mankynd that is forlorn,
            Go chere hyre therfore, I say.

  _Joseph._ A! lord God, benedicite!
  Of thi gret comforte I thank the,
            That thou sent me this space.
  I myght wel a wyst par-dé,
  So good a creature as she
            Wold nevyr a donne trespace.
  For sche is ful of Grace;
    I know wel I have myswrought,
  I walk to my pore place,—
    I aske fforgyfnes, I have mysthought.

  Now is the tyme sen at eye,
  That the childe is now to veryfye,
            Whiche xal save mankende,
  As it was spoke be prophesye;
  I thank the, God, that syttys on hye,
            With hert, wyl, and mende,
  That evyr thou woldyst me bynde
    To wedde Mary to my wyff,
  Thi blysful sone so nere to fynde,
    In his presens to lede my lyff.

  Alas! ffor joy I qwedyr and qwake;
    Alas! what hap now was this?
  A mercy, mercy, my jentyl make,—
    Mercy! I have seyd al amys;
  Alle that I have seyd here I forsake:
    ȝour swete fete now lete me kys.
  _Mary._ Nay, lett be my fete, not tho ȝe take,
    My mowthe ȝe may kys i-wys,
            And welcome onto me.

  _Joseph._ Gramercy, myn owyn swete wyff,
  Gramercy, myn hert, my love, my lyff,
  Xal I nevyr more make such stryf
            Betwix me and the.
  A! Mary, Mary, wel thou be,
  And blyssyd be the frewte in the,
            Goddys sone of myght!
  Now good wyff, fful of pyté,
  As be not evyl payd with me,
            Thow that thou have good ryght.
  As for my wronge in syght,
    To wyte the with ony synne,
  Had thou not be a vertuous wythe,
    God wold not a be the withinne.

  I knowlage I have don amys,
  I was never wurthy i-wys
            ffor to be thin husbonde;
  I xal amende aftere thys,
  Ryght as thin owyn wyl is,
            To serve the at foot and honde.
  And thi chylde bothe to undyrstonde,
    To wurchep hym with good affeccion;
  And therfore telle me, and nothinge whonde,
    The holy matere of ȝour concepcion.
  _Maria._ At ȝowre owyn wylle, as ȝe bydde me;
    Ther came an aunge hyght Gabryelle,
  And gret me ffayr and seyd Ave,
    And ferther more to me gan telle
  God xulde be borne of my bodé,
    The ffendys powsté ffor to ffelle,
  Thorwe the Holy Gost, as I wel se,
    Thus God in me wyl byde and dwelle.
  _Joseph._ Now I thank God with speche and spelle,
    That evyr, Mary, I was weddyd to the.
  _Mary._ It was the werk of God, as I ȝow telle,
    Now blyssyd be that Lord so purveyd for me.




XIII. THE VISIT TO ELIZABETH.


  _Maria._ Butt, husbond, of oo thynge I pray ȝow most mekely,
    I have knowyng that oure cosyn Elyȝabeth with childe is;
  That it plese ȝow to go to here hastyly,
    If owught we myth comforte here, it were to me blys.
  _Joseph._ A! Godys sake is she with childe, sche?
    Than wole here husbond ȝakarye be mery.
  In Montana they dwelle fer hens, so mot y the,
    In the cety of Juda, I knowe it veryly;
  It is hens, I trowe, myles two and ffyfty,
    We are like to be wery or we come at that same;
  I wole with a good wyl, blyssyd wyff Mary,—
    Now go we forthe than in Goddys name.
  _Maria._ Goth husbond, thow it be to ȝow peyne,
    This jurny I pray ȝow lete us go fast,
  ffor I am schamfast of the pepyl to be seyne,
    And namely of men, therof I am agast.
  Pylgrymages and helpynges wolde be go in hast,
    The more the body is peynyd, the more is the mede;
  Say ȝe ȝour devocionys, and I xal myn reast(?),
    Now in this jurny God mote us spede!
  _Joseph._ Amen! Amen! and evyr more;
    Lo! wyff, lo! how starkly I go before.

_Et sic transient circa placeam._

  _Contemplacio._ Sovereynes, undyrstondyth that kynge Davyd here
    Ordeyned ffoure and twenty prestys of grett devocion,
  In the temple of God after here let apere,
    Thei weryd clepyd _summi sacerdotes_ ffor her mynistracion.
  And on was prynce of prestys havynge domynacyon,
    Amonge whiche was an old prest clepyd ȝakarye,
  And he had an old woman to his wyff of holy conversacion,
    Whiche hyth Eliȝabeth, that nevyr had childe verylye.

  In hese mynistracion the howre of incense,
    The aungel Gabryel apperyd hym to,
  That hese wyff xulde conseyve he ȝaff hym intelligence,
    Hes juge, hes unwurthynes, and age not belevyd so.

  The plage of dompnesse his lippis lappyd, lo!
    Thei wenten hom and his wyff was conseyvenge;
  This concepcion Gabryel tolde oure lady to,
    And in soth sone aftere that sage sche was sekynge.
  And of her tweyners metyng
    Here gynnyth the proces,
  Now God be oure begynnynge,
    And of my tonge I wole ses.

  _Joseph._ A! A! wyff, in feyth I am wery,
    Therfore I wole sytt downe and rest me ryght here.
  Lo! wyff, here is the house of ȝakary,
    Wole ȝe I clepe Elyȝabeth to ȝow to apere.
  _Maria._ Nay, husbond, and it plese ȝow I xal go ner,
    Now the blyssyd Trynité be in this hous!
  A! cosyn Eliȝabeth, swete modyr, what cher?
    ȝe grow grett, a! my God! how ȝe be gracyous.
  _Eliȝabethe._ Anon as I herd of ȝow this holy gretynge,
    Mekest mayden and the modyr of God, Mary,
  Be ȝour breth the Holy Gost us was inspyrynge,
    That the childe in my body enjoyd gretly,
  And turnyd downe on his knes to oure God reverently,
    Whom ȝe bere in your body this veryly I ken,
  ffulfyllyd with the Holy Gost thus lowde I cry,
    Blyssyd be thou amonge alle women.
  And blyssyd be the frute of thi wombe also,
    Thou wurthyest virgyne and wyff that ever was wrought!
  How is it that the modyr of God me xulde come to?
    That wrecche of alle wrecchis, a whyght wers than nought!
  And thou art blyssyd, that belevyd veryly in thi thought,
    That the wurde of God xulde profyte in the,
  But how this blyssydnes abought was brought,
    I cannot thynk nyn say how it myght be.
  _Maria._ To the preysyng of God, cosyn, this seyd mut be,
    Whan I sat in my lytyl hous onto God praynge,
  Gabryel come and seyde to me, Ave!
    Ther I conceyved God at my consentynge,
  Parfyte God and parfyte man at onys beynge;
    Than the aungel seyd onto me,
  That it was sex monethys syn ȝour conseyvynge,
    This cawsyth my comynge, cosyn, ȝow to comfort and se.
  _Eliȝabeth._ Blyssyd be ȝe, cosyn, ffor ȝour hedyr comynge,
    How I conseyvyd I xal to ȝow say;
  The aungel apperyd the howre of incensynge,
    Seynge I xulde conseyve, and hym thought nay.
  Sethe ffor his mystrost he hath be dowme alway,
    And thus of my concepcion I have ȝow sum.
  _Maria._ ffor this holy psalme I begynne here this day,
    Magnificat anima mea Dominum,
  Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo.
  _Eliȝabeth._ Be the Holy Gost with joye Goddys son is in the cum,
  That thi spyryte so injonyid the helth of thi God so.
  _Maria._ Quia respexit humilitatem ancillæ suæ,
    Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes.
  _Eliȝabeth._ ffor he beheld the lownes of hese hand maydeȝe,
    So ferforthe ffor that alle generacionys blysse ȝow in pes.
  _Maria._ Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est,
    Et sanctum nomen ejus.
  _Eliȝabeth._ ffor grett thynges he made and also myghtyest,
    And ryght holy is the name of hym in us.
  _Maria._ Et misericordia ejus a progenie in progenies,
    Timentibus eum.
  _Eliȝabeth._ ȝa, the mercy of hym fro that kynde into the kynde of pes,
    ffor alle that hym drede now is he cum.
  _Maria._ Fecit potenciam in brachio suo,
    Disspersit superbos mente cordis sui.
  _Eliȝabeth._ The pore in his ryght arme he hath mad so,
  The prowde to dyspeyre and the thought of here hertys only.
  _Maria._ Deposuit potentes de sede,
    Et exaltavit humiles.
  _Eliȝabeth._ The prowde men fro hey setys put he,
    And the lowly upon heyth in the sete of pes.
  _Maria._ Esurientes implevit bonis,
    Et divites dimisit inanes.
  _Eliȝabeth._ Alle the pore and the nedy he fulfyllyth with his goodys,
    And the ryche he fellyth to voydnes.
  _Maria._ Suscepit Israel puerum suum,
    Recordatus est misericordiæ suæ.
  _Eliȝabeth._ Israel for his childe up toke he to cum,
    On his mercy to thynk ffor hese that be.
  _Maria._ Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros,
    Abraham et semini ejus in secula.
  _Eliȝabeth._ As he spak here to oure forfaderys in clos,
    Abraham and to alle hese sede of hym in this werd sa.
  _Maria._ Gloria Patri et Filio
  Et Spiritui Sancto.
  _Eliȝabeth._ Presyng be to the Fadyr in hevyn lo!
  The same to the Son here be so,
    The Holy Gost also to ken!
  _Maria._ Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper,
    Et in secula seculorum! Amen.
  _Eliȝabeth._ As it was in the begynnynge and now is and xal be for evyr,
    And in this werd in alle good werkys to abydyn then.
  _Maria._ This psalme of proyhesye seyd betwen us tweyn,
    In hefne it is wretyn with aungellys hond,
  Evyr to be songe and also to be seyn,
    Every day amonge us at oure evesong.
  But, cosyn Elyȝabeth, I xal ȝow here kepe,
    And this thre monethis abide here now,
  Tyl ȝe han childe, to wasche, skore, and swepe,
    And in alle that I may to comforte ȝow.
  _Eliȝabeth._ A! ȝe modyr of God, ȝe shewe us here how
    We xulde be meke that wrecchis here be;
  Alle hefne and herthe wurchepp ȝow mow,
    That are trone and tabernakyl of the hyȝ Trinité.
  _Joseph._ A! how do ȝe, how do ȝe, ffadyr ȝacharye?
    We ffalle ffast in age withowte othe;
  Why shake ȝe so ȝour hed? have ȝe the palsye?
    Why speke ȝe not, sere? I trowe ȝe are not wroth.
  _Eliȝabeth._ Nay, wys ffadyr Joseph, therto he were ful loth,
    It is the vesytation of God he may not speke veryly;
  Lete us thank God therffor bothe,
    He xal remedy it whan it plesyth his mercy.
  Come and pray ȝow specialy;
  I-wys ȝe are welcome, Mary;
  ffor this comfortabelest comynge, good God, gramercy!
  _Joseph._ Of ȝour dissese thynkys no greff,
    Thank God of al adversyté,
  ffor he wyl chastyse and repreff
    Tho that he lovyth most hertylé.
  Mary, I hold best that we go hens,
    We have fer hom withowt fayl.
  _Maria._ Al redy husbond without defens,
    I wyl werke be ȝour counsayl.
  Cosyn, be ȝour leve and ȝour lycens,
    For homward now us must travayl.
  Of this refreschynge in ȝour presens,
    God ȝeld ȝow that most may avayl.
  _Elizabeth._ Now, cosynes bothe, Gow ȝow spede,
    And wete ȝow wele withowtyn mo,
  ȝour presens comfortyth me indede;
    And therfore now am I ryght wo,
  That ȝe, my ffrendys and my kynrede,
    Thus sone now xul parte me fro:
  But I pray God he mote ȝow lede,
    In every place wher so ȝe go.

_Here Mary and Eliȝabet partyn, and Eliȝabeth goth to Zakarie, and seyth_,

  Good husbond, ryse up, I beseke ȝow,
    And go we to the temple now fast
  To wurchep God with that we mow,
    And thank hym bothe, this is my cast
  Of the tyme that is comynge now;
    ffor now is cum mercy, and venjauns is past:
  God wyl be born for mannys prow,
    To brynge us to blysse, that ever xal last.

  _Contemplacio._ Lystenyth, sovereynys, here is a conclusyon,
    How the Ave was mad here is lernyd us;
  The aungel seyd “Ave, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,
    Benedicta tu in mulieribus.”
  Elyȝabeth seyd, “Et benedictus fructus ventris tui.”
    Thus the chirche addyd Maria and Jhesus her:
  Who seyth oure ladyes sawtere dayly for a ȝer thus,
    He hath pardon ten thowsand and eyte hundryd ȝer.

  Than ferther to oure matere to precede,
    Mary with Eliȝabeth abod ther stylle
  iij. monthys fully, as we rede,
    Thankynge God with hertly wylle.
  A! Lord God, what hous was this on?
    That these childeryn and here moderes to,
  As Mary and Eliȝabeth, Jhesus and John,
    And Joseph and Zakarye also.

  And evyr oure lady abod stylle thus,
    Tyl John was of his modyr born,
  And than ȝakarye spak i-wus,
    That had be dowm and his speche lorn.
  He and Eliȝabeth prophesyed as thus,
    They mad _Benedictus_ them beforn;
  And so _Magnificat_, and _Benedictus_,
    ffyrst in that place ther made worn.

  Whan alle was don, oure Lady fre
    Toke here leve; than aftere this,
  At Eliȝabeth and at ȝakarie,
    And kyssyd John and gan hym blys.

  Now most mekely we thank ȝow of ȝour pacyens,
    And beseke ȝou of ȝour good supportacion,
  If here hathe be seyd or don any inconvenyens,
    We asygne it to ȝour good deliberacion;
  Besekynge to Crystes precious passyon,
    Conserve and rewarde ȝour hedyr comynge!
  With Ave we begunne, and Ave is oure conclusyon,
    _Ave regina cœlorum_ to oure Lady we synge.




XIV. THE TRIAL OF JOSEPH AND MARY.


  _Den._ Avoyd, seres, and lete my lorde the buschop come,
    And syt in the courte the lawes ffor to doo;
  And I xal gon in this place them for to somowne,
    Tho that ben in my book the court ȝe must com too.
  I warne ȝow here alle abowte,
  That I somown ȝow alle the rowte,
  Loke ȝe fayl, for no dowte,
            At the court to pere.
  Bothe John Jurdon, and Geffrey Gyle,
  Malkyn Mylkedoke, and fayr Mabyle,
  Stevyn Sturdy, and Jak at the Style,
            And Sawdyr Sadelere.

  Thom Tynkere and Betrys Belle,
  Peyrs Potter and Whatt at the Welle,
  Symme Smalfeyth and Kate Kelle,
            And Bertylmew the Bochere.
  Kytt Cakelere and Colett Crane,
  Gylle Fetyse and fayr Jane,
  Powle Pewterere and Pernel Prane,
            And Phelypp the good Flecchere.

  Cok Crane and Davy Drydust,
  Luce Lyere and Letyce Lytyltrust,
  Miles the Myllere and Colle Crakecrust,
            Bothe Bette the Bakere, and Robyn Rede.
  And loke ȝe rynge wele in ȝour purs,
  ffor ellys ȝour cawse may spede the wurs,
  Thow that ȝe slynge Goddys curs
            Evyn at myn hede, ffast com away.
  Bothe Boutyng the Browstere, and Sybyly Slynge,
  Megge Merywedyr and Sabyn Sprynge,
  Tyffany Twynkelere, ffayle ffor nothynge,
            The courte xal be this day.

_Hic intrabit pagentum de purgatione Mariæ et Joseph. Hic dicit primus
detractor_,

  A! A! serys, God save ȝow alle,
    Here is a fayr pepyl in good ffay;
  Good seres, telle me what men me calle,
    I trowe ȝe kannot be this day;
  ȝitt I walke wide and many way,
    But ȝet ther I come I do no good,
  To reyse slawdyr is al my lay,
    Bakbytere is my brother of blood.

  Dede he ought come hedyr in al this day,
    Now wolde God that he were here!
  And be my trewthe, I dare wel say,
    That yf we tweyn togedyr apere,
  More slawndyr we to xal arere,
    Within an howre thorweouth this town,
  Than evyr ther was this thowsand ȝere,
    And ellys I shrewe ȝow bothe up and downe.

  Now be my trewthe I have a syght
    Evyn of my brother, lo! where he is:
  Welcom, dere brother, my trowthe I plyght,
    ȝowre jentyl mowth let me now kys.
  _Secundus detractor._ Gramercy, brother, so have I blys,
    I am ful glad we met this day.
  _Primus detractor._ Ryght so am I, brothyr, i-wys,
    Meche gladder than I kan say.
  But ȝitt, good brother, I ȝow pray,
    Telle alle these pepyl what is ȝour name;
  ffor yf thei knew it, my lyf I lay,
    They wole ȝow wurchep and speke gret fame.
  _Secundus detractor._ I am Bakbytere, that spyllyth alle game,
    Bothe kyd and knowyn in many a place.
  _Primus detractor._ Be my trowth I seyd the same,
    And ȝet sum seyden thou xulde have evyl grace.
  _Secundus detractor._ Herk, Reyse-sclaundyr, canst thou owth telle
    Of any newe thynge that wrought was late?
  _Primus detractor._ Within a shorte whyle a thynge befelle,
    I trowe thou wylt lawhȝ ryght wel therate,
  ffor be trowth, ryght mekyl hate,
    If it be wyst, therof wyl growe.
  _Secundus detractor._ If I may reyse therwith debate,
    I xal not spare the seyd to sowe.
  _Primus detractor._ Syr, in the tempyl a mayd ther was,
    Calde mayd Mary, the trewth to telle;
  Sche semyd so holy withinne that plas,
    Men seyd sche was ffedde with holy aungelle.
  Sche made a vow with man nevyr to melle,
    But to leve chast and clene virgine;
  How evyr it be her wombe doth swelle,
    And is as gret as thinne or myne.
  _Secundus detractor._ ȝa! that old shrewe Joseph, my trowth I plyght,
    Was so anameryd upon that mayd,
  That of hyr bewtyé, whan he had syght,
    He sesyd nat tylle had here asayd.
  _Primus detractor._ A! nay, nay, wel wers she hath hym payd,
    Sum fresche ȝonge galaunt she lovyth wel more,
  That his leggys to here hath leyd,
    And that doth greve the old man sore.
  _Secundus detractor._ Be my trowthe, al may wel be,
    ffor fresche and fayr she is to syght,
  And suche a mersyl, as semyth me,
    Wolde cause a ȝonge man to have delyght.
  _Primus detractor._ Suche a ȝonge damesel of bewté bryght,
    And of schap so comely also,
  Of hire tayle oftetyme be lyght,
    And rygh tekyl undyr the too.
  _Secundus detractor._ That olde cokolde was evyl begylyd,
    To that fresche wenche whan he was wedde;
  Now muse he faderyn anothyr mannys chylde,
    And with his swynke he xal be fedde.
  _Primus detractor._ A ȝonge man may do more chere in bedde
    To a ȝonge wench, than may an olde;
  That is the cawse suche lawe is ledde,
    That many a man is a kokewolde.

_Hic sedet episcopus Abiȝachar inter duos legis doctores, et audientes
hanc defamationem vocat ad se detractores, dicens_,

  _Episcopus._ Herke ȝe, felaways, why speke ȝe suche schame
    Of that good virgyn, ffayr mayd Mary;
  ȝe be acursyd so hire for to defame,
    She that is of lyff so good and holy.
  Of hire to speke suche velany,
    ȝe make myn hert ful hevy of mood;
  I charge ȝow sese of ȝoure fals cry,
    ffor sche is sybbe of myn owyn blood.
  _Secundus detractor._ Syb of thi kyn thow that she be,
    Alle gret with chylde hire wombe doth swelle;
  Do calle here hedyr, thiself xal se
    That it is trewthe that I the telle.
  _Primus detractor._ Sere, ffor ȝour sake I xal kepe cowncelle.
    ȝow for to greve I am ryght loth;
  But lest, seres, lyst what seyth the belle,
    Oure fayr mayd now gret with childe goth.
  _Primus doctor legis._ Take good heed, seres, what ȝe doth say,
    Avyse ȝow wele what ȝe present;
  ȝyf this be fownd fals, anothyr day
    Ful sore ȝe xal ȝour tale repent.
  _Secundus detractor._ Sere, the mayd forsothe is good and gent,
    Bothe comely and gay, and a fayr wenche;
  And feetly with help sche can consent
    To set a cokewolde on the hye benche.
  _Secundus doctor legis._ ȝe be to besy of ȝour langage,
    I hope to God ȝow fals to preve;
  It were gret rewthe she xulde so outrage,
    Or with suche synne to myscheve.
  _Episcopus._ This evy talys my hert doth greve,
    Of hire to here suche fowle dalyawnce;
  If she be fowndyn in suche repreve,
    She xal sore rewe here governawns.

  Sym Somnere, in hast wend thou thi way,—
    Byd Joseph and his wyff be name
  At the coorte to appere this day,
    Here hem to pourge of her defame.
  Sey that I here of hem grett schame,
    And that doth me gret hevynes;
  If thei be clene withowtyn blame,
    Byd hem come hedyr and shew wyttnes.
  _Den._ Alle redy, sere; I xal hem calle,
    Here at ȝour courte for to appere;
  And yf I may hem mete withalle,
    I hope ryght sone thei xal ben here.
  Awey, seres, lete me com nere,
    A man of wurchep here comyth to place,
  Of curtesy me semyth ȝe be to lere,
    Do of ȝour hodys with an evyl grace.
  Do me sum wurchep befor my face,
    Or be my trowthe I xal ȝow make,
  If that I rolle ȝow up in my race,
    ffor fere I xal do ȝour ars qwake.
  But ȝit sum mede and ȝe me take,
    I wyl withdrawe my gret rough toth,
  Gold or sylvyr I wyl not forsake,
    But evyn as alle somnores doth.

  A! Joseph, good day, with thi ffayr spowse,
    My lorde the buschop hath for ȝow sent;
  It is hym tolde that in thin house,
    A cockoldeis bowe is eche nyght bent.
  He that shett the bolt is lyke to be schent:—
    ffayre mayde, that tale ȝe kan best telle;
  Now be ȝoure trowthe telle ȝour entent,
    Dede not the archere plese ȝow ryght welle?
  _Maria._ Of God in hevyn I take wyttnes,
    That synful werk was nevyr my thought;
  I am a mayd ȝit of pure clennes,
    Lyke as I was into this werd brought.
  _Den._ Othyr wyttnes xal non be sought,
    Thou art with childe, eche man may se;
  I charge ȝow bothe ȝe tary nought,
    But to the buschop com forth with me.
  _Joseph._ To the buschop with ȝow we wende,
    Of oure purgacion have we no dowth.
  _Maria._ Almyghty God xal be oure frende,
    Whan the trewthe is tryed owth.
  _Den._ ȝa no this wyse excusyth here every scowte,
    Whan here owyn synne hem doth defame;
  But lowly than thei gyn to lowth,
    Whan thei be gylty and fowndyn in blame.

  Therfore com forthe, cokewolde be name,
    The busschop xal ȝour lyff appose;
  Com forth also, ȝe goodly dame,
    A clene huswyff, as I suppose.
  I xal ȝow tellyn, withowtyn glose,
    And ȝe were myn withowtyn lak;
  I wolde eche day beschrewe ȝour nose,
    And ȝe dede brynge me suche a pak.

  My lord the buschop, here have I brought
    This goodly copyl, at ȝour byddyng;
  And as me semyth as be here fraught,
    “ffayr chylde, lullay,” sone must she syng.
  _Primus detractor._ To here a credyl and ȝe wolde brynge,
    ȝe myght save monye in here purse;
  Becawse she is ȝour cosyn ȝynge,
    I pray ȝow, sere, lete her nevyr fare the wers.
  _Episcopus._ Alas! Mary, what hast thou wrought?
    I am aschamyd evyn for thi sake;
  How hast thou chaungyd thin holy thought?
    Dude old Joseph with strenght the take?
  Or hast thou chosyn another make,
    By whom thou art thus brought in schame?
  Telle me who hath wrought this wrake;—
    How hast thou lost thi holy name?
  _Maria._ My name, I hope, is saff and sownde,
    God to wyttnes I am a mayd!
  Of ffleschly lust and gostly wownde,
    In dede nere thought I nevyr asayd.
  _Primus doctor legis._ How xulde thi wombe thus be arayd,
    So grettly swollyn as that it is?
  But if sum man the had ovyr-layd,
    Thi wombe xulde never be so gret i-wys.
  _Secundus doctor legis._ Herke thou, Joseph, I am afrayd
    That thou hast wrought this opyn synne;
  This woman thou hast thus betrayd,
    With gret flaterynge or sum fals gynne.
  _Secundus detractor._ Now be myn trowthe ȝe hytte the pynne,
    With that purpose in feyth I holde;
  Telle now how thou thus dudyst wynne,
    Or knowlyche thiself ffor a cockewold.
  _Joseph._ Sche is for me a trewe clene mayde,
    And I for hire am clene also;
  Of fflesschly synne I nevyr asayde,
    Sythyn that sche was weddyd me to.
  _Episcopus._ Thou xalt not schape from us ȝitt so;
    ffyrst thou xalte tellyn us another lay;
  Streyt to the awter thou xalt go,
    The drynge of vengeawns ther to asay.

  Here is the botel of Goddys vengeauns;—
    Thys drynk xal be now thi purgacion;
  This hath suche vertu by Goddys ordenauns,
    That what man drynk of this potacion,
  And gothe serteyn in processyon,
    Here in this place this awtere abowth,
  If he be gylty, sum maculacion
    Pleyn in his face xal shewe it owth.

  Iff thou be gylty, telle us, lete se,
    Over Godys myght be not to bolde:
  If thou presume and gylty be,
    God thou dost greve many a folde.
  _Joseph._ I am not gylty, as I fyrst tolde,
    Allemyghty God I take wytnes!
  _Episcopus._ Than this drynke in hast thou holde,
    And on processyon anon the dresse.

_Hic Joseph bibit et septies circuivit altare dicens_,

  _Joseph._ This drynk I take with meke entent,
    As I am gyltles, to God I pray,—
  Lord! as thou art omnypotente,
    On me thou shewe the trowthe this day. (_Modo bibit._)
  About this awtere I take the way,
    O gracyous God! help thi servaunt,
  As I am gyltles aȝen ȝon may,
    Thin hand of mercy this tyme me graunt!

  _Den._ This olde shrewe may not wele gon,
    Longe he taryeth to go abowth;
  Lyfte up thi feet, sett forthe thi ton,
    Or be my trewthe thou getyst a clowte!
  _Secundus detractor._ Now, sere evyl Thedom, com to thi snowte!
    What heylyght thi leggys now to be lame?
  Thou dedyst hem put ryght freschly owte,
    Whan thou dedyst play with ȝon ȝonge dame.

  _Primus detractor._ I pray to God gyf hym myschawns,
    Hese leggys here do folde for age;
  But with this damysel whan he dede dawns,
    The olde charle had ryght gret corage.
  _Den._ The shrewe was than sett in a dotage,
    And had good lust that tyme to pleyn;
  ȝaff sche not ȝow cowdel to potage,
    Whan ȝe had don, to comforte ȝour brayn?

  _Joseph._ A! gracyous God, help me this tyde,
    Ageyn this pepyl that me doth fame;
  As I nevyr more dede toche where syde,
    This day help me fro werdly schame!
  Abowte this awtere to kepe my fame,
    Vij. tymes I have gon rownd abowte;
  If I be wurthy to suffyr blame,
    O ryghtful God, my synne shewe owughte.

  _Episcopus._ Joseph, with hert thank God thi Lorde,
    Whos heyȝ mercy doth the excuse;
  ffor thi purgacion we xal recorde,
    With hyre of synne thou dedyst never muse.
  But, Mary, thiself mayst not refuse;
    Alle grett with chylde we se the stonde,
  What mystyr man dede the mysuse,
    Why hast thou synnyd ageyn thin husbonde?

  _Maria._ I trespacyd nevyr with erthely wyght;
    Therof I hope, thorowe Goddys sonde,
  Here to be purgyd before ȝour syght,
    ffrom alle synne clene, lyke as myn husbonde.
  Take me the botel out of ȝour honde,
    Here xal I drynke beforn ȝour face;
  Abowth this awtere than xal I fonde,
    Vij. tymes to go, by Godys grace.

  _Primus doctor legis._ Se this bolde bysmare wolde presume,
    Ageyn God to preve his myght!
  Thow Goddys vengeauns hyre xuld consume,
    Sche wyl not telle hyre fals delyght.
  Thou art with chylde, we se in syght,
    To us thi wombe the doth accuse.
  Ther was nevyr woman ȝitt in suche plyght,
    That ffrom mankynde hyre kowde excuse.

  _Primus detractor._ In ffeyth I suppose that this woman slepte
    Withowtyn alle coverte, whylle that it dede snowe,
  And a flake therof into hyre mowthe crepte,
    And therof the chylde in hyre wombe doth growe.
  _Secundus detractor._ Than beware dame, for this is wel i-knowe
    Whan it is born, yf that the sunne shyne,
  It wyl turne to watyr ageyn, as I trowe,
    ffor snow onto watyr do the evyr more reclyne.

  _Secundus doctor legis._ With Goddys hyȝ myght, loke thou not jape,
    Of thi purgacion wel the avyse;
  Yf thou be gylty, thou mayst not schape,
    Beware evyr of God, that ryghtful justyce.
  If God with vengeauns set on the his syse,
    Not only thou but alle thi kyn is schamyd;
  Bettyr it is to telle the trewthe devyse,
    Than God for to greve and of him be gramyd.

  _Maria._ I trostyn in his grace, I xal hym nevyr greve,
    His servaunt I am in worde, dede, and thought;
  A mayd undefyled I hope he xal me preve,
    I pray ȝow lett me nought.
  _Episcopus._ Now be that good Lord, that alle this werd hath wrought,
    If God on the shewe ony manyr tokyn,
  Purgacion I trowe was nevyr so dere bowth,
    If I may on the in any wyse be wrokyn.

  Holde here the botel and take a large draught,
    And abowth the awtere go thi processyon.
  _Marya._ To God in this case my cawse I have be-taught,
    Lorde, thorwe thin helpe, I drynke of this potacyon.

_Hic beata virgo bibit de potacione, et postea circuivit altare, dicens_,

  God, as I nevyr knew of mannys maculacion,
    But evyr have lyved in trew virginité,
  Send me this day thin holy consolacion,
    That alle this fayr peple my clennes may se.
  O gracyous God, as thou hast chose me,
    ffor to be thi modyr, of me to be born!
  Save thi tabernacle that clene is kepte for the,
    Whiche now am put at repref and skorn.
  Gabryel me tolde with wordys he beforn,
    That ȝe of ȝour goodnes wold become my chylde;
  Help now of ȝour hyȝness, my wurchep be not lorn,
    A! dere sone, I pray ȝow, help ȝour modyr mylde.

  _Episcopus._ Almyghty God, what may this mene,
    ffor alle the drynke of Goddys potacyon,
  This woman with chylde is fayr and clene,
    Withowtyn fowle spotte, or maculacion.
  I cannat, be non ymagynacion,
    Preve hyre gylty and synful of lyff;
  It shewit opynly, by here purgacion,
    Sche is clene mayde, bothe modyr and wyff!

  _Primus detractor._ Be my fadyr sowle here is gret gyle,
    Because sche is syb of ȝour kynreed;
  The drynk is chaungyd by sum fals wyle,
    That sche no shame xulde have this steed.
  _Episcopus._ Becawse thou demyst that we do falshede,
    And for thou dedyst hem fyrst defame;
  Thou xalt ryght here, magré thin heed,
    Beforn alle this pepyl, drynk of the same.

  _Primus detractor._ Syr, in good ffeyth oo draught I pulle,
    If these to drynkeres have not alle spent.

_Hic bibit et scenciens dolorem in capite cadit, et dicit_,

  Out, out, alas! what heylith my sculle,
    A! myn heed with ffyre me thynkyht is brent!
  Mercy, good Mary, I do me repent,
    Of my cursyd and ffals langage.
  _Maria._ Now, God, Lord in hevyn omnypotent,
    Of his grett mercy ȝour seknes aswage.

  _Episcopus._ We alle on knes ffalle here on grownd,
    Thou Goddys handemayd prayng for grace;
  Alle cursyd langage and schame on sownd,
    Good Mary, fforȝeve us here in this place.
  _Maria._ Now God forȝeve ȝow alle ȝowre trespace,
    And also forȝeve ȝow alle defamacion
  That ȝe have sayd, bothe more and lesse,
    To myn hynderawnce and maculacion.

  _Episcopus._ Now blyssyd virgyne, we thank ȝow alle
    Of ȝoure good hert and gret pacyens;
  We wyl go with ȝow hom to ȝour halle,
    To do ȝow servys with hyȝ reverens.
  _Maria._ I thank ȝow hertyly of ȝour benevolens,
    Onto ȝour owyn hous I pray ȝow ȝe goo.
  And take this pepyl hom with ȝow hens,
    I am not dysposyd to passyn hens froo.

  _Episcopus._ Than ffarewel, mayden and pure virgyne,
    Farewel, trewe handmayd of God in blys!
  We alle to ȝow lowly inclyne,
    And take oure leve of ȝow, as wurthy is.
  _Maria._ Allemyghty God, ȝour weys wysse,
    ffor that hyȝ lord is most of myght,
  He mote ȝow spede, that ȝe not mys,
    In hevyn of hym to have a syght.

  _Joseph._ Honouryd in hevyn be that hyȝ lorde,
    Whos endles grace is so habundaunt,
  That he doth shewe the trewe recorde
    Of iche wyhgt that is his trewe servaunt.
  That Lord to wurchepe with hert plesaunt,
    We bothe be bownd ryght on this place,
  Whiche oure purgacyon us dyde graunt,
    And prevyd us pure by hieȝ grace.

  _Maria._ fforsothe, good spowse, I thank hym hyȝly,
    Of his good grace ffor our purgacion!
  Oure clennes is knowyn ful opynly,
    Be vertu of his grett consolacion.




XV. THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.


  _Joseph._ Lord, what travayl to man is wrought!
    Rest in this werd behovyth hym non;
  Octavyan oure emperor sadly hath besought
    Oure trybute hym to bere, ffolk must forth ichon,
  It is cryed in every bourgh and cety be name;
    I that am a pore tymbre wryth, born of the blood of Davyd,
  The emperores comawndement I must holde with,
    And ellys I were to blame.

  Now, my wyff Mary, what sey ȝe to this?
    For sekyr, nedys I must fforth wende
  Onto the cyté of Bedleem, ffer hens i-wys;—
    Thus to labore I must my body bende.
  _Maria._ Myn husbond and my spowse, with ȝow wyl I wende,
    A syght of that cyté ffayn wolde I se;
  If I myght of myn alye ony ther ffynde,
    It wold be grett joye onto me.

  _Joseph._ My spowse, ȝe be with childe, I fere ȝow to kary,
    ffor me semyth it were werkys wylde;
  But ȝow to plese ryght ffayn wold I,
    ȝitt women benethe to greve whan thei be with childe.
  Now latt us fforth wende as ffast as we may,
    And almyghty God spede us in oure jurnay!
  _Maria._ A! my swete husbond, wolde ȝe telle to me,
    What tre is ȝon standynge upon ȝon hylle?
  _Josephe._ fforsothe, Mary, it is clepyd a chery tre;
    In tyme of ȝere ȝe myght ffede ȝow theron ȝour ffylle.
  _Maria._ Turne ageyn, husbond, and behold ȝon tre,
    How that it blomyght now so swetly.
  _Joseph._ Cum on, Mary, that we worn at ȝon cyté;
    Or ellys we may be blamyd, I telle ȝow lythly.
  _Maria._ Now, my spowse, I pray ȝow to behold,
    How the cheryes growyn upon ȝon tre;
  ffor to have therof ryght ffayn I wold,
    And it plesyd ȝow to labore so meche for me.
  _Joseph._ ȝour desyre to ffulfylle I xal assay sekyrly,
    Ow to plucke ȝow of these cheries; it is a werk wylde,
  ffor the tre is so hyȝ it wol not be lyghtly,
    Therfore lete hym pluk ȝow cheryes begatt ȝow with childe.
  _Maria._ Now, good Lord, I pray the graunt me this boun,
    To have of these cheries, and it be ȝour wylle:
  Now, I thank it God, this tre bowyth to me downe!
    I may now gaderyn anowe, and etyn my ffylle.
  _Josephe._ Ow, I know weyl I have offendyd my God in Trinyté,
    Spekyng to my spowse these unkynde wurdys;
  ffor now I beleve wel it may non other be,
    But that my spowse beryght the kyngys son of blys;
            He help us now at oure nede!
  Of the kynrede of Jesse worthely were ȝe bore,
  Kynges and patryarkys ȝow beffore,
  Alle these wurthy of ȝour kynred wore,
            As clerkys in story rede.
  _Maria._ Now, gramercy, husbond, for ȝour report!
    In oure weys wysely late us forth wende;
  The fadyr allemyghty he be oure comfort!
    The Holy Gost gloryous he be oure frende!
  _Joseph._ Heyl, wurchepful sere, and good day!
    A ceteceyn of this cyté ȝe seme to be;
  Of herborwe ffor spowse and me I ȝow pray,
    ffor trewly this woman is fful weré,
            And fayn at reste, sere, wold she be;
  We wolde ffulffylle the byddynge of oure emperoure,
  ffor to pay trybute, as ryght is oure,
  And to kepe oureselfe ffrom dolowre,
            We are come to this cyté.
  _Cives._ Sere, ostage in this towne know I non,
    Thin wyff and thou in for to slepe;
  This ceté is besett with pepyl every won,
    And ȝett thei ly withowte fful every strete.

  Withinne no walle, man, comyst thou nowth,
    Be thou onys withinne the cyté gate;
  On ethys in the strete a place may be sowth,
    Theron to reste, withowte debate.
  _Joseph._ Nay, sere, debate that wyl I nowth;
    Alle suche thyngys passyn my powere:
  But ȝitt my care and alle my thought
    Is for Mary, my derlynge dere.

  A! swete wyff, what xal we do?
    Wher xal we logge this nyght?
  Onto the ffadyr of heffne pray we so,
    Us to kepe ffrom every wykkyd whyt.
  _Cives._ Good man, o word I wyl the sey,
    If thou wylt do by the counsel of me;
  ȝondyr is an hous of haras that stant be the wey,
    Amonge the bestys herboryd may ȝe be.
  _Maria._ Now the fadyr of hefne he mut ȝow ȝelde!
    His sone in my wombe forsothe he is;
  He kepe the and thi good be fryth and ffelde!
    Go we hens, husbond, for now tyme it is.
  But herk now, good husbond, a newe relacyon,
    Whiche in myself I know ryght welle;
  Cryst in me hath take incarnacion,
    Sone wele be borne, the trowthe I fele.

  In this pore logge my chawmere I take,
    Here for to abyde the blyssyd byrthe
  Of hym that alle this werd dude make,—
    Betwyn myn sydes I fele he styrthe.
  _Joseph._ God be thin help, spowse, it swemyth me sore,
    Thus febyly loggyd and in so pore degré,
  Goddys sone amonge bestys ffor to be bore;
    His woundyr werkys ffulfyllyd must be!
  In an hous that is desolat, withowty any walle,
    ffyer nor wood non here is.
  _Maria._ Joseph, myn husbond, abydyn here I xal,
    ffor here wyl be born the kynges sone of blys!
  _Joseph._ Now, jentyll wyff, be of good myrthe,
    And if ȝe wyl owght have, telle me what ȝe thynk;
  I xal not spare for schep nor derthe,—
    Now telle me ȝour lust of mete and drynk.
  _Maria._ ffor mete and drynk lust I ryght nowth,
    Allemyghty God my fode xal be!
  Now that I am in chawmere brought,
    I hope ryght welle my chylde to se.
  Therfore husbond, of ȝour honesté,
    Avoyd ȝow hens out of this place;
  And I alone, with humylité,
    Here xal abyde Goddys hyȝ grace.
  _Joseph._ Alleredy, wyff, ȝow for to plese
    I wyl go hens out of ȝour way;
  And seke sum mydwyvys ȝow for to ese,
    Whan that ȝe travayle of childe this day.
  ffarewelle, trewe wyff, and also clene may,
    God be ȝour comforte in Trinyté!
  _Maria._ To God in hevyn for ȝow I pray,
    He ȝow preserve wherso ȝe be!

_Hic dum Joseph est absens parit Maria filium unigenitum._

  _Joseph._ Now God, of whom comythe the alle releffe,
    And as alle grace in the is grownde,
  So save my wyff from hurt and greffe,
    Tyl I sum mydwyvys for here have fownde!
  Travelynge women in care be bownde,
    With grete throwys whan thei do grone;
  God, helpe my wyff that sche not swownde!
    I am ful sory sche is alone.

  It is not convenient a man to be
    Ther women gon in travalynge;
  Wherfore sum mydwyff ffayn wold I se,
    My wyff to helpe that is so ȝenge.
  _ȝelomy._ Why makyst thou man suche mornyng?
    Telle me sumdele of ȝour gret mone.
  _Joseph._ My wyf is now in gret longynge,
    Travelyng of chylde, and is alone:
  ffor Godys love that sytt in trone,
    As ȝe, mydwyvys, that kan ȝour good,
  Help my ȝonge spowse in hast anone,—
    I drede me sore of that fayr food.
  _Salome._ Be of good chere and of glad mood,
    We ij. mydwyvys with the wylle go;
  Ther was nevyr woman in suche plyght stood,
    But we were redy here help to do.

  My name is Salomee, alle men me knowe
    ffor a mydwyff of wurthy fame;
  Whan women travayl, grace doth growe,
    Ther as I come I had nevyr shame.
  _ȝelomye._ And I am ȝelomye, men knowe my name;
    We tweyn with the wyl go togedyr,
  And help thi wyff fro hurt and grame;
    Come forthe, Joseph, go we streythe thedyr.
  _Joseph._ I thank ȝow, damys, ȝe comforte my lyff,
    Streyte to my spowse walke we the way.
  In this pore logge lyght Mary my wyff;
    Hyre for to comforte, gode frendys, asay.
  _Salome._ We dare not entre this logge in fay,
    Ther is therin so gret bryghtnes,—
  Mone be nyght nor sunne be day
    Shone nevyr so clere in ther lyghtnesse.
  _ȝelomye._ Into this hous dare I not gon,
    The woundyrffulle lyght doth me affray.
  _Joseph._ Than wyl myself gon in alon,
    And chere my wyff, if that I may;
  Alle heyl, maydon and wyff, I say!
    How dost thou fare? telle me thi chere!
  The for to comforte in gesyne this day,
    Tweyn gode mydwyvis I have brought here.
  The for to helpe that art in harde bonde,
    ȝelomye and Salomee be come with me,—
  ffor dowte of drede withowte thei do stond,
    And dare not come in for lyght that they se.

_Hic Maria subridendo dicat, Maria._

  _Maria._ The myght of the Godhede in his magesté
    Wyl not be hyd now at this whyle;
  The chylde that is born wyl preve his modyr fre,
    A very clene mayde, and therfore I smyle.
  _Joseph._ Why do ȝe lawghe, wyff? ȝe be to blame;
    I pray ȝow, spowse, do no more so;
  In happ the mydwyvys wyl take it to grame,
    And at ȝour nede helpe wele non do.
  Iff ȝe have nede of mydwyvys, lo!
    Peraventure thei wyl gon hens:
  Therfor be sad and ȝe may so,
    And wynnyth alle the mydwyvis good diligens.
  _Maria._ Husbond, I pray ȝow dysplese ȝow nowth,
    Thow that I lawghe and gret joye have;
  Here is the chylde this werde hath wrought,
    Born now of me, that alle thynge xal save.
  _Joseph._ I aske ȝow grace, for I dyde rave!
    O gracyous childe, I aske mercy!
  As thou art Lord and I but knave,
    fforȝeve me now my gret foly!

  Alas! mydwyvis, what have I seyd?
    I pray ȝow come to us more nere;
  ffor here I fynde my wyff a mayd,
    And in here arme a chylde hath here.
  Bothe mayd and modyr sche is in ffere,
    That God wole have may nevyr more fayle;
  Modyr on erthe was nevyr non cler,
    Withowth sche had in byrthe travayle.
  _ȝelomy._ In byrth travayle muste sche nedys have,
    Or ellys no chylde of here is born.
  _Joseph._ I pray ȝow, dame, and ȝe vowchesave,
    Com se the chylde my wyff beforn.
  _Salome._ Grete God be in this place!
    Swete systyr, how fare ȝe?
  _Maria._ I thank the fadyr of his hyȝ grace,
    His owyn son and my chylde here ȝe may se.
  _ȝelomye._ Alle heyl, Mary, and ryght good morn!
    Who was mydwyfe of this ffayr chylde?
  _Maria._ He that nothynge wyl have forlorne
    Sent me this babe, and I mayde mylde.
  _ȝelomye._ With honde lete me now towche and fele,
    Yf ȝe have nede of medycyne;
  I xal ȝow comforte and helpe ryght wele,
    As other women, yf ȝe have pyne.
  _Maria._ Of this fayr byrthe that here is myn,
    Peyne nere grevynge fele I ryght non!
  I am clene mayde and pure virgyn,
    Tast with ȝour hand ȝourself alon.

_Hic palpat ȝelomye beatam virginem, dicens_,

  _ȝelomy._ O myghtfulle God, have mercy on me!
    A merveyle that nevyr was herd beforn!
  Here opynly I fele and se
    A fayr chylde of a maydon is borne,
  And nedyth no waschynge, as other don,—
    fful clene and pure forsothe is he;
  Withoutyn spott or ony polucyon,
    His modyr nott hurte of virgynité!

  Coom nere, gode systyr Salome,
    Beholde the brestys of this clene mayd,
  fful of fayr mylke how that thei be,
    And hyre chylde clene, as I fyrst sayd;
  As other ben nowth fowle arayd,
    But clene and pure, bothe modyr and chylde;
  Of this matyr I am dysmayd
    To se them bothe thus undefyled.
  _Salome._ It is not trewe; it may nevyr be
    That both be clene, I cannot beleve:
  A maydes milke never man dyde se,
    Ne woman here chylde withowte grett greve.

  I xal nevyr trowe it, but I it preve,
    With hand towchynge but I assay;
  In my conscience it may nevyr cleve,
    The sche hath chylde and is a may.
  _Maria._ ȝow for to putt clene out of dowth,
    Towche with ȝour hand and wele asay:
  Wysely ransake and trye the trewthe owth,
    Whethyr I be fowlyd, or a clene may.

_Hic tangit Salomee Mariæ, et cum arescerit manus ejus ulverando, et,
quasi flendo, dicit_,

  _Salomee._ Alas! alas! and weleawaye!
    ffor my grett dowth and fals beleve,
  Myne hand is ded and drye as claye!
    My fals untrost hath wrought myscheve!

  Alas! the tyme that I was born,
    Thus to offende aȝens Goddys myght!
  Myn handys power is now alle lorn,
    Styff as a stykke and may nowth plyght.
  ffor I dede tempte this mayde so bryght,
    And helde aȝens here pure clennes,
  In grett myscheff now am I pyght:
    Alas! alas! ffor my lewdnes.

  O lord of myght! thou knowyst the trowthe,
    That I have evyr had dred of the;
  On every power wryght evyr I have rowthe,
    And ȝove hem almes for love of the.
  Bothe wyff and wedowe that askyght for the,
    And frendles chylderyn that haddyn grett nede,
  I dude them cure and alle for the,
    And toke no rewarde of them nor mede.

  Now as a wrecche ffor fals beleve,
    That I shewyd in temptynge this mayde,
  My hand is ded and doth me greve!
    Alas! that evyr I here assyde.
  _Angelus._ Woman, thi sorwe to have delayde,
    Wurchep that childe that ther is born:
  Towche the clothis ther he is layde,
    ffor he xal save alle that is lorn!
  _Salomee._ O gloryous chylde, and kynge of blysse!
    I aske ȝow mercy for my trespace;
  I knowlege my synne, I demyd amys;
    O blyssyd babe, grawnt me sum grace!
  Of ȝow, mayde, also here in this place,
    I aske mercy, knelynge on kne;
  Moste holy mayde, grawnt me solace,
    Sum wurde of comforte sey now to me.
  _Maria._ As Goddys aungel to ȝow dede telle,
    My chylde is medecyn ffor every sor;
  Towche his clothis be my cowncelle,—
    ȝowre hand ful sone he wyl restor.

_Hic Salomee tangit fimbriam Christi, dicens_,

  _Salomee._ A! now blyssyd be this chylde evermore—
    The sone of God forsothe he is!
  Hath helyd myn hand, that was forlore
    Thorwe ffals beleve and demynge amys.
  In every place I xal telle this,
    Of a clene mayde that God is born:
  And in oure lyknes God now clad is,
    Mankend to save that was forlorn.
  His modyr a mayde as sche was beforne,
    Natt fowle pollutyd, as other women be;
  But fayr and fresche, as rose on thorn,
    Lely wyte clene with pure virginyté.

  Of this blyssyd babe my leve now do I take,
    And also of ȝow, hyȝ modyr of blysse!
  Of this grett meracle more knowlege to make,
    I xal go telle it in iche place i-wys.
  _Maria._ ffarewel, good dame, and God ȝour wey wysse,
    In all ȝour jurnay God be ȝourspede;
  And of his hyȝ mercy that Lord so ȝow blysse,
    That ȝe nevyr offende more in word, thought, nor dede.
  _ȝelomy._ And I also do take my leve here,
    Of alle this blyssyd good company;
  Praynge ȝour grace, bothe fere and nere;
    On us to spede ȝour endles mercy.
  _Joseph._ The blyssyng of that Lord that is most myghty,
    Mote sprede on ȝow in every place,
  Of alle ȝour enmyes to have the victory,
    God that best may grawnt ȝow his grace! _Amen._




XVI. THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS.


_Angelus ad pastores dicit_, “Gloria in excelsis Deo.”

  Joye to God that sytt in hevyn,
    And pes to man on erthe grownde!
  A chylde is born benethe the levyn,
    Thurwe hym many ffolke xul be unbownde.
  Sacramentys ther xul be vij.,
    Wonnyn thorowe that childys wounde;
  Therfore I synge a joyful stevene,
    The flowre of frenchep now is founde!
            God that wonyght on hyȝ,
  He is gloryed mannys gost to wynne,
  He hath sent salve to mannys synne,
  Pes is comyn to mannys kynne,
            Thorwe Goddys hiȝe wysdam I saye.
  _Primus Pastor._ Maunfras, Maunfras, felawe myn,
  I saw a grett lyght with bryght shyne,
  ȝit saw I nevyr so mervely a syne,
            Shapyn upon the skyes.
  It is bryghtere than the sunne bem,
  It comyth ryght over alle this rem,
  Evyn above Bedleem,
            I saw it brenne thryes!
  _Secundus Pastor._ Thu art my brother Boosras,
  I have beholdyn the same pas,
  I trowe it is tokenynge of gras,
            That shynynge shewyght beforn!
  Balaam spak in prophesye,
  A lyght xuld shyne upon the skye,
  Whan a chylde of a mayd Marye
            In Bedleem were i-born.
  _Tertius Pastor._ Thow I make lytyl noyse of this,
  I am an herde man that hattyht sayyng amyce,
  I herde spekyng of a chylde of blyce,
            Of Moyses in his lawe.
  Of a mayd a child xuld be borne,
  On a tre he xuld be torn,
  Delyver folkys that arn forlorn,—
            The chylde xulde be slawe.
  _Primus pastor._ Balaam spake in prophecie,
  Out of Jacob xuld shyne a skye,
  Many ffolke he xulde bye
            With his bryght blood.
  Be that bryght blod that he xulde blede,
  He xal us brynge fro the develys drede,
  As a duke most dowty in dede,
            Thorwe his dethe on rode.
  _Secundus Pastor._ Amos spak with mylde methe,
  A frute swettere than bawmys brethe,
  His dethe xulde slen owre sowlys dethe,
            And drawe us alle from helle.
  Therfore suche lyght goth beforn,
  In tokyn that the childe is born,
  Whiche xal save that is forlorn,—
            As prophetys gonne spelle.
  _Tertius pastor._ Danyel the prophete thus gan speke,
  Wyse God from woo us wreke,
  Thi bryght hevyn thou to-breke,
            And medele the with a mayde.
  This prophecye is now spad,
  Cryst in our kende is clad,
  Therfore mankend may be glad,
            As prophetes beforn han seyd.
            “Gloria in excelsis deo,” _Cantent._
  _Primus Pastor._ Ey, ey! this was a wondyr note,
    That was now songyn above the sky!
  I have that voys, fful wele I wote,
    Thei songe _gle glo glory_.
  _Secundus Pastor._ Nay, so mot y the, so was it nowth,
    I have that songe fful wele I num,
  In my wytt weyl it is wrought:—
    It was _gle glo glas glum_.
  _Tertius Pastor._ The songe me thought it was glory;
    And aftyrwarde he seyd us to,—
  Ther is a chylde born xal be a prynce myghty,
    ffor to seke that chylde I rede we go.
  _Primus Pastor._ The prophecye of Boosdras is spedly sped;
  Now leyke we hens, as that lyght us lede:
  Myght we se onys that bryght on bed,
            Oure sorow it wolde unbynde.
  We xulde shadyr for no shoure,
  Buske us hens to Bedleem boure,
  To se that fayr fresche flowre,
            The mayde mylde in mynde.
  _Secundus Pastor._ Lete us ffolwe with alle oure myght,
  With songe and myrthe we xul us dyght,
  And wurchep with joye that wurthy wyght,
            That Lord is of mankynne.
  Lete us go fforthe fast on hye,
  And honowre that babe wurthylye,
  With merthe, songe, and melodye;
            Have do! this songe begynne!

_Tunc pastores cantabunt “Stella cæli extirpavit.” Quo facto, ibunt ad
querendum Christum._

  _Primus Pastor._ Heyle floure of floures, fayrest i-fownde!
    Heyle, perle peerles, prime rose of prise!
  Heyl, blome on hedde! we xul be unbownde
    with thi blody woundys and werkys fulle wyse.
  Heyl, God grettest, I grete the on grownde!
    The gredy devyl xal grone grysly as a gryse,
  Whan thou wynnyst this worlde with thi wyde wounde,
    And puttyst man to paradys with plenty of prys;
            To love the is my delyte.
  Heyl, floure and fre!
  Lyght from the Trynyté!
  Heyl, blyssyd mote thou be!
            Heyl, mayden, fayrest in syght!
  _Secundus Pastor._ Heyl, floure ovyr fflour fowndyn in fryght!
  Heyl, Cryst, kynde in oure kyth!
  Heyl, werker of wele to wonyn us wyth!
            Heyl wynner i-wys!
  Heyl, fformere and ffrende!
  Heyl, ffellere of the fende!
  Heyl, clad in oure kende!
            Heyl, prince of paradys!
  _Tertius pastor._ Heyl, Lord over lordys, that lyggyst ful lowe!
  Heyl, kynge ovyr kynges thi kynrede to knowe!
  Heyl, comely knyth the devyl to overthrowe!
            Heyl, flowre of alle!
  Heyl, werkere to wynne
  Bodyes bowndyn in synne!
  Heyl, in a bestys bynne,
            Be-stad in a stalle!
  _Joseph._ Herdys on hylle,
  Bethe not stylle,
  But seyth ȝour wylle,
            To many a man;
  How God is born,
  This mery morn,
  That is forlorn
            Fyndyn he can.
  _Secundus Pastor._ We xulle telle,
  Be dale and hylle,
  How harwere of helle
            Was born this nyght,
  Myrthis to melle,
  And fendys to quelle,
  That were so felle
            Aȝens his ryght.
  _Secundus Pastor._ ffarewel, babe and barne of blys!
  ffarewel, Lord that lovely is!
  The to wurchep thi feet I kys;
            On knes to the I falle.
  The to wurchepe I falle on kne,
  Alle this werd may joye of the!
  Now farewel, Lord of grett pousté!
            ȝa, farewel, kynge of alle.
  _Tertius Pastor._ Thow I be the last that take my leve,
  ȝit fayre mullynge, take it nat at no greve;
  Now, fayre babe, wele mut thou cheve!
            ffayr chylde, now have good day.
  ffareweyl, myn owyn dere derlyng:
  I-wys thou art a ryght fayr thyng!
  ffarewel, my Lorde and my swetyng!
            ffarewel, born in pore aray!
  _Maria._ Now, ȝe herdmen, wel mote ȝe be,
    ffor ȝoure omage and ȝour syngynge:
  My sone xal aqwyte ȝow in hefne se,
    And ȝeve ȝow alle ryght good hendynge! _Amen._




XVII. ADORATION OF THE MAGI.


  _Herode._ As a lord in ryalté in non regyon so ryche,
    And rulere of alle remys, I ryde in ryal aray;
  Ther is no lord of lond in lordchep to me lyche,
    Non lofflyere, non lofsumere,—evyr lestyng is my lay:
  Of bewté and of boldnes I bere evermore the belle;
    Of mayn and of myght I master every man;
  I dynge with my dowtynes the devyl down to helle,
    ffor bothe of hevyn and of herthe I am kynge sertayn.

  I am the comelyeste kynge clad in gleteringe golde,
    ȝa, and the semelyeste syre that may bestryde a stede;
  I welde att my wylle alle wyghtes upon molde,—
    ȝa, and wurthely I am wrappyd in a wurthy wede.
  ȝe knyghtes so comely, bothe curteys and kene,
    To my paleys wyl I passe, fulle prest I ȝow plyth;
  ȝe dukys so dowty, ffolwe me be-dene
    Onto my ryal paleys, the wey lyth ful ryght.

  Wyghtly fro my stede I skyppe down in hast,—
    To myn heyȝ hallys I haste me in my way;
  ȝe mynstrelle of myrthe, blowe up a good blast,
    Whylle I go to chawmere and chaunge myn array.
  _Primus Rex._ Heyl be the kynges tweyne,
  fferre rydyng out of ȝour regne!
  Me thynkyth be ȝour presentes seyne,
            ȝe sekyn oure Savyour.
  ffro Saba have I folwyd fferre
  The glemynge of ȝon gay sterre;
  A chyldys blood xal bye us dere,
            That ther is born in bestes boure.

  My name is kynge Baltaȝare,
  Of prophetys speche I am ware,
  Therfore a fferre wey I fare,
            A maydenys childe to seche.
  ffor he made man of the moolde,
  And is kynge of hevyn holde,—
  I wyl hym offere the rede golde,
            As reson wyl me teche.

  _Secundus Rex._ Melchiȝar that my name is kydde,
  In hote love myn herte is hydde,
  To the blosme upon his bedde
            Born by bestes bynne.
  In Tarys I am kynge with crowne,
  By bankys and brymmys browne,
  I have travaylid by many a towne,
            My Lordys love to wynne.

  I seke hym with ensens sote,
  Of alle prestys he xall be rote,
  His bryght blood xal be oure bote,
            To brynge us out of bonde.
  The childe xal be chosyn a preste,
  In all vertuys ffownden meste;
  Beforn his faderes fayr breste
            Ensens he xal up sende.

  _Tercius rex._ In Ypotan and Archage
  I am kynge knowyn in kage,
  To seke a childe of semlant age
            I have faryn ryght fferre.
  Jasper is my name knowyn,
  In many countres that are myn owyn,
  Thorwe byttyr blastys that gyn blowyn,
            I stryke aftere the sterre.

  I brynge myrre to my present,
  A byttyr lycour verament,
  ffor he xal suffyr byttyr dent,
            In a maydonys flesche is clad.
  On byttyr tre he xal be bent,
  Man and God omnypotent,
  With byttyr betynge his fflesche be rent,
            Tyl alle his blood be bledde.

  _Herod._ Now I regne lyk a kynge areyd ful ryche,
    Rollyd in ryngges and robys of array;
  Dukys with dentys I dryve into the dyche,
    My dedys be ful dowty demyd be day.
  I xalle marryn tho men that belevyn amysse,
    And there in sette there sacramentes are I say;
  Theris no lorde in this werde that lokygh me lykei-wysse
    ffor to lame herytykk of the lesse lay.
            I am jolyere than the jay,
  Stronge thevys to steke,
  That wele oure lawys breke,
  On the wrecchis I wylle be wreke,
            And hont hem undyr hay.

  In kyrtyl of cammaka kynge am I cladde,
    Cruel and curryd in myn crowne knowe;
  I sytt here ondyr Sesar in my sette sadde,
    Sorwyn to sottys suche sede wytt I sowe.
  Boys now blaberyn bostynge of a baron bad,
    In Bedlem is born be bestys, suche bost is blowe;
  I xal prune that paddok and prevyn hym as a pad,
    Scheldys and sperys shalle I there sowe;
            My knyghtes xalle rydyn on a rowe,
  Knave and chylderyn ffor to qwelle,
  Be Mahound, dyng ne duke of helle,
  Sowre deth his lyff xalle selle,
            Suche threttes wolde me overthrowe.

  Styward bolde,
  Walke thou on mowlde,
  And wysely beholde
            Alle abowte;
  Iff any thynge
  Shuld greve the kynge,
  Brynge me tydydge,
            If there be ony dowte.

  _Senescallus._ Lord, kynge in crowne,
  I go fro towne,
  By bankys browne
            I wylle abyde;
  And with erys lyste,
  Est and west,
  If any geste
            On grownde gynnyth glyde.

_Tunc ibit senescallus et obviabit tribus regibus et dicit eis_

  Kynges iij.,
  Undyr this tre,
  In this countré
            Why wylle ȝe abyde?
  Herowde is kynge
  Of this wonynge,
  Onto his dwellynge
            Now xul ȝe glyde.

  _Primus Rex._ Nowe lede us alle
  To the kynges halle,
  How it befalle,
            We pray to the.
  Wyttys to wete
  He may us pete,
  In flesshe be glete,
            Godys frute fre.

  _Senescallus._ ffolwith in stownde
  Upon this grownde,
  To the castel rownde,
            I xal ȝow teche
  Were kynge wonyt wyde,
  Up in this tyde,
  In pompe and pryde,
            His myght gynnyth reche.

  Sere kyng in trone,
  Here comyth anone
  By strete and stone
            Kynges thre.
  They bere present,—
  What thei have ment,
  Ne whedyr they arn bent,
            I cannot se.

  _Herodes rex._ I xal hem crave
  What they have;
  Iff they rave,
            Or waxyn wood,
  I xal hem reve
  Here wyttys deve,
  Here hedys cleve,
            And schedyn here blood.

  _Primus rex._ Heyl be thou kynge in kage ful hye,
  Heyl, we nyghe thin halle ryght nye!
  Knowyst thou ought that chylde slye
            He is born here abowth?
  He is born of a mayd ȝynge,
  He xal be kynge over every kynge,
  We go to seke that lovely thynge,—
            To hym ffayn wolde I lowth.

  _Secundus rex._ Balaam spake in prophecye,
  A sterre xulde ful lovelye
  Lythtyn upon mayd Marye,
            Comyn of Jacobys kynne.
  The childe is born, and lythe here by,
  Blomyd in a madenys body,
  A sterre hath strekyn upon the sky
            And ledde us fayr be fenne.

  _Tertius rex._ The sterre hath ledde us out of the Est,
  To seke a baroun born best;
  He xal be kynge of myghtes mest,
            As prophecy gynnyth spelle.
  We be kynges in wey wery;
  Syr kynge, ffor thi curtesy,
  Telle us to that childe so lovely,
            In what towne gynnyth he dwelle.

  _Herodes rex._ ȝe thre kynges rekenyd be rowe,
  Ley now downe ȝour wurdys lowe,
  Suche a carpynge is unknowe,
            Onrekenyd in my regne.
  I am a kynge of hyȝ degré,
  Ther xal non ben above me,
  I have florens and fryhthis fre,
            Parkys and powndes pleyne.

  But goth to fynde that ȝe seche,
  And yf ȝe knowe suche a leche,
  And ȝe hym fynde, I ȝow beseche,
            Comyth aȝen be me.
  And I xal be bothe blythe and do bowne,
  That alle worchep to hym be done,
  With reverens I xal seke hym sone,
            And honor hym on kne.

  And, therfore, kynges, I ȝow pray,
  Whan ȝe have don ȝour jurnay;
  Come aȝen this same way.
            The trewthe to me to telle.
  Come and telle me as ȝe spede,
  And I xal qwyte ryght wel ȝour mede,
  With gold and tresour and ryche wede,
            With furres ryche and wurth pelle.

  _Primus Rex._ Kynge have good day,
  I go my way,
            To seche
  Lord of myght,—
  He xal be ryght
            Oure leche.

  _Secundus Rex._ Kynge fful sterne,
  Be felde and ferne,
            I goo
  To sekyn a kynge,—
  He takyth wonynge
            In woo.

  _Tertius Rex._ If we hym finde,
  Oure kynge ful kynde,
            Be a may,
  ffrom kynge and qwen,
  We comyn aȝen,
            This day.

_Transient._

  _Herodes Rex._ A! fy, fy, on talys that I have ben tolde,
    Here beforn my cruel kne;
  How xulde a barn wax so bolde,
    Be bestys yf he born be?
  He is yong and I am olde,
    An hardy kyng of hye degré;
  This daye tho kyngges xal be kold,
    If they cum ageyne be me.
            My goddes I xalle upreyse!
  A derke devylle with falsnese, I saye,
  Shalle cast a myst in the kyngges eye,
  Be bankes and be dalys drey,
            That be derk thei xalle cum this weyes.

  _Primus Rex._ Go we to sek owr lorde and our lech,
    Yon stere wille us teche the weyis ful sone,
  To save us from myschyff God I here besech,
  Onto his joyn that we may rech,—
    I pray hem of this bone!

_Tunc ibunt reges cum muneribus ad Jhesum et primus rex dicit_,

  Heyle be thou, kyng cold clade!
  Heylle, with maydynys mylk fade!
  Heylle, I cum to the with gold glade,
            As wese wrytyng here it record.
  Golde is the rycheste metalle,
  And to weryng most ryalle,
  Gold I gyff the in this halle,
            And know the for my Lorde.

  _Secundus rex._ Lorde, I knele upon my kne;
  Sote encence I offere to the,
  Thow xalte be the fyrst of hyȝ degré,
            None so mekelle of myght!
  In Goddes howse, as men xalle se,
  Thow xalt honor the Trynité,
  Iij. personys in oon Gode free,
            And alle oo lord of myght!

  _Tertius Rex._ Lorde, I knele downe be thy bede,
  In maydyns flesche thou arte hede,
  Thy name xal be wyde rede,
            And kyng over alle kynges.
  Byttyr myre to the I brynge,
  ffor byttyr dentes on the thei xalle dyng,
  And byttyr deth xalle be thi endyng,
            And therfor I make mornyng.

  _Maria._ Kyngges kynde,
  ffrome the fende
            God ȝow defende!
  Homwarde ȝe wende,
  And to your places ȝe lende,
            That ȝe xulde tende.

  _Primus rex._ Now have we the place fownde,
  To Herode go we this stownde,
  With owr wordes we were bownde,
            That we xulde cum ageyne.
  Go we a pace and sey owr speche,
  ffor we have fownde our Lorde and leche;
  Alle the truth we wylle hem teche,
            How the kyng is borne of a quene.

  _Secundus Rex._ Myn hede is hevy as lympe of leede,
  But yf I slepe, I am adrede
            My witt xalle fare the worse;
  I wax hevy in lyme and flanke,
  Downe I ley me upone this banke,
            Under this bryght sterre i-wys.

  _Tertius Rex._ Brother, I must lye the bye,
  I will go never over this stye
            Tylle I have a slepe.
  The yong kyng and his mother Mary,
  Save us alle from every velany!
            Now Cryst us save and kepe!

  _Primus rex._ Such hevynese have us cawght,
  I must drynk with ȝow a drawght,
            To slepe a lytyll whyle.
  I am hevy heed and footte,
  I xulde stumbylle at rescue and root,
            And I xulde goo a myle.

_Hic dormiunt reges, et venit angelus, et dicit eis._

  _Angelus._ ȝe kyngges on this hille,
  Werk ȝe not aftyr Herodes wylle,
  For yf ȝe do, he wylle yow kylle
            This day or nyght.
  My lorde ȝow sent this tydyng,
  To rest yow knygges in rych clothyng,
  And whan ȝe rysyn and goo to your dwellyng,
            Tak home the wey fulle ryght.
  Whether that ȝe be wakyn or slepe,
  My lorde God xalle yow kepe,
  In goode tyme ȝe dede downe drepe
            To take ȝowr rest.
  Herowdys to the devyl he tryste,
  To marre ȝow in a thyrke myste,
  My lord God is ful of lyste,
            To glathe ȝow for his geste.

  And therfore, kynges, whan ȝe ryse,
  Wendyth forthe be weys wyse,
  Ther ȝour halle be sett in syse,
            In dyverse londe.
  The ffadyr of God in alle thynge
  Hath ȝow grawntyd his swete blyssynge,
  He xal ȝow save ffrom alle shendynge,
            With his ryght honde.

_Tunc surgant reges, et dicat_

  _Primus Rex._ A bryght sterre ledde us into Bedleem,—
  A bryghter thynge I saw in drem,
  Bryghtere than the sunne beeme,
            An aungelle I saw ryght here.
  The fayre floure that here gan falle,
  ffrom Herowdys kynge he gan us kalle,
  He taught us hom tylle our halle
            A wey by another mere.

  _Secundus Rex._ I sawghe a syght,
  Myn hert is lyght
            To wendyn home.
  God, fful of myght
  Hath us dyght
            ffro develys dome.

  _Tertius Rex._ Oure God I blysse,
  He sent us, i-wys
            His aungel bryght.
  Now we be wake,
  The wey to take
            Home fulle ryght.




XVIII. THE PURIFICATION.


  _Symeon Justus._ I have be prest in Jherusalem here,
    And tawth Goddys lawe many a ȝere,
  Desyrynge in alle my mende,
    That the tyme we neyhand nere,
  In whiche Goddys son xul apere,
    In erthe to take mankende.
  Or I deyd that I myght fynde,
    My Savyour with myn ey to se;
  But that it is so longe behynde,
    It is grett dyscomforte onto me.

  ffor I waxe olde and wante my myght,
    And begynne to fayle my syght,
  The more I sorwe this tyde;
    Save only, as I telle ȝow ryght,
  God of his grace hath me hyght,
    That blysful byrth to byde;
  Wherfore now here besyde,
    To Sancta Sanctorum wyl I go,
  To pray God to be my gyde,
    To comfort me aftyr my wo.

_Here Symeon knelyth and seyth_,

  A! gode God in Trinité!
    Whow longe xal I abyde the,
  Tyl that thou son thou doth sende,
    That I in erthe myght hym se?
  Good Lord, consydyr to me,
    I drawe fast to an ende;
  That or my strenthis fro me wende,
    Gode Lorde, send dow thi son,
  That I with my ful mende,
    Myght wurcheppe hym, if I con.

  Bothe with my fete and hondys to,
  To go to hym and handele also,
            My eyn to se hym in certayn.
  My tonge for to speke hym to,
  And alle my lemys to werk and do,
            In his servyse to be bayn.
  Send forth thi son, my Lord sovereyn,
    Hastely anon withowte teryenge;
  ffor fro this world I wolde be ffayn,—
    It is contrary to my levynge.

  _Angelus._ Symeon, leff thi careful stevene,
  ffor thi prayer is herd in hevene;
            To Jherusalem ffast now wynne.
  And ther xalt se ful evene,
  He that is Goddys son ffor to nevene,
            In the templ ther thou dwellyst inne.
  The darknes of orygynal synne,
    He xal make lyght and clarefye;
  And now the dede xal begynne,
    Whiche hath be spokyn be prophecye.

  _Symeon._ A! I thank the, Lord of grace,
  That hath grauntyd me tyme and space,
            To lyve and byde thys!
  And I wyl walk now to the place,
  Where I may se thi sonys face,
            Whiche is my joye and blys.
  I was nevyr lyghtere i-wys,
    To walke nevyr here beforn;
  ffor a mery tyme now is,
    Whan God my lord is born.

  _Anna Prophetessa._ Al heyl, Symeon! what tydynges with ȝow?
  Why make ȝe al this myrth now?
            Telle me whedyr ȝe fare.
  _Symeon._ Anne prophetes, and ȝe wyst whou,
  So xulde ȝe, I make avow,
            And alle maner men that are.
  ffor Goddys son, as I declare,
    Is born to bye mankende;
  Oure Savyour is come to sesyn oure care;
    Therfore have I grett merthe to wende.

  And that is the cawse I hast me
  Onto the temple hym to se;
            And therfor lett me not, good frende!
  _Anna._ Now blyssyd be God in Trinyté,
  Syn that tyme is come to be,
            And with ȝow wyl I wende.
  To se my Savyour ende,
    And wurcheppe hym also,
  With alle my wytt and my ful mende,
    As I am bound, now wyl I do.

_Et tunc ibunt ambo ad templum et prophetissa_,

  _Symeon._ In the temple of God who undyrstod,
  This day xal be offeryd with mylde mood,
            Whiche that is kynge of alle;
  That xal be skorgyd and shedde his blood,
  And aftyr dyen on the rood,
            Withowtyn cawse to calle.
  ffor whos passyon ther xal beffalle,
    Swyche a sorwe bothe sharpe and smerte;
  That a swerd perce it xalle,
    ȝevene thorwe his moderys herte.

  _Anna._ ȝa, that xal be, as I wel fynde,
  ffor redempcion of alle mankende,
            That blysse ffor to restore.
  Whiche hath be lost fro oute of mende,
  As be oure fadyr of oure owyn kende,
            Adam and Eve beffore.

  _Maria._ Joseph my husbond withowtyn mys,
  ȝe wote that ffourty days nere is,
            Sythe my sonys byrth fful ryght;
  Wherfore we must to the temple i-wys,
  Therfor to offre oure sone of blys,
            Up to his fadyr in hyght.
  And I in Goddys syght,
    Puryfyed ffor to be;
  In clene sowle with al my myght,
    In presence of the Trinyté.

  _Joseph._ To be purefyed have ȝe no nede,
    Ne thi son to be offryd, so God me spede;
            ffor fyrst thou art ful clene,
  Undefowlyd in thought and dede;
  And anothyr, thi son withowtyn drede,
            Is God and man to mene.
  Wherefore it nedyd not to bene,
    But to kepe the lawe on Moyses wyse;
  Wherefore we xal take us betwene
    Dowys and turtelys ffor sacrefyce.

_Et ibunt ad templum._

  _Symeon._ Alle heyl, my kyndely comfortour!
  _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, mankyndys creditour!
  _Symeon._ Alle heyl, thou God of myght!
  _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, mankyndys savyour!
  _Symeon._ Alle heyl, bothe kynge and emperour!
  _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, as it is ryght!
  _Symeon._ Alle heyl, also, Mary bryght!
  _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, salver of seknes!
  _Symeon._ Alle heyl, lanterne of lyght!
  _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, thou modyr of mekenes!

  _Maria._ Symeon, I undyrstand and se,
  That bothyn of my sone and me
            ȝe have knowynge clere;
  And also in ȝour compané
  My sone desyryth for to be;—
            And therffore have hym here.

_Et accipiet Jhesum._

  _Symeon._ Welcome, prynce withowte pere!
    Welcome, Goddys owyn sone!
  Welcome, my Lord so dere!
    Welcome, with me to wone!

_Suscepimus, Deus, misericordiam tuam._

  Lord God in magesté,
  We have receyvyd this day of the,
            In myddys of thi temple here,
  Thy grett mercy, as we may se.
  Therfore thi name of grett degré
            Be wurchepyd in alle manere,
  Over alle this werde, bothe fere and nere,
    ȝevyn onto the unterest ende!
  ffor now is man owt of daungere,
    And rest and pes to alle mankende.

_“Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine, et cætera.” The psalme song ther
every vers, and ther qwyle Symeon pleyeth with the child, and qwhan the
psalme is endyd, he seyth_,

  Now lete me dye, Lord, and hens pace!
  ffor I thi servaunt in this place
            Have sen my Savyour dere;
  Whiche thou hast ordeyned beforn the face
  Of al mankynde, this tyme of grace,
            Opynly to appere.
  That lyth is shynand clere,
    To alle mankyndys savacion;
  Mary, take ȝour childe now here,
    And kepe wel this manis savacion.

  _Anna prophetissa._ Ne I rowth nere to dye also,
  ffor more than ffowre skore ȝere and to
            This tyme hath bede to se.
  And sythe that it is come therto,
  What Goddys wyl is with me to do,
            Ryght ȝeven so mot it be.
  _Joseph._ Take here these candelys thre,—
    Mary, Symeon, and Anne;
  And I xal take the fowrte to me,
    To offre oure childe up thanne.

  _Maria._ Hyest ffadyr, God of powere!
  ȝour owyn dere son I offre ȝow here,
            As I to ȝour lawe am sworn.
  Receyve thi childe in glad manere,
  For he is the fyrst, this childe so dere,
            That of his modyr is born.
  But ȝow I offre hym ȝow beforn,
    Good Lord, ȝit ȝyf me hym aȝen!
  ffor my comforte were fully lorn,
    If we xulde longe a-sondyr ben.

_Mari leyth the childe on the autere._

  _Joseph._ Sere prest of the temple, now
  Have he ffyffe pens unto ȝow,
            Oure childe aȝen to take.
  _Capellanus._ It is the lawe, as ȝe woot how,
  Joseph, ȝe an do rygh a-now,
            As for ȝour childys sake.
  But othere offerynge ȝett must ȝe make;
    And therfore take ȝour sone, Mary!
  In meche joye ȝe may awake,
    Whylys he is in ȝour company.

  _Maria._ Therto I am ful glad and fayn,
  ffor to receyve my childe agayn,
            Ellys were I to blame.
  And afterewarde ffor to be bayn,
  To offre to God in ful certayn,
            As in my sonys name,
  With ffowlys bothe wylde and tame,—
    ffor in Goddys servyse I xal nevyr irke.
  _Joseph._ Lo! Mary, have here tho same,
    To do thi dewtys of holy kyrke.

_And ther Mary offeryth ffowlys onto the autere, and seyth_,

  _Maria._ Allemyghtyfful fadyr, mercyful kynge!
  Receyvyth now this lytyl offrynge,
            ffor it is the fyrst in degré,
  That ȝour lytyl childe so ȝynge,
  Presentyth to day be my shewyng,
            To ȝour hyȝ magesté,
  Of his sympyl poverté,
    Be his devocion and my good wylle;
  Upon ȝour awtere receyve of me,
    ȝour sonys offrynge, as it is skylle!




[Illustration: Fac Simile from the MS. of the Coventry Mysteries Mus.
Brit. Coit. Vesp. D VIII. fol. 100, vᵒ (printed ed. p. 178.)

_J. Netherclift fac-sim: Lithog:_]




XIX. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS.


_Tunc respiciens senescallus vadit ad Herodem dicens_,

  _Senescallus._ Lord, I have walkyd be dale and hylle,
  And wayted, as it is ȝour wylle;
  The kynges iij. stelyn awey fulle stylle,
            Thorwe Bedleem londe.
  They wyl nevyr, so mot y the,
  Come in the lond of Galylé,
  ffor to se ȝour fay ceté,
            Ne dedys of ȝour honde.

  _Herodes Rex._ I ryde on my rowel ryche in my regne,
    Rybbys fful reed with rape xal I sende;
  Popetys et paphawkes I xal puttyn in peyne,
    With my spere prevyn, pychyn, and to-pende.
  The gowys with gold crownys gete thei nevyr ageyn,
    To seke tho sottys sondys xal I sende;
  Do howlott howtyn hoberd and heyn,
    Whan here barnys blede undyr credyl bende;
            Sharply I xal hem shende!
  The knave childeryn that be
  In alle Israel countré,
  Thei xul have blody ble,
            ffor on I calde unkende.

  It is tolde in Grw,
  His name xulde be Jhesu
            I-fownde.
  To have hym ȝe gon,
  Hewe the flesche with the bon,
            And gyff hym wownde!
  Now kene knyghtes, kythe ȝour craftys,
    And kyllyth knave chylderyn and castyth hem in clay;
  Shewyth on ȝour shulderes scheldys and schaftys,
    Shapyht amonge schel chowthys ashyrlyng shray;
  Doth rowncys rennyn with rakynge raftys,
    Tyl rybbys be to rent with a reed ray;
  Lete no barne beleve on bete baftys,
    Tyl a beggere blede be bestys baye
            Mahound that best may;
  I warne ȝow my knyghtes,
  A barn is born I plyghtys,
  Wolde clymbyn kynge and kyknytes,
            And lett my lordly lay.

  Knyghtys wyse,
  Chosyn ful chyse,
  Aryse! aryse!
            And take ȝour tolle!
  And every page
  Of ij. ȝere age,
  Or evyr ȝe swage,
            Sleythe ilke a fool.

  On of hem alle
  Was born in stalle,
  ffolys hym calle
            Kynge in crowne.
  With byttyr galle,
  He xalle down falle,—
  My myght in halle
            Xal nevyr go down.

  _Primus miles._ I xall sle scharlys,
  And qwenys with therlys,
  Here knave gerlys,
            I xal steke.
  fforthe wyl I spede,
  To don hem blede,
  Thow gerlys grede,
            We xul be wreke.

  _Secundus miles._ ffor swerdys sharpe,
  As an harpe,
  Quenys xul karpe,
            And of sorwe synge.
  Barnys ȝonge,
  They xul be stunge,—
  Thurwe levyr and lunge
            We xal hem stynge.

  _Angelus._ Awake, Joseph, and take thi wyff,
  Thy childe also ryd be-lyff!
  ffor kynge Herowde, with sharpe knyff
            His knyghtes he doth sende.
  The Fadyr of hevyn hath to the sent,
  Into Egypte that thou be bent,
  ffor cruel knyghtes thi childe have ment
            With swerd to sle and shende.

  _Joseph._ Awake, good wyff, out of ȝour sleepe,
  And of ȝour childe takyght good kepe,
  Whyl I ȝour clothis ley on hepe,
            And trus hem on the asse.
  Kynge Herowde the chylde wyl scloo,
  Therfore to Egypte muste we goo,
  An aungel of God seyd me soo,
            And therfore lete us passe.

_Tunc ibunt milites ad pueros occidendos, et dicat prima fæmina_,

  _Prima fæmina._ Longe lullynge have I lorn!
  Alas! qwhy was my baron born?
  With swappynge swerde now is he shorn
            The heed ryght fro the nekke!
  Shanke and shulderyn is al to-torn,
  Sorwyn I se behyndyn and beforn,
  Both mydnyth, mydday, and at morn,—
            Of my lyff I ne recke.

  _Secunda fæmina._ Serteynly I say the same,
  Gon is alle my good game,
  My lytylle childe lyth alle lame,
            That lullyd on my pappys!
  My ffourty wekys gronynge
  Hath sent me sefne ȝere sorwynge,
  Mykyl is my mornynge,
            And ryght hard arne myn happys!

  _Primus miles._ Lorde in trone
  Makyght no mone,
  Qwenys gyn grone
            In werld aboute.
  Upon my spere
  A gerle I bere,
  I dare welle swere,
            Lett moderes howte.

  _Secundus miles._ Lord, we han spad,
  As ȝe bad;
  Barnis ben blad,
            And lyne in dyche.
  fflesche and veyn
  Han tholyd peyn,
  And ȝe xul reyne
            Evermore ryche.

  _Herodes Rex._ ȝe xul have stedys
  To ȝour medys,
  Londys and ledys,
            ffryth and ffe.
  Wele have ȝe wrought,
  My ffo is sought,
  To deth is he brought,—
            Now come up to me.

  In sete now am I sett, as kynge of myghtys most,
    Alle this werd ffor ther love to me xul thei lowt;
  Bothe of hevyn, and of erthe, and of helle cost,
    ffor dygne of my dygnyté thei have of me dowt.
  Ther is no lord lyke on lyve to me wurthe a toost,
    Nether kyng nor kayser in alle this world abought;
  If any brybour do bragge or blowe aȝens my bost,
    I xal rappe tho rebawdys and rake them on rought,
            With my bryght bronde.
  Ther xal be neyther kayser nere kynge,
  But that I xal hem down dynge,
  Lesse than he at my byddynge
            Be buxum to myn honde.

  Now, my jentylle and curteys knyghtes, herke to me this stownde,
    Good tyme sone me thynkyghe at dyner that we were;
  Smertly therfore sett a tabylle anon here fful sownde,
    Coverid with a coryous clothe and with ryche wurthy fare;
  Servyse ffor the lovelyest lorde that levynge is on grownde,
    Beste metes, and wurthyest wynes, loke that ȝe non spare;
  Thow that a lytyl pynt xulde coste a mˡ. pownde,
    Brynge alwey of the beste, for coste take ȝe no care,—
            Anon that it be done.
  _Senescallus._ My lorde, the tabyl is redy dyght;
  Here is watyr, now wasche forth ryght!
  Now blowe up mynstralle with alle ȝour myght!
            The servyse comyth in sone.

  _Herodes._ Now am I sett at mete,
    And wurthely servyd at my degré;
  Com forthe knyghtes, sytt down and ete,
    And be as mery as ȝe kan be.
  _Primus Miles._ Lord, at ȝowre byddynge we take oure sete,
    With herty wyl obey we the;
  Ther is no lord of myght so grett,
    Thorwe alle this werde in no countré,
            In wurchepp to abyde!
  _Herodes._ I was nevyr meryer here beforn,
  Suthe that I was fyrst born,
  Than I am now ryght in this morn,—
            In joy I gynne to glyde.

  _Mors._ Ow! I herde a page make preysyng of pride,
    Alle prynces he passyth, he wenyth, of powsté;
  He wenyth to be the wurthyest of alle this werde wyde,—
    Kynge ovyr alle kynges that page wenyth to be.
  He sent into Bedlem, to seke on every syde,
    Cryst for to qwelle, yf thei myght hym se;
  But of his wykkyd wyl lurdeyn ȝitt he lyede,
    Goddys sone doth lyve,—ther is no Lord but he!
            Over alle lordys he is kynge!
  I am Dethe, Goddys masangere!
  Allemyghty God hath sent me here,
  ȝon lordeyn to sle, withowtyn dwere,
            ffor his wykkyd workynge.
  I am sent fro God, Deth is my name!
    Alle thynge that is on grownd I welde at my wylle;
  Bothe man and beste, and byrdys, wylde and tame,
    Whan that I come them to, with deth I do them kylle.
  Erbe, gres, and tres stronge, take hem alle in same;
    ȝa, the grete myghty okys with my dent I spylle;
  What man that I wrastele with, he xal ryght sone have schame, —
    I ȝeve him suche a trepett, he xal evyr more ly stylle,
            ffor deth kan no sporte.
  Wher I smyte, ther is no grace,
  ffor aftere my strook man hath no space
  To make amendys ffor his trespace,
            But God hym graunt comforte.

  Ow! se how prowdely ȝon kaytyff sytt at mete!
    Of deth hath he no dowte, he wenyth to leve evyrmore;
  To hym wyl I go, and ȝeve hym suche an hete,
    That alle the lechis of the londe his lyf xul nevyr restore:
  Aȝens my dredful dentys it vaylyth nevyr to plete,
    Or I hym part fro I xal hym make ful pore;
  Alle the blood of his body I xal hym owt swete,
    ffor now I go to sle hym with strokys sad and sore,
            This tyde.
  Bothe hym and his knyghtes alle,
  I xal hem make to me but thralle,
  With my spere sle him I xalle,
            And so cast down his pride.

  _Herodes Rex._ Now, kende knyghtes, be mery and glad!
    With alle good diligens shewe now sum myrthe!
  ffor, be gracyous Mahound, more myrthe never I had,
    Ne nevyr more joye was inne from tyme to tyme of my byrthe;
  ffor now my fo is ded and prendyd as a padde,
    Above me is no kynge on grownd nere on gerthe!
  Merthis therfore make ȝe, and be ryght nothynge sadde;
    Spare nether mete nor drynke, and spare for no dyrthe
            Of wyne nor of brede.
  ffor now am I a kynge alone,
  So wurthy as I may ther be none,
  Therfore knyghtes be mery echone,
            ffor now my ffo is dede!

  _Primus Miles._ Whan the boys sprawlyd at my sperys hende,
    By Sathanas, oure syre, it was a goodly syght!
  A good game it was the boy for to shende,
    That wolde a bene oure kynge and put ȝow from ȝour ryght.
  _Secundus Miles._ Now trewly, my lorde the kynge, we had ben unkende,
    And nevyr non of us able for to be a knyght;
  If that any of us to hem had ben a frende,
    And a savyd any lyff aȝen thi mekyl myght, —
            ffrom deth hem to flytt.
  _Herodes Rex._ Amonges alle that grett rowthte
  He is ded, I have no dowte,
  Therfore, menstrelle, rownd abowte
            Blowe up a mery fytt.

_Hic dum buccinant mors interficiat Herodem et duos milites subito, et
diabolus recipiat eos_,

  _Diabolus._ Alle oure! alle oure! this catel is myn!
    I xalle hem brynge onto my celle!
  I xal hem teche pleys fyn,
    And shewe suche myrthe as is in helle!
  It were more bettyr amonges swyne,
    That evyr more stynkyn ther be to dwelle;
  ffor in oure logge is so gret peyn,
    That non erthely tonge can telle:
            With ȝow I go my way.
  I xal ȝow here forthe with me,
  And shewe ȝow sportes of oure gle,
  Of oure myrthis now ȝal ȝe se,
            And evyr synge “welaway.”

  _Mors._ Off kynge Herowde alle men beware,
    That hath rejoycyd in pompe and pryde;
  ffor alle his boste of blysse ful bare,
    He lythe now ded here on his syde!
  ffor whan I come, I cannot spare,
    Fro me no whyht may hym hyde;
  Now is he ded and cast in care,
    In helle pytt evyr to abyde;
            His lordchep is al lorn.
  Now is he as pore as I,
  Wormys mete is his body,
  His sowle in helle ful peynfully
            Of develis is al to-torn.

  Alle men dwellyng upon the grownde,
    Beware of me, be myn councel;
  ffor feynt felachep in me is fownde, —
    I kan no curtesy, as I ȝow tel;
  ffor be a man nevyr so sownde,
    Of helthe in herte nevyr so wel,
  I come sodeynly within a stownde, —
    Me withstande may no castel,
            My jurnay wyl I spede.
  Of my comyng no man is ware,
  ffor whan men make most mery fare,
  Than sodeynly I cast hem in care,
            And sle them evyn indede.
  Thow I be nakyd and pore of array,
    And wurmys knawe me all abowte,
  ȝit loke ȝe drede me nyth and day,
    ffor whan deth comyth, ȝe stande in dowte;
  Evyn lyke to me, as I ȝow say,
    Shulle alle ȝe be here in this rowte;
  Whan I ȝow chalange at my day,
    I xal ȝow make ryght lowe to lowth,
            And nakyd for to be.
  Amonges wormys, as I ȝow telle,
  Undyr the erthe xul ȝe dwelle,
  And thei xul etyn bothe flesche and felle,
            As thei have don me.




XX. CHRIST DISPUTING IN THE TEMPLE.


_Modo de doctoribus disputantibus cum Jhesu in templo._

  _Primus doctor._ Scripturæ sacræ esse dinoscimur doctos,
    We to bere the belle of alle maner clergyse.
  _Secundus doctor._ Velud rosa omnium florum flos,
    Lyke onto us was nevyr clerke so wyse.
  _Primus doctor._ Loke what scyens ȝe kan devyse,
    Of redynge, wrytynge, and trewe ortografye;
  Amonges alle clerkys we bere the prysse,
    Of gramer, cadens, and of prosodye.
  _Secundus doctor._ No clerke abyl to bere oure book
    Of versyfyeng, nor of other scyens;
  Of swete musyke who so wylle look,
    Seke no ferther but to oure presens.
  Of dyaletyk we have the hyȝ excellence,
    Of sophestrye, logyk, and phylosophye;
  Ageyn oure argemente is no recystence,
    In metaphesyk ne astronomye.
  _Primus doctor._ Of calculacion and negremauncye,
    Also of augrym and of asmatryk;
  O[f] lynyacion that longyth to jematrye,
    Of dyetis and domys that longyth to phesyk;
  In alle this scyens is non us lyke,
    In Caton, Gryscysme, nor Doctrynal;
  And for endytynge with retoryke,
    The hyest degré is oure over alle.
  _Secundus doctor._ In grett canon and in cevyle lawe,
    Also in scyens of polycye,
  Is non to us wurthe an hawe,—
    Of alle cunnynge we bere the maystrye;
  Therfore in this temple we sytt on hye,
    And of most wurchep kepe the sovereynté;
  Ther is on erthe no man so wurthye
    The hyȝ stat to holdyn, as we tweyn be.

  _Jhesus._ Omnis sciencia a Domino Deo est:
    Al wytt and wysdam of God it is lent;
  Of alle ȝour lernynge withinne ȝour brest,
    Thank hyghly that Lord that hath ȝow sent;
  Thorwe bost and pryde ȝour soulys may be shent,
    Of wytt and wysdome ȝe have not so meche,
  But God may make, at hese entente,
    Of alle ȝour connynge many man ȝow leche.

  _Primus doctor._ Goo hom, lytyl babe, and sytt on thi moderes lappe,
    And put a mokador aforn thi brest;
  And pray thi modyr to fede the with the pappe,
    Of the for to lerne we desyre not to lest.
  _Secundus doctor._ Go to thi dyner, for that behovyth the best,
    Whan thou art a threste than take the a sowke;
  Aftyr go to cradyl therin to take thi rest,
    ffor that canst do bettyr than for to loke on book.

  _Jhesus._ Stondynge that ȝe be so wytty and wyse,
    Can ȝe owth tellyn how this werde was wrought?
  How longe xal it laste can ȝe devyse,
    With alle the cunnynge that ȝe han sought?
  _Primus doctor._ Nay alle erthely clerkys that telle can nought,
    It passyth oure wytt that for to contryve;
  It is not possyble abought to be brought,—
    The worldys endyng no man kan dyscryve.

  _Jhesus._ How it was wrought, and how longe it xal endure,
    That I can telle be good delyberacion;
  Not only therof, but of every creature,
    How it is wrought, I knowe the phasmacion.
  _Secundus doctor._ Of thi wurdys I have skorne and derysone;
    How schulde a chylde, that nevyr lettyr dyde lere,
  Com to the wytt of so hyȝ cognysion
    Of tho grete werkys that so wundyrfoille were?

  _Jhesus._ Alle thynge is brought to informacion,
    Be thre personys, oo God in Trynité!
  And on of tho thre hath take incarnation,
    Bothe flesche and blood of a mayd ffre;
  And be that myght of tho personys thre,
    Hevyn and erthe and alle thynge is wrought;
  And as it plesyth that hyȝ magesté,
    Alle thynge xal leste and lenger nowght.

  _Primus doctor._ I grawnt weyl alle thynge that God dyde make,
    And withowtyn hym nothynge may be;
  But o thynge thou seydyst, and that I forsake,
    That oo God alone was personys thre;
  Ryght onpossyble that is to me,
    That on is thre I kannot thynke:
  If thou canst preve it, anon lett se,
    ffor in oure hertys it may nevyr synke.

  _Jhesus._ In the sunne consydyr ȝe thynges thre,
    The splendure, the hete, and the lyght;
  As tho thre partys but oo sunne be,
    Ryght so thre personys be oo God of myght.
  _Secundus doctor._ In very feyth this reson is ryght;
    But ȝitt, fayr babe, oo thynge we pray ȝow:—
  What do alle tho thre personys hyght
    Us to enforme? ȝe sey to me now.

  _Jhesus._ The fyrst is calde the fadyr of myght,
    The secunde the sone of wysdam and wytt;
  The holy gost the iijᵈᵉ. of grace he is lyght,
    And in oo substauns alle these iij. be knyt.
  _Primus doctor._ Another questyon I aske ȝow ȝitt,
    ȝe seyd on of these iij. toke flesche and blood;
  And sche a clene mayde, I kannot beleve it,
    Clene mayde and modyr never ȝit in oo persone stood.

  _Jhesus._ Lyke as the sunne doth pers the glas,
    The glas not hurte of his nature;
  Ryght so the Godhede entryd has
    The virgynes wombe, and sche mayd pure;
  That maydonys childe xal do grett cure,
    Convicte the devyl in the opyn folde;
  And with his bolde berst fecche hom his creature,
    Mankende to save his brest xal be the schelde.

  _Secundus doctor._ This childys doctryne dothe passe our wytt,
    Sum aungel of hevyn I trowe that he be;
  But, blyssyd babe, of oo dowte ȝitt,
    We pray ȝow enforme us for charyté—
  Whiche toke flesche of the personys thre,
    Ageyn the fende to holde suche batayle?
  _Jhesus._ The secunde persone forsothe is he,
    Xal fray the fende withowte fayle.

  _Primus doctor._ Why rather he than any of that tother,
    The fyrst or the thyrde, why come they nowth?
  _Jhesus._ This is the cawse why, sertys, and non other,
    Ageyn the secunde the trespas was wrought;
  Whan the serpent Adam to synne browth,
    He temptyd hym nowght be the faderes myght;
  Of the gostys goodnes spak he ryght nowght,
    But in connynge he temptyd hym ryght.
  Myght is the Faderys owyn propyrté;
    To the Gost apperyd is goodnes;
  In none of these tweyn temptyd he
    Mankende to synne, whan he dede dresse:
  To the Sone connynge doth longe expres,
    Therwith the serpent dyd Adam asay,—
  “Ete of this appyl,” he seyd no lesse,
    “And thou xalt have connynge as God verray.”

  Thus the secunde person attrybute,
    Was only towchyd by temptacion;
  Wherfore hymself wyl holde the sewte,
    And kepe his propyrté fro maculacion.
  _Secundus doctor._ This is an hevynly declaracion,
    Oure naturalle wytt it doth excede;
  So ȝonge a childe of suche informacion
    In al this werld nevyr er non ȝede.

  _Primus doctor._ We be not worthy to kepe this sete,
    Whylle that oure mayster is in presens;
  The maystry of us this childe doth gete,—
    We must hym wurchep with hyȝ reverens!
  Come forthe, swete babe of grett excellens,
    The whysest clerke that evyr ȝett was born;
  To ȝow we ȝeve the hyȝ resydens,
    Us more to teche, as ȝe have done beforn.

_Hic adducunt Jhesum inter ipsos et in scanno altiori ipsum sedere
faciunt, ipsis in inferioribus scannis sedentibus, et ait._

  _Secundus doctor._ So ȝonge a chylde suche clergye to reche,
    And so sadly to say it, we woundyr sore.
  Who was ȝoure mayster? who dede ȝow teche?
    Of what man had ȝe this wurthy lore?
  _Jhesus._ My wytt and my lernynge is no ȝonge store;
    Or this worde was wrought alle thinge dede I knowe;
  ffyrst or ȝe wore borne ȝeres many score,
    Thorwe the myght of my fadyr, my wytt in me dede flowe.

  _Primus doctor._ Or that we weryn born, nay that may nat be;
    The ȝongest of us tweyn is iij. score ȝere of age,
  And thiselfe art but a chylde, al men may wel se,
    Late camst out of cradyl, as it semyth be thi vesage.
  _Jhesus._ I am of dobyl byrthe and of dobyl lenage;
    ffyrst, be my Fadyr I am without gynnynge,
  And lyke as he is hendeles in his hyȝ stage,
    So xal I also nevyr mor have endynge.

  ffor be my ffadyr, kynge celestyalle,
    Without begynnyng I am endles;
  But be my modyr that is carnalle,
    I am but xij. ȝere of age, that is expres;
  My body of ȝoughe doth shewe wyttnes,
    Whiche of my modyr here I dude take;
  But myn hyȝ godhede, this is no lesse,
    Alle thinge in this worlde forsothe dude I make.

  _Secundus doctor._ Be ȝour fadyr that endles is:
    Who is ȝour modyr? telle us we pray.
  _Jhesus._ Be my fadyr, the hyȝ kynge of blys,
    A modyrles chylde I am veray.
  _Primus doctor._ Who was ȝour fadyr to us than say?
    Be ȝour modyr a woman that was.
  _Jhesus._ I am ffadyrles; as for that may,
    Of fleschly luste she dude nevyr trespas.

  _Secundus doctor._ Telle us, I pray ȝow, what is ȝour name?
    What hyght ȝoure modyr? telle us also.
  _Jhesu._ Jhesu of Naȝareth, I am the same,
    Born of a clene mayd, prophetys seyd so;
  Ysaye seyd thus,—“Ecce virgo!”
    A mayd xal conceyve in clennes a chylde:
  ȝitt ageyn nature and alkende, loo!
    ffrom alle wenn of synne pure and undefylde.

  Mary, the chylde of Joachym and Anne,
    Ys that clene mayd, and here childe am I;
  The frute of here wombe xal save every manne
    ffrom the grett dowte of the ffyndys tormentry.
  _Primus doctor._ Alle the clerkys of this worlde trewly
    Cannot brynge this to declaracion;
  Lesse than thei have of God Almyghty
    Sum influens of informacion.

  _Secundus doctor._ No, jentyl Jhesu, we ȝow pray,
    Whyl that we stodye a whyle to dwelle;
  In cas mo dowtys that we fynde may,
    The trewthe of hem ȝe may us telle.
  _Jhesu._ Goo, take ȝour stodye and avyse ȝow welle,
    And alle ȝour leysere I xal abyde;
  If any dowtys to me ȝe melle,
    The trewthe therof I xalle unhyde.

  _Maria._ Alas! alas! myn hert is wo,
    My blyssyd babe awey is went;
  I wott nevyr whedyr that he is go:
    Alas! for sorwe myn hert is rent!
  Jentyl hysbond, have yow hym sent
    Out on herrande to any place?
  But yf ȝe knowe were he is bent,
    Myn hert for woo asondyr wyl race.

  _Joseph._ On my massage I hym not sent,
    Forsothe, good wyff, in no degré;
  How longe is it that he hens went?
    What tyme dude ȝe ȝour childe last se?
  _Maria._ Trewly, gode spowse, not these days thre;
    Therfore myn herte is cast in care:
  Hym for to seke, wher so he be;
    In hast, good husbonde, lete us forthe fare.

  _Joseph._ Than to Hierusalem lete us streyte wende,
    ffor kynred gladly togedyr wole gon;
  I hope he is ther with sum good ffrende;
    Ther he hath cosyns ryght many on.
  _Maria._ I am aferde that he hath fon,
    ffor his grett wyttes and werkys good;
  Lyke hym of wytt fforsothe is non,—
    Every childe with hym is wrothe and wood.

  Alas, my babe! my blys! my blood!
    Whedyr art thou thus gon fro me?
  My sowle! my swetyng! my frute! myn ffood!
    Send me sum wurd where that thou be!
  Telle me, good seres, ffor charyté,
    Jhesu, my childe, that babe of blysse,
  Among this compayné dude ȝe hym se?
    ffor Godys love, telle where he is!

  _Primus doctor._ Of oo qwestyone I am bethought,
    Alle of ȝour modyr, that blessed may;
  In what governauns is she brought?
    How is sche rewlyd be nyght and day?
  _Jhesu._ An old man, Joseph, as I ȝow say,
    Here weddyd be meracle onto his wyff;
  Here for to fede and kepe alway,
    And bothyn in clennesse be maydenys olyff.

  _Secundus doctor._ What nede was it here to be wedde
    Onto a man of so grett age?
  Lesse than thei myght bothe a go to bedde,
    And kept the lawe of maryage.
  _Jhesus._ To blynde the devyl of his knowlache,
    And my byrthe from hym to hyde,—
  That holy wedlok was grett stopage,
    The devyl in dowte to do abyde.

  Also, whan sche xulde to Egypte gon,
    And fle from Herowde, for dowte of me;
  Becawse she xulde nat go alon,
    Joseph was ordeyned here make to be,
  My ffadyr, of his hyȝ magesté,
    Here for to comforte in the way:
  These be the cawsys, as ȝe may se,
    Why Joseph weddyd that holy may.

  _Maria._ A! dere childe! dere chylde! why hast thou thus done?
    ffor the we have had grett sorwe and care;
  Thy ffadyr and I thre days have gone,
    Wyde the to seke of blysse ful bare.
  _Jhesus._ Why have ȝe sought me with hevy fare?
    Wete ȝe not wele that I muste bene
  Amonge hem that is my faderes ware,
    His gostly catel for to ovyrsen?

  _Maria._ ȝour ffaderes wyl must nedys be wrought,
    It is most wurthy that it so be;
  ȝitt on ȝour modyr have ȝe sum thought,
    And be nevyr more so longe fro me.
  As to my thynkynge, these days thre,
    That ȝe absente have ben away,
  Be more lengere in ther degré
    Than alle the space of xij. ȝere day.

  _Jhesus._ Now, ffor to plese my modyr mylde,
    I xal ȝow folwe with obedyence;
  I am ȝour sone and subjecte childe,
    And owe to do ȝow hyȝ reverence.
  Home with ȝow I wyl go hens:—
    Of ȝow, clerkys, my leve I take.
  Every childe xulde, with good dyligens;
    His modyr to plese, his owyn wyl to forsake.

  _Primus doctor._ O blyssyd Jhesu! with ȝow we wende,
    Of ȝow to have more informacion;
  fful blyssyd is ȝour modyr hende,
    Of whom ȝe toke ȝour incarnacion!
  We pray ȝow, Jhesu, of consolacion,
    At oure most nede of ȝow to have,—
  All that hath herd this consummacion
    Of this pagent, ȝour grace them save! _Amen!_




XXI. THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST.


  _Johannes._ Ecce vox clamantis in deserto!
    I am the voyce of wyldernese,
  That her spekyth and prechyth yow to;
    Loke ȝe forsake alle wrecchidnesse!
  fforsake alle synne that werkyth woo,
    And turne to vertu and holynese!
  Beth clene of levyng in your sowle also;
    Than xalle he be savyd from peynfulnese
            Of fyere brynnyng in helle!
  If that ȝe forsak synne,
  Hevyn blysse xalle ȝe wyne,
  Drede ȝe not the devylles gynne,
            With angells xalle ȝow dwelle!

  Penitenciam nunc agite!
    Appropinquabit regnum cœlorum!
  ffor your trespas penaunce do ȝe,
    And ȝe xalle wyne hevyn Dei deorum!
  In hevyn blyse ye xalle wyn to be,
    Among the blyssyd company omnium supernorum;
  Ther as is alle merth, joye, and glee,
    Inter agmina angelorum,
            In blyse to abyde!
  Baptyme I cowncelle yow for to take,
  And do penaunce for ys synnys sake,
  And for your offens amendys ȝe make,
            Your synnys for to hyde.
  I gyff baptyme in water puere,
    That is callyd flom Jordon;
  My baptyme is but sygnysure
    Of his baptyme that his lyke hath non!
  He is a lord of gret valour,
    I am not worthy to onbokylle his schon;
  ffor he xalle baptyze, as seyth Scryptour,
    That comyth of hem alle everychone
            In the Holy Goost!
  He may dampne and he may save,
  Alle goodnesse of hem we have,
  Ther may no man his werkes deprave,
            ffor he is Lorde of myghtes most?

_Hic accedit Jhesus ad Johannem, quem intuens Johannes dicat, digito
demonstrans Jhesum, “Ecce agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi!”_

  Beholde! the lombe of God is this,
    That comyth now here beforne;
  The wich xalle wasche the worlds mys,
    And save alle that that was forlorne:
  This same lombe forsothe it is,
    That of a mayd fulle clene was borne;
  Shamfulle deth this lambe i-wys
    Xalle suffer for us and be alle to-torne,
            And rent on a roode!
  He xalle suffer for mannys sake
  Lytylle rest, and moche gret sorow and wrake;
  Hys bake xalle be bowndyn to a stake,
            And betyn owt alle his bloode!

  _Jhesus._ John Baptyste, myn owyn good ffrende,
    That ffeythffully dothe preche my wylle;
  I the thanke with alle my mende,
    ffor that good servyse thou dost me tylle.
  Thy desyre is synne to shende,
    Alle synful lyff thou woldyst spylle;
  Thyn entente hath a good hende,
    The lawe of God thou dost ffulffylle
            This tyde.
  Baptym to take I come to the,
  And conferme that sacrement that newe xal be,
  In flom Jordon thou baptyze me,
            In watyr that is wyde.

  _Johannes._ My lorde God, this behovyth me nought,
    With myn hondys to baptyȝe the;
  I xulde rather of the have sought
    Holy baptym, than thou of me.
  _Jhesus._ Suffyr now, John, my wyl were wrought,
    Alle ryghtffullenes thus ffulfylle we;
  Me to baptyȝe take thou no dowthe,
    The vertu of mekenes here tawthe xal be,
            Every man to lere.
  And take ensawmple here by me,
  How mekely that I come to the,
  Baptym confermyd now xal be,
            Me to baptyȝe take thou no dwere.

  _Johannes._ Alle men may take example, lo!
    Of lowly mekenes evyn ryght here,
  Be oure Lorde God, that comyth me to,
    Hese pore servaunt and his sutere.
  Every man lere to werke ryght so,
    Bothe kynge and caysere, and grett empere;
  Be meke and lowe the pore man to,
    And put out pryde in alle manere—
            God dothe here the same!
  To thi byddynge, my Lord so dere,
  I me obey with gladsum chere,
  And baptyȝe the with watyr clere,
            Ever halwyd be thi name!

_Spiritus Sanctus hic descendat super ipsum, et Deus, Pater Celestis,
dicet in cœlo_,

  This is my welbelovyd chylde,
    Over whome my spryte doth oversprede!
  Clene, and pure, and undefylyd,
    Of body, of sowle, ffor thought, for dede!
  That he is buxhum, meke, and mylde,
    I am wel plesyd withowtyn drede;
  Wysly to wysse ȝow ffrom weys wylde,
    To lysten his lore alle men I rede,
            And ȝoure erys to herke.
  Take good heede what he dothe preche,
  And ffolwyth the lawys that he doth teche,
  ffor he xal be ȝour altheris leche,
            To save ȝow from develys derke.

  _Johannes Baptyst._ Here I se with opyn syght,
    The Sone of God that thou erte!
  The Holy Goost over the doth lyght,
    Thi faderes voys I here fful smerte.
  The childe of God, as I the plyght,
    That thou be, whilys I am qwerte,
  I xalle wyttnes to every whyght,
    And teche it trewly with alle myn hert;
            To sese it were grett synne.
  ffor Goddys sone I wurchypp the,
  ffrom hevyn, thin hyȝ magesté,
  Thu comyst hedyr ffrom dygnité,
            Mannys sowle to wynne.

  _Jhesus._ John Baptyste, thou be wyttnes,
    The trewthe loke that thou nat hyde;
  ffor now I passe forthe into wyldernes,
    The Holy Gost xal be my gyde.

_Hic Jhesus transit in desertum, dicens, etc._

  In whylsum place of desertnes,
    XL.ᵗⁱ days, a terme ful wyde,
  And ffourty nyghtes, bothe more and lesse,
    Withowtyn bodyly ffode ther to abyde;
            ffor man thus do I swynke.
  Into deserte I passe my way,
  ffor mannys sake, as I ȝow say,
  XL.ᵗⁱ nyghtes and xl.ᵗⁱ day,
            I xal nowther ete nor drynke.

  _Johan Baptyst._ In place where I passe wyttnes I bere,
    The trewthe xal I telle wheresoevyr I go,
  That Cryst, the Sone of God, is become oure fere,
    Clad in oure clothynge to sofer for us wo!
  I baptyȝid with myn owyn handys Cryst Jhesu ryght here,
    And now he is to wyldyrnes penawns ther to do,
  Informyng so alle us that Lord that hath no pere,
    To do for oure trespace penawnce here also;
            Of penawnce do I preche.
  In wyttnes ryght be this,
  That what man for his mys,
  Doth penawns here, i-wys,
            His sowle he dothe wel leche.

  Alle men on ground that be ȝitt on lyve,
    ffor ȝour grett offens loke ȝe be repentaunt;
  Of alle ȝour venym synne I rede that ȝe ȝow shryve,
    ffor God is ful redy mercy for to graunt.
  Be contryte for ȝour trespas, and penauns do belyve,
    Reconsyle ȝourself and be to God plesaunt;
  With contryscion, schryffte, and penauns, the devil may ȝe dryve,
    ffor fro ȝour felachep he xal not be erraunt,
            ȝow for to meve.
  To penauns and synne forsake,
  Shryfte of mowthe loke that ȝe make,
  And than the fende in helle so blake,
            He xal ȝow nevyr more greve.

  A tre that is bareyn and wyl here no frute,
    The ownere wyl hewe it downe and cast it on the fyre;
  Ryght so it be man that folwyth the fowle sute
    Of the devyl of helle, and werkyth his desyre.
  God wyl be vengyd on man that is bothe dum and mute,
    That wyl nevyr be shrevyn, but evyr more doth delyre;
  Clothe the in clennes, with vertu be indute,
    And God with his grace he wyl the sone inspyre
            To amendynge of thi mys.
  Schryfte of mowthe may best the save,
  Penauns for synne what man wyl have,
  Whan that his body is leyd in grave,
            His sowle xal go to blys.

  Corne that is good, men kepe it ful clene;
    Chaff that is sympyl is sett wul nere at nought.
  So good men of levynge to God chosyn bene,
    Whan synful men be lyke chaff and to helle xul be brought.
  Good penauns ȝow to preche ful hertyly do I mene,
    Shryfft and satysfaccion evyrmore to have in thought;
  What man in good penauns and schryfte of mowthe be sene,
    Of God he is welbelovyd, that alle this worlde hath wrought,
            And alle thinge of nowth dede make.
  Now have I tawght ȝow good penauns,
  God graunt ȝow grace, at his plesauns
  To have of synne delyverauns,
            ffor now my leve I take!




XXII. THE TEMPTATION.


  _Sathan._ Now Belyard and Belȝabub, ȝe der wurthy devele of helle,
    And wysest of councel amonges alle the rowte!
  Herke now what I sey, a tale I xalle ȝow telle,
    That trobelyth sore my stomak: therof I have grett dowte.
  _Belyalle._ Syr Sathanas, owre sovereyn, syre, with the wol we dwelle,
    Alle redy at thi byddynge to the do we lowte;
  If thou have any nede of oure wyse counselle,
    Telle us now thi qwestyon alle out and oute;
            Sey al thi dowt be-dene.
  _Belsabub._ ȝa, sere, telle us thi dowte by and by,
  And we xul telle the so sekyrly,
  That thou xalt knowe verryly
            What thi dowte dothe mene.

  _Sathan._ The dowte that I have it is of Cryst i-wys;
    Born he was in Bedleem, as it is seyd,
  And many a man wenyth that Goddes sone he is,
    Born of a woman and she a clene mayd.
  And alle that evyr he prechyth, it is of hevyn blys,
    He wyl lese oure lawe, I am ryght sore afrayd;
  ffayn wolde I knowe who were ffadyr his,
    ffor of this grett dowte I am sore dysmayd
            Indede.
  If that he be Goddys childe,
  And born of a mayd mylde,
  Than be we rygh sore begylde,
            And short xal ben oure spede.

  Therfore, seres, sumwhat that ȝe shewe,
    In this grett dowth what is best to do;
  If he be Goddys sone he wyl brede a shrewe,
    And werke us meche wrake, bothe wreche and woo:
  Sorwe and care he wyl sone strewe,
    Alle oure gode days than xulde sone be goo;
  And alle oure lore and alle oure lawe he wyl downe hewe,
    And than be we alle lorn, if that it be soo,
            He wylle don us alle tene.
  He wylle be Lorde over hevyn and helle,
  And ffeche awey alle oure catelle,
  Therfor shewe now sum good counselle,
            What comfort may best bene.

  _Belyalle._ The best wytt that I kan say,
    Hym to tempte forsothe it is;
  With sotyl whylys, if that thou may,
    Asay to make hym to don amys.
  If that he synne, this is no nay,
    He may nat be kynge of blys:
  Hym to tempte, go walke thi way,
    ffor best counselle I trowe be this;
            Go forthe now and asay!
  _Belsabub._ The best wytt I hold it be,
  Hym to tempte in synnys thre,
  The whiche mankende is frelté
            Doth ffalle sonest alway.

  _Sathan._ So afftyr ȝour wytt now wylle I werke,
    I wylle no lengere now here abyde;
  Be he nevyr so wyse a clerke,
    I xal apposyn hym withinne a tyde.

  _Belsabub._ Now, lovely Lucyfer, in helle so derke,
    Kynge and Lorde of synne and pryde;
  With sum myst his wittys to merke,
    He send the grace to be thi gyde,
            And evyr more be thi spede!
  _Belyalle._ Alle the develys, that ben in helle,
  Shul pray to Mahound, as I the telle,
  That thou mayst spede this jurney welle,
            And comforte the in this dede.

  _Jhesus._ Xl.ᵗⁱ days and xl.ᵗⁱ nyght
    Now have I fastyd for mannys sake;
  A more grett hungyr had nevyr no wyght,
    Than I myself begynne to take;
  ffor hungyr in peyn stronge am I pyght,
    And bred have I non myn hungyr for to slake,
  A lytel of a loof relese myn hungyr myght,
    But mursele have I non my comforte for to make;
            This suffyr I, man, for the.
  ffor thi glotenye and metys wronge,
  I suffyr for the this hungyr stronge,
  I am afferde it wyl be longe
            Or thou do thus for me.

  _Sathan._ The Sone of God if that thou be,
    Be the grett myght of thi godhede,
  Turne these flyntes, anon lett se,
    ffrom arde stonys to tendyr brede.
  More bettyr it is, as I telle the,
    Wysely to werke aftyr my reed,
  And shewe thi myght of grett majesté,
    Than thorw grett hungyr ffor to be dede.
            These stonys now bred thou make,
  Goddys Sone if that thou be,
  Make these stonys bred, lett se,
  Than mayste thou ete ryght good plenté,
            Thyn hungyr for to slake.

  _Jhesus._ Nott only be bred mannys lyff ȝitt stood,
    But in the wurde of God, as I the say,
  To mannys sowle is nevyr mete so good,
    As is the wurd of God that prechid is alway.
  Bred materyal dothe norche blood,
    But to mannys sowle, this is no nay,
  Nevyr more may be a betyr food,
    Than the wurd of God, that lestyth ay.
            To here Goddys wurde therfore man love.
  Thi body doth love materal brede,
  Withoute the wurde of God thi soule is but dede,
  To love prechynge therfore I rede,
            If thou wylt duellyn in blysse above.

  _Sathan._ ffor no grett hungyr that I kan se,
    In glotony thou wylt not synne;
  Now to the temple come forthe with me,
    And ther xal I shewe the a praty gynne.
  Up to this pynnacle now go we,
    I xal the sett on the hyȝest pynne,
  Ther I preve what that thou be,
    Or that we tweyn part a twynne,
            I xal knowe what myght thou have.

_Hic ascendit Deus pinnaculum templi, dum diabolus dicit quoque sequitur_,

  Whan thou art sett upon the pynnacle,
  Thou xalt ther pleyn a qweynt steracle,
  Or ellys shewe a grett meracle,
            Thysself ffrom hurte thou save.

_Hic Satanas ponit Jhesum super pinnaculum, dicens_,

  Now if thou be Goddys ssone of myght,
    Ryght down to the erthe anon thou ffalle,
  And save thisylf in every plyght
    ffrom harm and hurte, and scappys alle;
  ffor it is wretyn with aungelys bryght
    That ben in hevyn, thi faderes halle,
  The to kepe bothe day and nyght,
    Xul be ful redy as thi tharalle,
            Hurt that thou non have.
  That thou stomele not ageyn the ston,
  And hurt thi fote as thou dost gon,
  Aungelle be redy alle everychon,
            In weys the to save.

  _Jhesus._ It is wretyn in holy book,
    Thi Lorde God thou xalt not tempte;
  Alle thynge must obeye to Goddys look,
    Out of his myght is non exempt;
  Out of thi cursydnes and cruel crook,
    By Godys grace man xal be redempt:—
  Whan thou to helle, thi brennynge brook,
    To endles peyne xal evyr be dempt,
            Therin alwey to abyde.
  Thi Lorde God thou tempt no more,
  It is nott syttenge to thi lore,
  I bydde the sese anon therfore,
            And tempte God in no tyde.

  _Sathan._ Ow! in gloteny nor in veynglory it dothe ryght nott avayl
    Cryst for to tempt, it profyteth me ryght nought;
  I must now begynne to have a newe travayl,—
    In covetyse to tempt hym it comyth now in my thought,
  ffor if I went thus away and shrynkyd as a snayle,
    Lorn were the labore alle that I have wrought;
  Therfore in covetyse oure syre I xal asayle,
    And assay into that synne yf he may be brought,
            Anon forthe ryght.
  Syr, ȝitt onys I pray to the,
  To this hyȝ hyl com forthe with me,
  I xal the shewe many a ceté,
            And many a wurthy syght.

_Tunc Jhesus transit cum diabolo super montem et diabolus dicit_,

  Into the northe loke fforthe evyn pleyn,
    The towre of Babylony ther mayst thou se;
  The ceté of Jerusalem stondyth ther ageyn,
    And evyn ffast therby stondyth Galylé.
  Nazareth, Naverne, and the kyngdom of Spayn,
    ȝabulon, and Neptalym, that is a ryche countré,
  Both ȝebee and Salmana, thou mayst se serteyn,
    Itayl and Archage that wurthy remys be,
            Bothe Jannense and Jurye.
  Rome doth stonde before the ryght,
  The temple of Salamon as sylver bryght,
  And here mayst thou se opynly with syght
            Bothe ffraunce and Normandye.

  Turne the now on this syde and se here Lumbardye,
    Of spycery ther growyth many an c. balys;
  Archas and Aragon, and grett Almonye,
    Parys and Portyngale, and the towne of Galys:
  Pownteys and Poperynge, and also Pycardye,
    Erlonde, Scottlonde, and the londe of Walys.
  Grete pylis and castellys thou mayst se with eye,
    ȝa, and alle the wyd werde without mo talys,
            Alle this longygh to me.
  If thou wylt knele down to the grownde,
  And wurchepp me now in this stownde,
  Alle this world, that is so rownd,
            I xal it gyve to the!

  _Jhesus._ Go a bak, thou fowle Sathanas!
    In holy Scrypture wretyn it is,
  Thi Lorde God to wurchipp in every plas,
    As for his thralle and thou servaunt his.
  _Sathan._ Out, out, harrow! alas! alas!
    I woundyr sore what is he this?
  I cannot brynge hym to no trespas,
    Nere be no synne to don amys,
            He byddyth me gon abakke!
  What that he is I kannot se,
  Whethyr God or man, what that he be
  I kannot telle in no degré:
            ffor sorwe I lete a crakke.

_Hic venient angeli cantantes et ministrantes ei:—“Gloria tibi, Domine!”
Dicens._

  _Jhesus._ Now, alle mankende, exaumple take
    By these grete werkys that thou dost se,
  How that the devylle of helle so blake
    In synne was besy to tempte me;
  ffor alle hise maystryes that he dyd make,
    He is overcom and now doth ffle;
  Alle this I suffyr ffor mannys sake,
    To teche the how thou xalt rewle the,
            Whan the devylle dothe the assayle.
  Loke thou concente nevyr to synne,
  For no sleytys, ne for no gynne,
  And than the victory xalt thou wynne,
            The devyl xal lesyn alle his travayl.

  To suffyr temptacion it is grett peyn,
    If thou withstonde it thou wynnyst grett mede,
  Of God the more grace thou hast serteyn,
    If thou with-sett the devyl in his dede.
  Thow that the fende tempt the ageyn,
    Of his power take thou no drede;
  ffor God hath the ȝovyn bothe myght and mayn,
    Hym for to with-sytt evyr at nede,
            Thou hast more myght than he.
  Whan the devyl doth tempte the thoo,
  Shewe thi myght aȝens thi ffoo,
  Whan thi sowle partyth the froo,
            In blysse than xal it be. _Amen!_




XXIII. THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY.


_Hic de muliere in adulterio deprehensa._

  _Jhesus._ Nolo mortem peccatoris!
    Man for thi synne take repentaunce,
  If thou amende that is amys,
    Than hevyn xal be thin herytaunce;
  Thow thou have don aȝens God grevauns,
    ȝett mercy to haske loke thou be bolde,
  His mercy doth passe in trewe balauns,
    Alle cruel jugement be many folde.

  Thow that ȝour synnys be nevyr so grett,
    ffor hem be sad and aske mercy;
  Sone of my ffadyr grace ȝe may gett,
    With the leste teer wepynge owte of ȝour ey.
  My ffadyr me sent the, man, to bye,
    Alle thi raunsom mysylfe must pay;
  ffor love of the mysylfe wyl dye,
    Iff thou aske mercy, I sey nevyr nay.

  Into the erthe ffrom hevyn above,
    Thi sorwe to sese and joy to restore,
  Man, I cam down, alle ffor thi love, —
    Love me ageyn, I aske no more!
  Thow thou myshappe and synne ful sore,
    ȝit turne aȝen and mercy crave;
  It is thi fawte and thou be lore,
    Haske thou mercy and thou xalt have.

  Uppon thi neybore be not vengabyl,
    Ageyn the lawe if he offende;
  Lyke as he is, thou art unstabyl,
    Thyn owyn frelté evyr thou attende.
  Evermore thi neybore helpe to amende,
    Evyn as thou woldyst he xulde the;
  Ageyn hym wrathe if thou accende,
    The same in happ wylle falle on the.

  Eche man to othyr be mercyable,
    And mercy he xal have at nede;
  What man of mercy is not tretable,
    Whan he askythe mercy he xal not spede.
  Mercy to graunt I com indede;
    Whoso aske mercy he xal have grace;
  Lett no man dowte for his mysdede,
    But evyr aske mercy, whyl he hath space.

  _Scriba._ Alas! Alas! oure lawe is lorn!
    A! fals ypocryte, Jhesu be name,
  That of a sheppherdis dowtir was born,
    Wyl breke oure lawe and make it lame.
  He wyl us werke ryght mekyl shame,
    His fals purpos if he upholde;
  Alle oure lawys he dothe defame,
    That stynkynge beggere is woundyr bolde.

  _Phariseus._ Sere scrybe, in feyth that ypocryte
    Wyl turne this londe al to his lore;
  Therfore I councelle hym to indyte,
    And chastyse hym ryght wel therfore.
  _Scriba._ On hym beleve many a score,
    In his prechynge he is so gay;
  Eche man hym ffolwygh ever more and more,
    Aȝens that he seyth no man seyth nay.

  _Phariseus._ A ffals qwarel if we cowde feyne,
    That ypocrite to puttyn in blame;
  Alle his prechynge xulde sone disteyne,
    And than his wurchepp xuld turne to shame.
  With sum falshede to spyllyn his name
    Lett us assay, his lore to spylle;
  The pepyl with hym yff we cowde grame,
    Than xulde we sone have al oure wylle.

  _Accusator._ Herke, sere pharysew, and sere scrybe,
    A ryght good sporte I kan ȝow telle,
  I undyrtake that ryght a good brybe
    We alle xul have to kepe councelle.
  A fayre ȝonge qwene here by doth dwelle,
    Bothe ffresche and gay upon to loke,
  And a talle man with her dothe melle,—
    The wey into hyr chawmere ryght evyn he toke.

  Lett us thre now go streyte thedyr,
    The wey fful evyn I xalle ȝow lede;
  And we xul take them bothe togedyr,
    Whylle that thei do that synful dede.
  _Scriba._ Art thou sekyr that we xal spede?
    Shalle we hym fynde whan we cum there?
  _Accusator._ Be my trowthe I have no drede,
    The hare fro the fforme we xal arere.

  _Phariseus._ We xal have game and this be trewe!
    Lete us thre werke by on assent,
  We wyl here brynge evyn beforn Jhesu,
    And of here lyff the truthe present;
  How in advowtrye hyre lyff is lent;
    Than hym beforn whan she is browth,
  We xul hym aske the trew jugement,
    What lawful deth to here is wrouthe?

  Of grace and mercy hevyr he dothe preche,
    And that no man xulde be vengeable;
  Ageyn the woman if he sey wreche,
    Than of his prechynge he is unstabyl;
  And if we fynde hym varyable
    Of his prechynge that he hath tawth,
  Than have we cawse, bothe juste and able,
    ffor a fals man that he be cawth.

  _Scriba._ Now, be grete God, ȝe sey fful welle:
    If we hym fyndyn in varyaunce,
  We have good reson, as ȝe do telle,
    Hym for to brynge to foule myschauns.
  If he holde stylle his dalyauns,
    And preche of mercy hire for to save;
  Than have we mater of gret substauns,
    Hym for to kylle and putt in grave.

  Grett reson why I xal ȝow telle;
    ffor Moyses dothe bydde in oure lawe,
  That every advowterere we xuld qwelle,
    And ȝitt with stonys thei xulde be slawe;
  Ageyn Moyses if that he drawe,
    That synful woman with grace to helpe,
  He xal nevyr skape out of oure awe,
    But he xal dye lyke a dogge whelpe.

  _Accusatur._ ȝe tary ovyr longe, seres, I sey ȝow,
    They wyl sone parte, as that I gesse;
  Therfore if ȝe wyl have ȝour pray now,
    Lete us go take them in here whantownnesse.
  _Phariseus._ Goo thou beforn the wey to dresse,
    We xal the ffolwe within short whyle;
  Iff that we may that quene dystresse,
    I hope we xal Jhesu begyle.

  _Scriba._ Breke up the dore, and go we inne,
    Sett to the shuldyr with alle thi myght;
  We xal hem take evyn in here synne,
    Here owyn trespas shal them indite.

_Hic juvenis quidam extra currit indeploydo, calligis non ligatis, et
braccas in manu tenens, et dicit accusator_,

  _Accusator._ Stow that harlot sum erthely wyght,
    That in advowtrye here is ffownde.
  _Juvenis._ ȝiff any man stow me this nyth,
    I xal hym ȝeve a dedly wownde.
  If any man my wey doth stoppe
    Or we departe, ded xal I be;
  I xal this daggare putt in his croppe,
    I xal hem kylle or he xal me.

  _Phariseus._ Grett Goddys curse mut go with the,
    With suche a shrewe wylle I not melle.
  _Juvenis._ That same blyssynge I ȝyff ȝow thre,
    And qwhethe ȝow alle to the devyl of helle;
  In feyth I was so sore affrayd
    Of ȝone thre shrewys, the sothe to say,
  My breche be nott ȝett welle up teyd,
    I had such hast to renne away:
  Thei xal nevyr cacche me in suche affray, —
    I am fulle glad that I am gon.
  Adewe! adewe! a xx.ᵗⁱ devyl way,
    And Goddys curse have ȝe everychon.

  _Scriba._ Come forthe, thou stotte! com forthe, thou scowte!
    Come forthe, thou bysmare and brothel bolde!
  Come fforthe, thou hore, and stynkynge byche clowte!
    How longe hast thou suche harlotry holde?
  _Phariseus._ Come forth, thou quene! come forthe, thou scolde!
    Com forth, thou sloveyn! com forthe, thou slutte!
  We xal the teche with carys colde,
    A lytyl bettyr to kepe thi kutte.

  _Mulyer._ A! mercy, mercy, seres, I ȝow pray,
    ffor Goddys love have mercy on me!
  Of my myslevynge me not bewray,
    Have mercy on me, for charyté!
  _Accusator._ Aske us no mercy, it xal not be;
    We xul so ordeyn ffor thi lot,
  That thou xalt dye ffor thin advowtrye;
    Therfore come forthe, thou stynkynge stott!

  _Mulier._ Seres, my wurchepp if ȝe wyl save,
    And helpe I have non opyn shame;
  Bothe gold and sylvyr ȝe xul have,
    So that in clennes ȝe kepe my name.
  _Scriba._ Mede ffor to take, we were to blame,
    To save suche stottys, it xal not be;
  We xal brynge the to such a game,
    That alle advowtereres xul lern be the.

  _Mulier._ Stondynge ȝe wyl not graunt me grace,
    But for my synne that I xal dye;
  I pray ȝow kylle me here in this place,
    And lete not the pepyl upon me crye.
  If I be sclaundryd opynly,
    To alle my frendys it xal be shame:
  I pray ȝow kylle me prevyly,
    Lete not the pepyl knowe my defame!

  _Phariseus._ ffy on the, scowte! the devyl the qwelle!
    Ageyn the lawe xul we the kylle?
  ffyrst xal hange the the devyl of helle,
    Or we suche folyes xulde ffulfylle;
  Thow it lyke the nevyr so ille,
    Befforn the prophete thou xalt have lawe,
  Lyke as Moyses doth charge us tylle,
    With grett stonys thou xalt be slawe.

  _Accusator._ Com forthe apase, thou stynkynge scowte!
    Before the prophete thou were this day;
  Or I xal ȝeve the suche a clowte,
    That thou xalt falle downe evyn in the way.
  _Scriba._ Now, be grett God! and I the pay,
    Suche a buffett I xal the take,
  That alle the tethe, I dare wel say,
    Withinne thin heed ffor who xul shake.

  _Phariseus._ Herke, sere prophete, we alle ȝow pray
    To gyff trewe dome and just sentence
  Upon this woman, whiche this same day
    In synfulle advowtery hath don offense.

_Hic Jhesus, dum isti accusant mulierem, continue debet digito suo
scribere in terra_,

  _Accusator._ Se, we have brought here to ȝour presens,
    Becawse ȝe ben a wys prophete,
  That ȝe xal telle be consyens,
    What dethe to hyre ȝe thynke most mete.

  _Scriba._ In Moyses lawe ryght thus we fynde,
    That suche fals lovers xul be slayn,
  Streyte to a stake we xul hem bynde,
    And with grett stonys brest out ther brayn.
  Of ȝour concyens telle us the playn,
    With this woman what xal be wrought;
  Shalle we lete here go qwyte agayn,
    Or to hire dethe xal she be brought?

_Jhesu nichil respondit, sed semper scrybyt in terra_,

  _Mulier._ Now, holy prophete, be mercyable!
    Upon me, wrecche, take no vengeaunce!
  ffor my synnys abhomynable,
    In hert I have grett repentaunce.
  I am wel wurthy to have myschaunce,
    Bothe bodyly dethe and werdly shame;
  But gracyous prophets of socurraunce,
    This tyme pray ȝow for Goddys name.

  _Phariseus._ Ageyn the lawe thou dedyst offens,
    Therfore of grace speke thou no more;
  As Moyses gevyth in law sentens,
    Thou xalt be stonyd to deth therfore.
  _Accusator._ Ha don, sere prophete, tells us ȝoure lore;
    Xul we this woman with stonys kylle?
  Or to hire hous hire home restore?
    In this mater telle us ȝour wylle.

  _Scriba._ In a colde stodye me thynkyth ȝe sytt;
    Good sere, awake, telle us ȝour thought:
  Xal she be stonyd? telle us ȝour wytt,—
    Or in what rewle xal sche be brought?
  _Jhesus._ Loke whiche of ȝow that nevyr synne wrought,
    But is of lyff clennere than she,
  Cast at here stonys, and spare here nowght,
    Clene out of synne if that ȝe be.

_Hic Jhesus iterum se inclinans scribet in terra, et omnes accusatores
quasi confusi separatim in tribus locis se disjungent._

  _Phariseus._ Alas! alas! I am ashamyd!
    I am afferde that I xal deye;
  Alle myn synnys evyn propyrly namyd
    ȝon prophete dede wryte befor myn eye.
  Iff that my felawys that dude aspye,
    They wylle telle it bothe ffer and wyde;
  My sunfulle levynge if thei out crye,
    I wot nevyr wher myn heed to hyde.

  _Accusator._ Alas! for sorwe myn herte doth blede,
    Alle myn synnys ȝon man dude wryte;
  If that my felawys to them toke hede,
    I kannot me ffrom deth acquyte.
  I wold I wore hyd sumwhere out of syght,
    That men xuld me no where se ne knowe;
  Iff I be take I am afflyght
    In mekyl shame I xal be throwe.

  _Scriba._ Alas! the tyme that this betyd,
    Ryght byttyr care doth me embrace!
  Alle my synnys be now unhyd,
    ȝon man befor me hem alle doth trace.
  If I were onys out of this place,
    To suffyr deth gret and vengeauns able;
  I wyl nevyr come befor his face,
    Thow I xulde dye in a stable.

  _Mulier._ Thow I be wurthy ffor my trespas
    To suffyr dethe abhomynable,
  ȝitt, holy prophete, of ȝour hyȝ grace
    In ȝour jugement be mercyable.
  I wyl nevyr more be so unstable,
    O, holy prophete! graunt me mercy!
  Of my synnys unresonable,
    With alle myn hert I am sory.

  _Jhesus._ Where be thi fomen that dude the accuse?
    Why have thei lefte us to alone?
  _Mulier._ Bycawse they cowde nat hemself excuse,
    With shame they ffled hens everychone;
  But, gracyous prophete, lyst to my mone!
    Of my sorwe take compassyon!
  Now alle myn enmyes hens be gone,
    Sey me sum wurde of consolacion.
  _Jhesus._ ffor tho synnys that thou hast wrought,
    Hath any man condempnyd the?
  _Mulier._ Nay forsothe that hathe ther nought,
    Butt in ȝour grace I putt me.
  _Jhesus._ ffor me thou xalt nat condempnyd be;
    Go hom ageyn and walke at large:
  Loke that thou leve in honesté,
    And wyl no more to synne, I the charge.
  _Mulier._ I thanke ȝow hyȝly, holy prophete,
    Of this grett grace ȝe have me graunt;
  Alle my lewde lyff I xal doun lete,
    And ffonde to be Goddys trewe servaunt.
  _Jhesus._ What man of synne be repentaunt,
    Of God if he wyl mercy crave,
  God of mercy is so habundawnt,
    That what man haske it he xal it have.

  Whan man is contrite, and hath wonne grace,
    God wele not kepe olde wrethe in mynde,
  But bettyr love to hem he has,
    Very contryte whan he them fynde.
  Now God, that dyed ffor alle mankende,
    Save alle these pepyl, both nyght and day!
  And of oure synnys he us unbynde,
    Hyȝe Lorde of hevyn, that best may! _Amen._




XXIV. LAZARUS.


_Hic incipit de suscitatione Laȝari._

  _Laȝarus._ God, that alle thynge dede make of nowth,
    And puttyst eche creature to his fenaunce,
  Save thyn handwerke that thou hast wrought,
    As thou art lord of hiȝ substauns!
  O, gracyous God! att thi plesauns,
    Of my dysese now comforte me,
  Whiche thorowe syknes hath suche penawnce,
    On ethys ffor heed-ache may I now se.

  Systyr Martha and Mawdelyn eke,
    What hast helpe me in bedde to dresse;
  ffor trewly I am so woundyrly seke,
    I may nevyr schape this grett seknes.
  My deth is com now I gesse,
    Help into chawmere that I be led,
  My grett desesse I hope xal lesse,
    If I were leyd upon a bed.

  _Martha._ Laȝarus, brother, be of good cher,
    I hope ȝour syknes ryght wel xal slake;
  Upon this bed rest ȝow rygh here,
    And a good slep assay to take.
  _Magdalyn._ Now, jentyl brothyr, ffor Goddys sake
    Lyfte up ȝowre herte and be not feynt;
  An hevy householde with us ȝe make,
    If dedly syknes have ȝow ateynt.

  _Laȝarus._ fforsothe, dere systeryn, I may not slepe,
    My syknes so sore dothe evyr encrese;
  Of me I pray ȝow take ryght good kepe,
    Tyll that my peyne begynne relese.
  _Martha._ God graunt grace that it may sese,
    Of syknes God make ȝow sownde;
  Or ellys oure joy wylle sone dyscres,
    In so grett peynes if ȝe ly bownde.

  _Magdalyn._ A! brothir, brothir, lyfte up ȝoure herte,
    ȝour hevy cher doth us grevaunce;
  If deth from us ȝow xulde departe,
    Than were we brought in comberaunce.
  ȝe be oure brothyr syb of alyaunce,
    If ȝe wore deed, than had we none;
  ȝe do us brynge in distemperaunce,
    Whan ȝe us telle ȝe xal hens gone.

  _Primus consolator._ Dame Martha and Magdalyne,
    How faryth ȝour brothir? lete us hym se.
  _Martha._ He is ryght seke and hath grett pyne,
    I am aferde deed he xal be.
  _Magdalyn._ A man may have ryght grett peté,
    The fervent hete of hym to fele.
  _Secundus consolator._ Take ȝe no thought in no degré,
    I hope that he xal ffare fful wele.

  _Martha._ He may nat leve, his colowre doth chaunge,
    Come to his bed, ȝe xal hym se.
  _Magdalyn._ Iff he longe leve, it wyl be straunge,
    But as God wole, so mut it be;
  Chere hym, gode frendys, ffor charyté,
    Comforte of hym we kan non gete.
  Alas! alas! what eylight me,
    Myne herte for wo is wundyr grete.

  _Tertius consolator._ Ah, heyl! syr Laȝarus, how do ȝe fare?
    How do ȝe ffele ȝow in ȝour herte?
  _Laȝarus._ I am with syknes alle woundyn in care,
    And loke whan deth me xulde departe.
  _Quartus consolator et nuncius._ ȝe xal have hele and leve in qwart,
    If ȝe wol take to ȝow good chere.
  _Lazarus._ Whan deth on me hath shet his dart,
    I xal have hele and ly on bere.

  _Primus consolator._ Be of good comforte and thynke not so,
    Put out of herte that idyl thought;
  ȝoure owyn mysdemynge may werke ȝow wo,
    And cause ȝow sonere to dethe be brought.
  _Secundus consolator._ With gret syknes thow ȝe be sought,
    Upon ȝouresylf have no mystruste;
  If that ȝe have, I wundyr ryght nought,
    Thow ȝe be deed and cast in duste.

  _Tertius consolator._ Many on hathe had ryght grett syknesse,
    And aftyr hath had his hele ageyn;
  And many a man, this is no lesse,
    With his wantruste hymsylf hathe slayn.
  ȝe be a man of ryght sad brayn,
    Thow that ȝour syknes greve ȝow ryght ille,—
  Pluk up ȝour herte with myght and mayn,
    And chere ȝoursylf with alle ȝour wylle.

  _Laȝarus._ Ageyn my syknes ther is non ese,
    But Jhesu Cryst, my maystyr dere,
  If that he wyst of my dyssese,
    Ryght sone I trust he wolde ben here.
  _Quartus consolator._ I xal go to hym withoutyn dwere,
    And of ȝour syknes telle hym serteyne;
  Loke that ȝe be of ryght good chere,
    Whylle that I go and com ageyn.

  _Martha._ Now, jentyl ffrend, telle hym ryght thus,
    He that he lovyth hath grett syknes,
  Hedyr to come and comforte us,
    Say that we prayd hym of his goodnes.
  _Magdalyn._ Recomende us onto his hyȝnes,
    And telle hym alle oure hertys wo;
  But he comforte oure hevynes,
    Oure werdly joy awey wyl go.

  _Quartus consolator et nuncius._ The trewthe fforsothe alle every dele,
    As ȝe have told, so xal I say;
  Go to ȝour broythyr and cheryse hym wele,
    ffor I walke fforthe streyte in my way.
  _Martha._ What chere, good brothyr? telle me I pray;
    What wele ȝe ete? what wele ȝe drynk?
  Loke what is plesynge to ȝour pay;—
    ȝe xal have what ȝe wole thynke.

  _Laȝarus._ My wynde is stoppyd, gon is my brethe,—
    And dethe is come to make myn ende;
  To God in hevyn my sowle I qwethe,—
    ffarwelle, systeryn, for hens I wende.

_Hic Lazarus moritur, etc._

  _Magdalyn._ Alas! ffor wo myn here I rende,
    Myn owyn dere brothyr lyth here now ded;
  Now have we lost a trusty ffrende,—
    The sybbest blood of oure kynreed!

  _Martha._ Alas! alas! and weleway!
    Now be we tweyn bothe brothyrles!
  ffor who my hert is colde as clay;
    A! hoo xal comforte oure carefulnes?
  Ther had nevyr woman more doolfulnes;
    A! systyr Magdalyn, what is ȝour reed?
  What whith may helpe oure hevynes,
    Now that oure brother is gon and deed?

  _Magdalyn._ Alas! dere systyr, I cannot telle;
    The best comforte that I can sey,
  But sum man do us sle and qwelle,
    Lete us ly down by hym and dey.
  Alas! why went he alone awey?
    If we had deyd with hym also,
  Than had oure care alle turnyd to pley,
    Ther now alle joye is turnyd to woo.

  _Primus consolator._ Be of good comforte and thank God of al,
    ffor dethe is dew to every man;
  What tyme that deth on us xal ffal,
    Non erthely wyght the oure telle can.
  _Martha._ We alle xul dye, that is sertan,
    But ȝit the blood of kynde nature,
  When dethe the brothyr awey hath tan,
    Must nedys murne that sepulture.

  _Secundus consolator._ Good ffrendys, I pray ȝow holde ȝour pes,
    Alle ȝour wepynge moy not amende itt;
  Of ȝour sorwinge therfore now ses,
    And helpe he were buryed in a cley pitt.
  _Magdalyn._ Alas! that wurde myn herte doth slytt,
    That he must now in cley be grave;
  I wolde sum man my throte wulde kytt,
    That I with hym myght lyne in cave.

  _Tertius consolator._ Bothe heed and ffoot now he is wounde,
    In a schete bothe ffayr and clene,
  Lete us bere hym streyte to that grounde,
    Where that ȝe thynke his grave xal bene.
  _Martha._ We be ffulle lothe that pytt to sen;
    But stondynge it may no bettyr be,
  The coors take up ȝow thre betwen,
    With carefulle herte ȝow ffolwe xal we.

_Hic portavit corpus ad sepelliendum._

  _Magdaleyn._ Alas! comforte I se non othyr,
    But alle of sorwe, and care, and woo;
  We dulfulle women must hurry oure brothir,
    Alas! that deth me wyl not slo.
  If I to pitt with hym myght go,
    Therin evyrmore with hym to abyde,
  Than were my care alle went me fro,
    Ther now grett sorwe doth wounde me wyde.

  _Primus consolator._ This coors we burry here in this pytte,
    Allemyghty God the sowle mut have;
  And with this ston this grave we shytte,
    ffro ravenous bestes the body to save.
  _Magdalyn._ He is now brought into his cave,
    Myn hert ffor woo this syght doth kylle;
  Lete us sytt down here by the grave,
    Or we go hens wepe alle oure ffylle.

  _Martha._ Us for to wepe no man may lett,
    Beforn oure face to se this syght.
  Alas! qwhy doth deth us not fett,
    Us for to brynge to this same plyght?
  _Secundus consolator._ Arys, for shame, ȝe do not ryght,
    Streyth from this grave he xul go hens.
  Thus for to grugge ageyns Godys myght,
    Aȝens hyȝ God ȝe do offens.

  _Magdalen._ Syth I must nedys with ȝow hens gon,
    My brotheres grave lete me fyrst kys;
  Alas! no whith may helpe my mon,
    ffarewel, my brother! farewel, my blys!
  _Tertius consolator._ Hom to ȝour place we xal ȝow wysse,
    ffor Goddys love be of good chere;
  Indede ȝe do ryght sore amys,
    So sore to wepe, as ȝe do here.

  _Martha._ Lete us go hom than to oure place,
    We pray ȝow alle with us to abyde;
  Us to comforte with sum solace,
    Tyl that oure sorwe doth slake and sclyde.
  _Primus consolator._ ȝow for to comforte at every tyde,
    We xalle dwelle here bothe nyght and day,
  And God that made this werd so wyde,
    Be ȝowre comforte, that best may.

_Hic quartus consolator et nuncius loquitur Jhesu dicens_,

  _Quartus consolator._ Heyl, holy prophete, Jhesu by name!
    Martha and Mawdelyn, tho systeryn too,
  Recommende hem to ȝour hyȝ fame,
    And bad me sey to ȝow thus, loo!
  How that Lazarus, qwhiche that ȝe lovyd so,
    With grett syknes is sore dyssesyd;
  To hym they prayd ȝow that ȝe wolde goo,
    If that ȝour hyȝnes therwith were plesyd.

  _Jhesus._ Dedly syknes Laȝarus hath non,
    But for to shewe Goddys grete glorye;
  ffor that syknes is ordeynyd alon,
    The sone of God to gloryfie.
  _Nuncius._ They be in dowte that he xal deye,
    Grett syknes hym sore doth holde;
  ffor vervent hete his blood dothe dreye,
    His colore chaungyth, as they me tolde.

  _Jhesus._ Goo hom ageyn, and telle hem thus,
    I xal come to hem whan that I may.
  _Nuncius._ At ȝour comaundement, O prophete Jhesus!
    I xal hem telle, as ȝe do say.
  _Jhesus._ Com forthe, bretheryn, walke we oure way,
    Into Jurye go we anon;
  I cam not there ful many a day,
    Therfore thedyr now wyl I gon.

  _Omnes discipuli._ The Jewys ageyn the were grym and grylle,
    Whan thou were there wolde the a slayn;
  With stonys they sowte the ffor to kylle,
    And wylt thou now go thedyr ageyn.
  _Jhesus._ Xij. owrys the day hathe in certeyn,
    In them to walke bothe clere and bryght;
  He xal not stomble ageyn hylle nor pleyn,
    That goth the wey whyl it is day lyght.

  But if men walke whan it is nyght,
    Sone they offende in that dyrknes,
  Becawse they may have no cler syght,
    They hurte there ffete ofte in suche myrkenes.
  But as ffor this, ȝitt nevyrthelesse,
    The cawse therfore I thedyr wyl wende,
  Is ffor to reyse, ffrom bedde expresse,
    Laȝarus that slepyth, oure althere ffrende.

  _Omnes discipuli._ Of his syknes he xal be save,
    If that he slepe, good sygne it is.
  _Jhesus._ Laȝarus is deed and leyd in grave,
    Of his slepynge ȝe deme amys;
  I was not there, ȝe knew weyl this,
    To strengthe ȝoure feyth I am ful glad.
  Therfore I telle ȝow the trewthe i-wys,
    Oure ffrende is deed and undyr erthe clad.

  _Thomas._ Than goo we alle ryght evyn streyth thedyr,
    There as oure ffrende Laȝarus is deed;
  And lete us deye with hym togedyr,
    Ther as he lyth in the same stede.
  _Jhesus._ The ffor to deye have thou no drede,
    The wey streyth thedyr in hast we take;
  Be the grett myght of myn Godhede,
    Oute of his slepe he xal awake.

  _Nuncius._ Alle heyl! Martha and Mawdelyn eke,
    To Jhesu I have ȝour massage seyd,
  I tolde hym how that ȝour brothyr was seke,
    And with grett peyn in his bed leyd.
  He bad ȝe xulde not be dysmayde,
    Alle his syknes he xal askape;
  He wylle byn here within a brayde,
    As he me tolde, he comyth in rape.

  _Mawdelyn._ That holy prophete doth come to late,
    Oure brothyr is beryed iij. days or this;
  A grett stone stoppyth the pyttys gate,
    There as oure brothere beryde is.
  _Nuncius._ Is Laȝarus deed? now God his sowle blys!
    ȝit loke ȝe take non hevynes,
  So longe to wepe ȝe don amys,
    It may not helpe ȝour sorynes.

  _Martha._ Oute of myn herte alle care to lete,
    Alle sorwe and wo to caste away,
  I xal go forthe in the strete
    To mete with Jhesu, if that I may.
  _Secundus consolator._ God be ȝour spede bothe evyr and ay,
    ffor with ȝour sustyr we wyl abyde;
  Here to comforte we xal asay,
    And alle here care to caste asyde.

  _Tertius consolator._ Mary Mawdelyn, be of good herte,
    And wel bethynke ȝow in ȝour mynde,
  Eche creature hens must depart,
    Ther is no man but hens must wende!
  Deth to no wyht can be a frende,
    Alle thinge to erthe he wyl downe cast;
  Whan that God wol alle thynge hath ende,
    Lengere than hym lyst nothynge may last.

  _Magdalyn._ I thanke ȝow, frendys, ffor ȝour good chere,
    Myn hed doth ake, as it xulde brest;
  I pray ȝow, therfore, while ȝe ben here,
    A lytil whyle that I may rest.
  _Quartus consolator nuncius._ That Lord that made bothe est and west,
    Graunt ȝow good grace suche rest to take,
  That onto hym xulde plese most best,
    As he this worlde of nought dyd make!

  _Martha._ A! gracyous Lord, had ȝe ben here,
    My brother Lazarus this tyme had lyvyd;
  But iiij. days gon upon a bere
    We dede hym berye whan he was ded.
  ȝitt now I knowe withowtyn drede,
    What thynge of God that thou do crave,
  Thou xalt spede of the hyȝ Godheede,
    What so thou aske thou xalt it have.

  _Jhesus._ Thy brothyr Lazarus aȝen xal ryse,
    A levynge man aȝen to be.
  _Martha._ I woot wel that at the grett last syse,
    He xal aryse and also we.
  _Jhesus._ Resurreccion thou mast me se,
    And hendeles lyff I am also;
  What man that deyth and levyth in me,
    ffrom deth to lyve he xal ageyn go.

  Eche man in me that feytheful is,
    And ledyth his lyff aftere my lore,
  Of hendeles lyff may he nevyr mys,
    Evere he xal leve and deye nevyr more.
  The body and sowle I xal restore
    To endeles joye, dost thou trowe this?
  _Martha._ I hope in the, O Cryst! ful sore,
    Thou art the Sone of God in blys!

  Thy ffadyr is God of lyff endeles,
    Thiself is Sone of lyff and gras;
  To sese these wordlys wrecchydnes,
    ffrom hefne to erth ethou toke the pas.
  _Jhesus._ Of hevynly myght ryght grett solas,
    To alle this world me xul sone se;
  Go, calle thi systyr into this plas,
    Byd Mary Mawdelyn come hedyr to me.

  _Martha._ At thi byddyng I xalle here calle,
    In hast we were here ȝow beforn.
  _Mawdelyn._ Alas! my mowthe is byttyr as galle,
    Grett sorwyn my herte on tweyn hath scorne;
  Now that my brothyr from syth is lorn,
    Ther may no myrthe my care releve.
  Alas, the tyme that I was borne!
    The swerde of sorwe myn hert doth cleve.

  _Primus consolator._ ffor his dere love that alle that wrought,
    Ses sumtyme of ȝour wepynge,
  And putt alle thynge out of thought,
    Into this care that ȝow doth brynge.
  _Secundus consolator._ ȝe do ȝourself ryght grett hyndrynge,
    And short ȝoure lyff or ȝe beware;
  ffor Goddys love, ses of ȝour sorwynge,
    And with good wysdam refreyn ȝour care.

  _Martha._ Sustyr Magdalen, come out of halle,
    Our maystyr is com, as I ȝow say;
  He sent me hedyr ȝow for to calle,
    Come forthe in hast, as I ȝow pray.
  _Magdalen._ Ha! where hath he ben many a longe day?
    Alas! why cam he no sonere hedyr?
  In hast I folwe ȝow anon the way,
    Me thynkyth longe or I come thedyr.

  _Tertius consolator._ Herke, gode ffrendys, I ȝow pray,
    Aftyr this woman in hast we wende;
  I am aferde ryght in good fay,
    Hereself for sorwe that she wyl shende.
  _Nuncius._ Here brothyr so sore is in hire mende,
    She may not ete, drynke, nor slepe;
  Streyte to his grave she goth on ende,
    As a mad woman, ther for to wepe.

  _Magdalen._ A! sovereyn Lord, and mayster dere!
    Had ȝe with us ben in presens,
  Than had my brother on lyve ben here,
    Nat ded but qwyk, that now is hens.
  Ageyn deth is no resystens,
    Alas! myn hert is woundyrly wo,
  Whan that I thynke of his absens,
    That ȝe ȝourself in herte lovyd so.

  _Primus consolator._ Whan we have mynd of his sore dethe,
    He was to us so gentyl and good,
  That mend of hym oure hertes sleth,
    The losse of hym doth marre oure mood.
  _Secundus consolator._ Be bettyr neybore nevyr man stood,
    To every man he was ryght hende;
  Us he dede refresche with drynk and food,
    Now he is gon, gon is oure frende!

  _Jhesus._ ȝowre grett wepynge doth me constreyne
    ffor my good ffrend to wepe also;
  I cannot me for wo restreyn,
    But I must wepe lyke as ȝe do.

_Hic Jhesus fingit se lacrimari._

  _Tertius consolator._ Beholde this prophete, how he doth wepe lo!
    He lovyd Lazarus ryght woundyrly sore,
  He wolde not ellys for hym thus wepe so,
    But if that his love on hym were the more.

  _Nuncius._ A straw for thi tale, what nedyth hym to wepe?
    A man born blynde dyde he nat ȝeve syght?
  Myght he not thanne his frende on lyve kepe,
    Be the vertu of that same hyȝ myght?
  _Jhesus._ Where is he put? telle me anon ryght;
    Brynge me the weye streyth to his grave.
  _Martha._ Lord! at ȝour wylle we xal brynge ȝow tyght,
    Evyn to that place ther he doth lyve in cave.

  _Magdalyn._ Whan that we had the massangere sent,
    Or he had fullyche half a myle gon,
  Deyd my brother, and up we hym hent,
    Here in this grave we beryed hym anon.
  _Jhesus._ The myght of the Godhed xal gladd ȝow everychon,
    Suche syght xal he se hens or ȝe wende;
  Sett to ȝour handys, take of the ston,
    A syght lete me have of Laȝarus my ffrende.

  _Martha._ He stynkygh ryght fowle longe tyme or this,
    Iiij. days gon forsothe he was dede.
  Lete hym ly stylle ryght evyn as he is,
    The stynke of his careyn myght hurte us I drede.
  _Jhesus._ As I have the tolde, syght of the Godhede
    Thyself xuldyst have, feythful if thou be;
  Take of the ston, do aftyr my rede,
    The glorye of the Godhede anon ȝe xal se.

  _Primus consolator._ ȝoure byddynge xal be done a ful swyfte,
    Sett to ȝour handys and helpe echone;
  I pray ȝow, seres, help me to lyfte,
    I may not reyse it myself alon.
  _Secundus consolator._ In feyth it is an holy ston,
    Ryth sad of weyth and hevy of peys.
  _Tertius consolator._ Thow it were twyes so hevy as on,
    Undyr us foure we xal it reyse.

  _Nuncius._ Now is the ston take ffrom the cave,
    Here may men se a rewly sygth
  Of this ded body that lyth here in grave,
    Wrappyd in a petefful plyght.

_Jhesus elevatis ad cælum oculis, dicit_,

  I thanke the, Fadyr, of thin hyȝ myght,
    That thou hast herd my prayour this day;
  I know ful wel, bothe day and nyght,
    Ever thou dost graunt that I do say.

  But for this pepyl that stondyth about,
    And beleve not the power of the and me;
  Them for to brynge clene out of dowt,
    This day oure myght they alle xul se.

_Hic Jhesus clamat voce magna, dicens_,

  Laȝarus! Laȝarus! my frende so fre!
    ffrom that depe pitt come out anon!
  Be the grett myght of the hyȝ magesté,
    Alyve thou xalt on erthe ageyn gon.

  _Laȝarus._ At ȝoure comaundement I ryse up ful ryght,
    Heyn, helle, and erthe ȝoure byddyng must obeye;
  ffor ȝe be God and man, and Lord of most myght,
    Of lyff and of deth ȝe have bothe lok and keye.

_Hic resurget Lazarus ligatis manibus et pedibus ad modum sepulturi, et
dicit Jhesus_,

  _Jhesus._ Goo forthe, bretheryn, and Laȝarus ȝe untey,
    And alle his bondys losyth hym asundyr;
  Late hym walke hom with ȝow in the wey,
    Ageyn Godes myght this meracle is now undyr.

  _Petrus._ At ȝour byddynge his bondys we unbynde,
    Alle thynge muste lowte unto ȝour magesté!
  Be this grett meracle opynly we fynde,
    Very God and man in trewthe that ȝe be.
  _Johannes._ That thou art very God every man may se,
    Be this meracle so grett and so mervaylle;
  Alle thynge undyr hevyn must nedys obeye the,—
    Whan aȝens the thowh deth be, he may not prevaylle.

  _Omnes Consolatores._ We alle with o voys ffor God do the knowe,
    And for oure Savyour we do the reverens;
  Alle oure hool love now in the doth growe,
    O sovereyn Lord of most excellens!
  Helpe us of ȝour grace whan that we go hens,
    ffor azens deth us helpyht not to stryve,
  But aȝen ȝour myght is no resistens,
    Oure dethe ȝe may aslake and kepe us stylle on lyve.

  _Jhesus._ Now I have shewyd in opyn syght,
    Of my Godhed the gret glorye;
  To-ward my passyon I wyl me dyght,
    The tyme is nere that I must deye.
  ffor alle mankynde his sowle to bye,
    A crown of thorn xal perchyn myn brayn,
  And on the mont of Calvarye,
    Upon a cros I xal be slayn.




XXV. THE COUNCIL OF THE JEWS.


  _Demon._ I am ȝour lord Lucifer, that out of helle cam,
    Prince of this werd, and gret duke of helle.
  Wherefore my name is clepyd Sere Satan,
    Wheche aperyth among ȝow a matere to spelle.

  I am norssher of synne to the confusyon of man,
    To bryng hym to my dongeon ther in fyre to dwelle.
  Ho so evyr serve me, so reward hym I kan,
    That he xal syng weleaway ever in peynes ffelle.

  Lo! thus bountevous a lord than now am I,
    To reward so synners, as my kend is;
  Whoso wole folwe my lore and serve me dayly,
    Of sorwe and peyne anow he xal nevyr mys.

  ffor I began in hefne synne for to sowe,
    Amonge alle the angellys that weryn there so bryth;
  And therfore was I cast out into helle ful lowe,
    Notwythstandyng I was the fayrest and berere of lyth.

  ȝet in drowe in my tayle of tho angelys bryth;
    With me into helle takyth good hed what I say;
  I leste but tweyn aȝens on to abyde there in lyth,
    But the iij.ᵈᵉ part come with me, this may not be seyd nay.

  Takyth hed to your prince than, my pepyl everychon,
    And seyth what maystryes in hefne I gan ther do play;
  To gete a thowsand sowlys in an houre me thynkyth it but skorn,
    Syth I wan Adam and Eve on the fyrst day.

  But now mervelous mendys rennyn in myn rememberawns,
    Of on Cryst wiche is clepyd Joseph and Maryes sone;
  Thryes I tempte hym be ryth sotylle instawnce,
    Aftyr he fast fourty days ageyns sensual myth or reson.

  ffor of the stonys to a mad bred, but sone I had conclusyon,
    Than upon a pynnacle, but angelys were to hym assystent;
  His answerys were mervelous, I knew not his intencion;
    And at the last to veyn glory, but nevyr I had myn intent.

  And now hath he xij. dyscypulys to his attendauns,
    To eche towne and cety he sendyth hem as bedellys;
  In dyverce place to make ffor hym purvyauns,
    The pepyl of hese werkys fful grettly merveyllys.
  To the crokyd, blynd, and dowme, his werkys prevaylys.
    Laȝarus that foure days lay ded his lyff recuryd;
  And where I purpose me to tempt, anon he me asaylys;
    Mawdelyn playn remyssyon also he hath ensuryd.

  Goddys son he pretendyth and to be born of a mayde,
    And seyth he xal dey for mannys salvacion,
  Than xal the trewth be tryed and no fordere be delayd,
    Whan the soule from the body xal make separacion;
  And as for hem that be undre my grett domynacion,
    He xal fayle of hese intent and purpose also,
  Be this tyxt of holde remembryd to myn intencion,
    Quia in inferno nulla est redemptio!

  But whan the tyme xal neyth of his persecucion,
    I xal arere new engynes of malycious conspiracy,
  Plenté of reprevys I xal provide to his confusyon,
    Thus xal I false the wordys that his pepyl doth testefy;
  His discipulis xal forsake hym, and here mayster denye,
    Innoumberabyl xal hese woundys be of woful grevauns.
  A tretowre xal countyrfe his deth to fortyfye;
    The rebukys that he gyf me xal turne to his displesauns.

  Some of hese dyscypulys xal be chef of this ordenawns,
    That xal fortefye this terme that in trost is treson;
  Thus xal I venge be sotylté al my malycious grevauns;
    ffor nothyng may excede my prudens and dyscrecion.

  Gyff me ȝour love, grawnt me myn affeccion,
    And I wyl unclose the tresor of lovys alyawns,
  And gyff ȝow ȝoure desyrys afftere ȝoure intencion;
    No poverté xal aproche ȝow, fro plentevous abundauns.

  Byholde the dyvercyté of my dysgysyd varyauns,
    Eche thyng sett of dewe nateralle dysposycion,
  And eche parte acordynge to his resemblauns,
    ffro the sool of the ffoot to the hyest asencion.

  Off ffyne cordewan a goodly peyre of long pekyd schon;
    Hosyn enclosyd of the most costyous cloth of crenseyn;
  Thus a bey to a jentylman to make comperycion,
    With two doseyn poyntys of cheverelle, the aglottes of sylver feyn.

  A shert of feyn Holond, but care not for the payment;
    A stomachere of clere reynes the best may be bowth;
  Thow poverté be chef, lete pride ther be present,
    And alle tho that repreff pride, thou sette hem at nowth.

  Cadace wolle or flokkys, where it may be sowth,
    To stuffe withal thi dobbelet, and make the of proporcyon;
  Two smale legges and a gret body, thow it ryme nowth,
    ȝet loke that thou desyre to an the newe faccion.

  A gowne of thre ȝerdys, loke thou make comparison,
    Unto alle degrees dayly that passe thin astat;
  A purse withoutyn mony, a daggere for devoscyon;
    And there repref is of synne, loke thou make debat.

  With syde lokkys I schrewe thin here to thi colere hangyng downe,
    To herborwe qweke bestys that tekele men onyth;
  An hey smal bonet for curyng of the crowne,
    And alle beggeres and pore pepyll have hem in dyspyte.
  Onto the grete othys and lycherye gyf thi delyte;
    To maynteyn thin astate lete brybory be present;
  And yf the lawe repreve the, say thou wylt ffyth,
    And gadere the a felachep after thin entent.

  Loke thou sett not be precept nor be comawndement,
    Both sevyle and canon sett thou at nowth;
  Lette no membre of God but with othys be rent;
    Lo! thus this werd at this tyme to myn entent is browth.
  I, Sathan, with my felawus this werd hath sowth,
    And now we han it at houre plesawns;
  ffor synne is not shamfast, but boldnes hath bowth,
    That xal cause hem in helle to have inerytawns.

  A beggerys dowtere to make gret purvyauns,
    To cownterfete a jentylwoman, dysgeysed as she can,
  And yf mony lakke, this is the newe chevesauns,
    With here prevy plesawns to gett it of sum man.
  Here colere splayed, and furryd with ermyn, calabere, or satan;
    A seyn to selle lechery to hem that wyl bey;
  And thei that wyl not by it, yet i-now xal thei han,
    And telle hem it is for love, she may it not deney.

  I have browth ȝow newe namys, and wyl ȝe se why
    ffor synne is so plesaunt to eche mannys intent,
  ȝe xal kalle pride oneste, and nateralle kend lechory,
    And covetyse wysdam there tresure is present.

  Wreth manhod, and envye callyd chastement;
    Seyse nere sessyon, lete perjery be chef;
  Glotenye rest, let abstynawnce beyn absent;
    And he that wole exorte the to vertu, put hem to repreff.

  To rehers al my servauntes my matere is to breff,
    But alle these xal everyth the dyvicion eternal;
  Thow Cryst by his sotylté many materys meef,
    In evyrlastynge peyne with me dwellyn thei xal.

  Remembre, oure servauntes, whoys sowlys ben mortalle,
    ffor I must remeffe for more materys to provyde;
  I am with ȝow at alle tymes whan ȝe to councel me calle,
    But for a short tyme myself I devoyde.

  _Johannes Baptist._ I, John Baptyst, to ȝow thus prophesye,
    That on xal come aftyr me and not tary longe,
  In many folde more strengere than I,
    Of whose shon I am not worthy to lose the thonge.
  Wherefore I councel the ȝe reforme alle wronge,
    In ȝour concyens of the mortalle dedys sevyn,
  And for to do penawns loke that ȝe ffonge,
    ffor now xal come the kyngdham of hevyn.

  The weys of oure lord cast ȝow to aray,
    And therin to walk loke ȝe be applyande;
  And make his pathys as ryth as ȝe may,
    Kepyng ryth forth, and be not declinande.
  Neyther to fele on ryth nor on lefte hande,
    But in the myddys purpose ȝow to holde,
  ffor that in alle wyse is most plesande,
    As ȝe xal here, whan I have tolde.

  Of this wey for to make moralysacyon,
    Be the ryth syde ȝe xal undyrstonde mercy,
  And on the lefte syde lykkenyd dysperacion,
    And the patthe betwyn bothyn, that may not wry,
  Schal be hope and drede to walk in perfectly,
    Declynyng not to fele, for no maner nede;
  Grete cawsys I xal sheve ȝow why,
    That ȝe xal sowe the patthe of hope and drede.

  On the mercy of God to meche ȝe xal not holde,
    As in this wyse behold what I mene;
  ffor to do synne be thou no more bolde,
    In trost that God wole mercyful bene.
  And yf be sensualyté, as it is ofte sene,
    Synnyst dedly, thou xalt not therfore dyspeyre;
  But therfore do penawns and confesse the clene,
    And of hevyn thou mayst trost to ben eyre.

  The pathe that lyth to this blyssyd enherytawns,
    Is hope and drede copelyd be conjunccyon;
  Betwyx these tweyn may be no dysseverawns,
    ffor hope withowtyn drede is maner of presumpcion.
  And drede withowtyn hope is maner of dysperacion,
    So these tweyn must be knyt be on acorde.
  How ȝe xal aray the wey, I have made declaracion,
    Also the ryth patthis, aȝens the comyng of oure Lord.

_Here xal Annas shewyn hymself in his stage, be seyn after a busshop of
the hoold lawe, in a skarlet gowne, and over that a blew tabbard furryd
with whyte, and a mytere on his hed, after the hoold lawe; ij. doctorys
stondyng by hym in furryd hodys, and on beforn hem with his staff of
astat, and eche of hem on here hedys a furryd cappe, with a gret knop
in the crowne, and on stondyng beforn as a Saraȝyn, the wiche xal be his
masangere. Annas thus seyng_,

  As a prelat am I properyd to provyde pes,
    And of Jewys jewge the lawe to fortefye,
  I, Annas, be my powere xal comawnde dowteles,
    The lawys of Moyses no man xal denye.
  Hoo excede my comawndement anon ȝe certefye,
    If any eretyk here reyn to me ȝe compleyn,
  For in me lyth the powere, alle trewthis to trye,
    And pryncypaly oure lawys tho must I susteyn.

  ȝef I may aspey the contrary, no wheyle xal thei reyn,
    But anon to me be browth and stonde present
  Before her jewge, wiche xal not feyn,
    But aftere here trespace to gef hem jugement.
  Now, serys, for a prose herythe myn intent,
    There is on Jhesus of Naȝareth that oure lawys doth excede,
  Yf he procede thus we xal us alle repent,
    For oure lawys he dystroyt dayly with his dede.

  Therefore be ȝour cowncel we must take hede,
    What is be to provyde or do in this case;
  ffor yf we let hym thus go and ferdere prosede,
    Ageyn Sesare and oure lawe we do trespace.
  _Primus Doctor._ Sere, this is myn avyse that ȝe xal do,
    Send to Cayphas for cowncel, knowe his intent;
  ffor yf Jhesu procé and thus forth go,
    Oure lawys xal be dystroyed, thes so we present.

  _Secundus doctor._ Sere, remembre the gret charge that on ȝow is leyd,
    The lawe to ke[pe] whiche may not ffayle;
  Yf any defawth prevyd of ȝow be seyd,
    The Jewys with trewth wyl ȝow asayl.

  Tak hed whath cownsayl may best prevayl,
    After Rewfyn and Layon I rede that ȝe sende,
  They arn temperal jewgys that knowyth the parayl,
    With ȝoure cosyn Cayphas this matere to amende.

  _Annas._ Now surely this cowncel revyfe myn herte.
    ȝoure cowncel is best, as I can se,—
  Arfexe, in hast loke that thou styrte,
    And pray Cayphas my cosyn come speke with me.

  To Rewfyn and Leon thu go also,
    And pray hem thei speke with me in hast;
  ffor a pryncipal matere that have to do,
    Wiche must be knowe, or this day be past.

  _Arfexe._ My sovereyn at ȝour intent I xal gon,
    In al the hast that I kan hy;
  Onto Cayphas, Rewfyn, and Lyon,
    And charge ȝoure intent that thei xal ply.

_Here goth the masangere forth, and in the mene tyme Cayphas shewyth
himself in his skafhald arayd lyche to Annas, savyng his tabbard xal be
red furryd with white: ij. doctorys with him arayd with pellys aftyr the
old gyse, and furryd cappys on here hedys. Cayphas thus seyng_,

  As a primat most prendent I present here sensyble
    Buschopys of the lawe with al the cyrcumstawns;
  I, Cayphas, am jewge, with powerys possyble,
    To distroye alle erroris that in owre lawys make varyawns.
  Alle thynges I convey be reson and temperawnce,
    And alle materis possyble to me ben palpable;
  Of the lawe of Moyses I have a chef governawns,
    To severe ryth and wrong in me is termynable.

  But ther is on Cryst that oure lawys is varyable,
    He perverte the pepyl with his prechyng ille;
  We must seke amene onto hym reprevable,
    ffor yf he procede, owre lawys he wyl spylle.
  We must take good cowncel in this case,
    Of the wisest of the lawe that kan the trewthe telle;
  Of the jewgys of pharasy and of my cosyn Annas,
    For yf he procede be prossesse oure lawys he wyl felle.

  _Primus doctor._ Myn lord, plesyt ȝow to pardon me for to say,
    The blame in ȝow is, as we fynde;
  To lete Cryst contenue thus day be day,
    With his fals wichecraft the pepyl to blynde.
  He werkyth fals meraclis ageyns alle kende,
    And makyth oure pepyl to leve hem in;
  It is ȝour part to take hym and do hym bynde,
    And gyf hym jugement for his gret syn.

  _Secundus doctor._ fforsothe, sere, of trewth this is the case,
    Onto oure lawe ȝe don oppressyon,
  That ȝe let Cryst from ȝou pace,
    And wyl not don on hym correxion.
  Let Annas knowe ȝour intencion,
    With prestys and jewges of the lawe,
  And do Cryst fforsake his fals oppynyon,
    Or into a prison lete hem be thrawe.

  _Cayphas._ Wel, seres, ȝe xal se withinne short whyle,
    I xal correcte hym for his trespas,
  He xal no lenger oure pepyl begyle,
    Out of myn dawngere he xal not pas.

_Here comyth the masangere to Cayphas, and in the mene tyme Rewfyn and
Lyon schewyn hem in the place, in ray tabardys furryd and ray hodys
abouth, here neckys furryd, the masangere seyng_,

  Myn reverent sovereyn, and it do ȝow plese,
    Sere Annas, my lord hath to ȝou sent,
  He prayt ȝou that ȝe xal not sese,
    Tyl that ȝe ben with hym present.

  _Cayphas._ Sere, telle myn cosyn I xal not fayl,
    It was my purpose hym for to se,
  For serteyn materes that wyl prevayle,
    Thow he had notwth a sent to me.
  _Masangere._ I recomende me to ȝour hey degré,
    On more massagys I must wende.
  _Cayphas._ ffarewel, sere, and wel ȝe be,
    Gret wel my cosene and my ffrende.

_Here the masager metyth with the jewges, sayng_,

  Heyl! jewgys of Jewry, of reson most prudent,
    Of my massage to ȝou I make relacion,
  My lord, sere Annas, hath for ȝou sent,
    To se his presens withowth delacion.
  _Rewfyn._ Sere, we are redy at his comawndement,
    To se sere Annas in his place;
  It was oure purpose and oure intent,
    To a be with hym withinne short space.

  _Leyon._ We are ful glad his presence to se;
    Sere, telle him we xal come in hast;
  No delacion therin xal be,
    But to his presens hye us fast.
  _Masager._ I xal telle my lord this, as ȝe say,
    ȝe wyl fulfylle al his plesawns.
  _Rewfyn._ Sere, telle hym we xal make no delay,
    But come in hast at his instawns.

_Here the masangere comyth to Annas, thus seyng_,

  My lord and it plese ȝou to have intellygens,
    Ser Cayphas comyth to ȝou in hast:
  Rewfyn and Lyon wyl se ȝour presens,
    And se ȝow here or this day be past.
  _Annas._ Sere, I kan the thank of thi dyligens,
    Now ageyn my cosyn I wole walk;
  Serys, folwyth me onto his presens,
    ffor of thes materys we must talk.

_Here Annas goth down to mete with Cayphas, and in the mene tyme thus
seyng_,

  _Cayphas._ Now onto Annas let us wende,
    Eche of us to knowe otheres intent:
  Many materes I have in mende,
    The wiche to hym I xal present.
  _Primus doctor._ Sere, of alle othere thyng remembre this case,
    Loke that Jhesus be put to schame.
  _Secundus doctor._ Whan we come present beforn Annas,
    Whe xal rehers alle his gret blame.

_Here the buschopys with here clerkes and the Phariseus mett, and the myd
place, and ther xal be a lytil oratory with stolys and cusshonys clenly
be-seyn, lyche as it were a cownsel-hous; Annas thus seyng_,

  We come, ser Cayphas, and ȝe, jewgys alle,
    Now xal ȝe knowe alle myn entent;
  A wondyr case, serys, here is befalle,
    On wiche we must gyf jewgement.
  Lyst that we aftere the case repent,
    Of on Cryst that Goddys sone som doth hym calle;
  He shewyth meraclys and sythe present
    That he is prynce of prynces alle.

  The pepyl so fast to hym doth falle,
    Be prevy menys, as we aspye;
  ȝyf he procede, son sen ȝe xalle,
    That oure lawys he wyl dystrye;
  It is oure part thus to deny:
    What is ȝour cowncelle in this cas?

  _Cayphas._ Be reson the trewth here may we try,
    I cannot dem hym withouth trespace;
  Because he seyth in every a place,
    That he kyng of Jewys in every degré.
  Therfor he is fals, knowe wel the case,
    Sesar is kyng and non but he.

  _Rewfyn._ He is an eretyk and a tretour bolde,
    To Sesare and to oure lawe sertayn;
  Bothe in word, and in werke, and ȝe beholde
    He is worthy to dey with mekyl peyn.
  _Leon._ The cawse that we been here present,
    To fortefye the lawe, and, trewth to say,
  Jhesus ful nere oure lawys hath shent,
    Therfore he is worthy for to day.

  _Primus doctor Annas._ Seres, ȝe that ben rewelerys of the lawe,
    On Jhesu ȝe must gyf jugement,
  Let hym fyrst ben hangyn and drawe,
    And thanne his body in fyre be brent.
  _Secundus doctor Annas._ Now xal ȝe here the intent of me,
    Take Jhesu that worke us alle gret schame;
  Put hym to deth, let hym not fle,
    For than the comownys thei wyl ȝow blame.

  _Primus doctor Cayphas._ He werke with wechecrafte in eche place,
    And drawyth the pepyl to hese intent;
  Bewhare, ȝe jewgys, let hym not passe,
    Than be my trowthe ze xal repent.
  _Secundus doctor Cayphas._ Serys, takyth hede onto this case,
    And in ȝour jewgement be not slawe;
  Ther was nevyr man dyd so gret trespace,
    As Jhesu hath don ageyn oure lawe.

  _Annas._ Now, bretheryn, than wyl ȝe here myn entent,
    These ix. days let us abyde;
  We may not gyf so hasty jugement,
    But eche man inqwere on his syde.
  Send spyes abouth the countré wyde,
    To se and recorde and testymonye,
  And than hese werkys he xal not hyde,
    Nor have no power hem to denye.

  _Cayphas._ This cownecelle acordyth to my reson.
  _Annas._ And we alle to the same.




XXVI. THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.


  _Jhesus._ ffrendys, beholde the tyme of mercy,
    The whiche is come now withowt dowth;
  Mannys sowle in blys now xal edyfy,
    And the prynce of the werd is cast owth.

  Go to ȝon castel that standyth ȝow ageyn,
    Sum of myn dyscyplis go forthe ȝe to;
  There xul ȝe ffyndyn bestys tweyn,
    An asse tyed and here fole also.
  Unlosne that asse, and brynge it to me pleyn;
    Iff any man aske why that ȝe do so,
  Sey that I have nede to this best serteyn,
    And he xal not lett ȝow ȝour weys for to go:
            That best brynge ȝe to me.
  _Primus Apostolus._ Holy prophete, we gon oure way,
  We wyl not ȝoure wourd delay,
  Also sone as that we may,
            We xal it brynge to the.

_Here thei ffecche the asse with the ffole, and the burgeys seyth_,

  _Burgensis._ Herke ȝe, men, who ȝaff ȝow leve,
    Thus this best ffor to take away?
  But only ffor pore men to releve,
    This asse is ordeyned, as I ȝow say.
  _Philippus._ Good sere, take this at no greff,
    Oure mayster us sent hedyr this day,
  He hath grett nede withowte repreff,
    Therfore not lett us, I the pray,
            This best for to lede.
  _Burgensis._ Sethyn that it is so that he hath ȝow sent,
    Werkyth his wylle and his intent,
  Take the beste, as ȝe be bent,
    And evyr wel mote ȝe spede.

  _Jacobus minor._ This best is brought ryght now here lo!
    Holy prophete at thin owyn wylle,
  And with this clothe, anon, also,
    This bestys bak we xal sone hylle.
  _Philippus._ Now mayst thou ryde whedyr thou wylt go,
    Thyn holy purpos to ffulfylle,
  Thy best fful redy is dyth the to,
    Bothe meke and tame the best is stylle.
            And we be redy also,
  Iff it be plesynge to thi ssyght,
  The to helpe anon forthe ryght,
  Upon this best that thou were dyght,
            Thi jurney ffor to do.

_Here Cryst rydyth out of the place and he wyl, and Petyr and John abydyn
stylle, and at the last, whan thei have done ther prechyng, thei mete
with Jhesu_,

  _Petrus._ O, ȝe pepyl dyspeyryng, be glad!
    A grett cawse ȝe have, and ȝe kan se,
  The Lord that alle thynge of nought mad,
    Is comynge ȝour comfort to be.
  Alle your langoris salvyn xal he,
    ȝour helthe is more than ȝe kan wete,
  He xal cawse the blynde that thei xal se,
    The def to here, the dome for to speke!

  Thei that be crokyd, he xal cause hem to goo
    In the wey that John Baptyst of prophecyed;
  Sweche a leche kam ȝow nevyr non too,
    Wherfore what he comawndyth loke ȝe applyed.
  That som of ȝow be blynd, it may not be denyid;
    ffor hym that is ȝour makere with ȝour gostly ey ȝe xal not knowe;
  Of his comaundementes in ȝow gret neclygens is aspyed,
    Wherefore def fro gostly heryng clepe ȝow I howe.

  And som of ȝow may not go, ȝe be so crokyd;
    ffor of good werkyng in ȝow is lytyl habundawns,
  Tweyn fete hevery man xuld have and it were lokyd,
    Wyche xuld here the body gostly most of substawns;
  ffyrst is to love God above alle other plesawns;
    The secunde is to love thi neybore as thin owyn persone;
  And yf these tweyn be kepte in perseverawns;
    Into the celestyal habytacion ȝe arn habyl to gone.

  Many of ȝow be dome; why? for ȝe wole not redresse,
    Be mowthe ȝour dedys mortal but therin don perdure;
  Of the wyche but ȝe have contrycyon and ȝow confesse,
    ȝe may not inheryte hevyn, this I ȝow ensure.
  And of alle these maladyes ȝe may have gostly cure,
    ffor the hevenly leche is comyng ȝow for to vicyte;
  And as for payment he wole shewe ȝow no redrure,
    ffor with the love of ȝoure hertys he wole be aqwhyte.

  _Johannes Apostolus._ Onto my brotherys forseyd rehersalle,
    That ȝe xuld ȝeve the more veray confydens,
  I come with hym as testymonyalle,
    ffor to conferme I fortefye his sentens.
  This lord xal come without resystens,
    Onto the cety-ward he is now comyng,
  Wherefore dresse ȝow with alle dew dylygens,
    To honowre hym as ȝour makere and kyng.

  And to fulfylle the prophetys prophesé,
    Upon an asse he wole hedyr ryde,
  Shewing ȝow exawmple of humylyté,
    Devoydyng the abhomynable synne of pryde.
  Wheche hath ny conqweryd alle the werd wyde,
    Grettest cause of all ȝour trybulacyon,
  Use it ho so wole, for it is the best gyde,
    That ȝe may have to the place of dampnacyon.

  Now, brothyr in God, syth we have intellygens,
    That oure Lord is ny come to this ceté,
  To attend upon hys precyous presens,
    It syttyth to us, as semyth me.
  Wherfore to mete with hym now go we,
    I wold fere no thynge we where to late;
  To the ceté-ward fast drawyth he,
    Me semyth he is ny at the gate.

_Here spekyth the iiij. ceteseyngs, the fyrst thus seyng_,

  _Primus cives de Jherusalem._ Neyborys, gret joye in oure herte we
      may make,
    That this hefly kyng wole vycyte this cyté.
  _Secundus cives._ Yf oure eerly kyng sweche a jorné xuld take,
    To don hym honor and worchepe, besy xuld we be.
  _Tertius cives._ Meche more than to the hevynly kyng bownd are we,
    ffor to do that xuld be to his persone reverens.
  _Quartus cives._ Late us than welcome hym with flowres and brawnchis
      of the tre,
    ffor he wole take that to plesawns becawse of redolens.

_Here the iiij. ceteseynys makyn hem redy for to mete with oure Lord,
goyng barfot and barelegged, and in here shyrtes, savyng thei xal have
here gownys cast abouth them; and qwan thei seen oure Lord, thei xal
sprede ther clothis beforn hym, and he xal lyth and go ther upon, and
thei xal falle downe upon ther knes alle at onys, the fyrst thus seyng_,

  _Primus cives._ Now blyssyd he be that in oure Lordys name,
    To us in any wyse wole resorte,
  And we beleve veryly that thou dost the same,
    For be thi mercy xal spryng mannys comforte.

_Here Cryst passyth forth, ther metyth with hym a serteyn of chylderyn
with flowres, and cast beforn hym, and they synggyn “Gloria Laus,” and
beforn on seyth_,

  Thow sone of Davyd, thou be oure supporte,
    At oure last day whan we xal dye,
  Wherefore we alle at onys to the exorte,
    Cryeng mercy! mercy! mercye!

  _Jhesu._ ffrendys, beholde the tyme of mercy;
    The wiche is come now, withowtyn dowth;
  Mannys sowle in blysse now xal edyfy,
    And the prynce of the werd is cast owth.
  As I have prechyd in placys abowth,
    And shewyd experyence to man and wyf,
  Into this werd Goddys sone hath sowth
    ffor veray love man to revyfe.

  The trewthe of trew this xal now be tryede,
    And a perfith of corde betwyx God and man,
  Wiche trewthe xal nevyr be dyvide,
    Confusyon onto the fynd Sathan!

  _Primus pauper homo._ Thou sone of Davyd! on us have mercye,
    As we must stedfast belevyn in the;
  Thi goodnesse, Lord, lete us be nye,
    Wheche lyth blynd here and may not se!

  _Secundus pauper homo._ Lord, lete thi mercy to us be sewre,
    And restore to us oure bodyly syth!
  We know thou may us wel recure,
    With the lest poynt of thi gret myth.
  _Jhesu._ ȝowre beleve hath made thou for to se,
    And delyveryd ȝow fro alle mortal peyne;
  Blyssyd be alle tho that beleve on me,
    And se me not with here bodyly eyn.

_Here Cryst blyssyth here eyn and thei may se, the fyrst seyng_,

  _Primus pauper homo._ Gramercy, Lord! of thi gret grace,
    I that was blynd, now may se.
  _Secundus pauper homo._ Here I forsake al my trespace,
    And stedfastly wyl belevyn on the.

_Here Cryst procedyth on fote, with his dyscipulys after hym, Cryst
wepyng upon the cyté, saying thus_,

  _Jhesu._ O Jherusalem! woful is the ordenawnce
    Of the day of thi gret persecucyon;
  Thou xalt be dystroy with woful grevans,
    And thi ryalté browth to trew confusyon.
  ȝe that in the ceté han habytacyon,
    Thei xal course the tyme that thei were borne,
  So gret advercyté and trybulacion,
    Xal falle on hem bothe evyn and morwyn.

  Thei that han most chylderyn sonest xal wayle,
    And seyn, alas! what may this meen?
  Both mete and drynk sodeynly xal fayle,—
    The vengeance of God ther xal be seen.
  The tyme is comyng hes woo xal ben,
    The day of trobyl and gret grevauns;
  Bothe templys and towrys they xal down cleen,
    O ceté! fful woful is thin ordenawns!




XXVII. THE LAST SUPPER.


  _Petrus._ Lord! where wolte thou kepe thi maundé?
    I pray the now lete us have knowyng:
  That we may make redy for the,
    The to serve withowte latyng.
  _Johannes._ To provyde, Lord, for thi comyng,
    With alle the obedeyns we kan atende,
  And make redy for the in al thyng,
    Into what place thou wyth us send.
  _Jhesu._ Serys, goth to Syon, and ȝe xal mete
    A pore man in sympyl aray,
  Beryng watyr in the strete,
    Telle hym I xal come that way.

  Onto hym mekely loke that ȝe say,
    That hese hous I wole come tylle;
  He wele not onys to ȝow sey nay,
    But sofre to have alle ȝour wylle.
  _Petrus._ At thi wyl, Lord, it xal be don,
    To seke that place we xal us hye.
  _Johannes._ In alle the hast that we may go,
    Thin comawdement nevyr to denye.

_Here Petyr and John gon forth metyng with Symon leprows beryng a kan
with watyr, Petyr thus seyng_,

  _Petrus._ Good man, the prophete, oure Lord Jhesus,
    This nyth wyl reste wythin thin halle;
  On massage to the he hath sent us,
    That ffor his sopere ordeyn thou xalle.
  _Johannes._ ȝa! for hym and his dyscipulys alle,
    Ordeyn thu for his maundé,
  A paschalle lomb what so befalle,
    ffor he wyl kepe his pasche with the.
  _Symon._ What, wyl my Lord vesyte my plase?
    Blyssyd be the tyme of his comyng!
  I xal ordeyn withinne short space
    ffor my good lordys welcomyng.
  Serys, walkyth in at the begynnyng,
    And se what vetaylys that I xal take,
  I am so glad of this tydyng,
    I wot nevyr what joye that I may make.

_Here the dyscypulys gon in with Symon to se the ordenawns, and Cryst
comyng thedyr-ward, thus seyng_,

  _Jhesus._ This pathe is cal Sydon be goostly ordenawns,
    Weche xal convey us, wher we xal be,
  I knowe ful redy is the purvyaunce,
    Of my frendys that lovyn me.
  Contewnyng in pees now procede we,
    ffor mannys love this wey I take,
  With gostly ey I veryly se,
    That man ffor man an hende must make.

_Here the dysciples come ageyn to Cryst, Petyr thus seyng_,

  _Petrus._ Alleredy lord is oure ordenawns,
    As I hope to ȝow plesyng xal be,
  Seymon hath don, at ȝoure instawns,
    He is ful glad ȝour presens to se.
  _Johannes._ Alle thyng we have, Lorde, at oure plesyng,
    That longyth to ȝoure mawndé with ful glad chere;
  Whan he herd telle of ȝour comyng,
    Gret joye in hym than dyd appere.

_Here comyth Symon owt of his hous to welcome Cryst_,

  _Symon._ Gracyous Lord, welcome thu be,
    Reverens be to the, both God and man!
  My poer hous that thou wylt se,
    Weche am thi servaunt, as I kan.
  _Jhesu._ There joye of alle joyis to the is sewre!
    Symon, I knowe thi trewe intent,
  The blysse of hefne thou xalt recure,
    This rewarde I xal the grawnt present.

_Here Cryst enteryth into the hous with his disciplis and ete the Paschal
lomb; and in the mene tyme the cownsel-hous beforn-seyd xal sodeynly
onclose, schewyng the buschopys, prestys, and jewgys syttyng in here
astat, lyche as it were a convocacyon; Annas seyng thus_,

  _Annas._ Beheld it is nowth al that we do,
    In alle houre materys we prophete nowth;
  Wole ȝe se weche peusawns of pepyl drawyth hym to,
    ffor the mervaylys that he hath wrowth.

  Some othyr sotylté must be sowth,
    ffor in no wyse we may not thus hym leve;
  Than to a schrewde conclusyoun we xal be browth,
    ffor the Romaynes than wyl us myscheve,
  And take oure astat and put us to repreve,
    And convey alle the pepyl at here owyn request,
  And thus alle the pepyl in hym xal beleve,
    Therfore I pray ȝow, cosyn, say what is the best?
  _Cayphas._ Attende now, serys, to that I xal seye,
    Onto us alle it is most expedyent;
  That o man ffor the pepyl xuld deye,
    Than alle the pepyl xuld perysch and be shent.

  Therfor late us werk wysely that we us not repent,
    We must nedys put on hym som fals dede;
  I sey for me I had levyr he were brent,
    Than he xuld us alle thus ovyr-lede;
  Therfore every man on his party help at this nede,
    And cowntyrfete alle the sotyltés that ȝe kan,
  Now late se he kan ȝeve best rede,
    To ordeyn sum dystruccion ffor this man.

  _Gamalyel._ Late us no lenger make delacion,
    But do Jhesu be takyn in hondys fast;
  And alle here ffolweres to here confusyon,
    And into a preson do hem be cast.
  Ley on hem yron that wol last,
    ffor he hath wrouth aȝens the ryth;
  And sythyn aftyr we xal in hast
    Jewge hym to deth with gret dyspyth.

  _Rewfyn._ ffor he hath trespacyd aȝens oure lawe,
    Me semyth this were best jewgement;
  With wyld hors lete hym be drawe,
    And afftyr in fyre he xal be brent.
  _Leyon._ Serys, o thyng myself herd hym sey,
    That he was kyng of Jewys alle.
  That is anow to do hym dey,
    ffor treson to Seȝar we must it calle.

  He seyd also to personys that I know,
    That he xuld and myth serteyn
  The gret tempyl mythyly ovyrthrow,
    And the thrydde day reysynt ageyn.

  Seche materys the pepyl doth conseyve,
    To ȝeve credens to his werkys alle,
  In hefne, he seyth, xal be his reyn,
    Bothe God and man he doth hym calle.
  _Rewfyn._ And alle this day we xuld contryve,
    What shameful deth Jhesu xuld have;
  We may not do hym to meche myscheve,
    The worchep of oure lawe to save.

  _Leyon._ Upon a jebet lete hym hongyn be,
    This jugement me semyth it is reson;
  That alle the countré may hym se,
    And be ware be his gret treson.
  _Rewfyn._ ȝet o thyng, serys, ȝe must aspye,
    And make a ryth sotyl ordenawns;
  Be what menys ȝe may come hym bye,
    ffor he hath many folwerys at his instawns.
  _Annas._ Serys, therof we must have avysement,
    And ben acordyd or than we go;
  How we xal han hym at oure entent,
    Som wey we xal fynd therto.

_Here Judas Caryoth comyth into the place._

  _Maria Magdalene._ As a cursyd creature closyd alle in care,
    And as a wyckyd wrecche alle wrappyd in wo,
  Of blysse was nevyr no berde so bare,
    As I mysylf that here now go.
  Alas! alas! I xal forfare,
    ffor tho grete synnys that I have do;
  Lesse that my lord God sumdel spare,
    And his grett mercy receyve me to.
            Mary Maudelyn is my name.
  Now wyl I go to Cryst Jhesu,
  ffor he is Lord of alle vertu,
  And for sum grace I thynke to sew,
            ffor of myself I have grett shame.

  A! mercy! Lord! and salve my synne,
    Maydenys ffloure thou wasche me fre,
  Ther was nevyr woman of mannys kynne,
    So ful of synne in no countré.
  I have beffowlyd be fryth and ffenne,
    And sowght synne in many a ceté;
  But thou me borwe, Lord, I xal brenne,
    With blake ffendys ay bowne to be.
            Wherefore, kynge of grace,
  With this oynement that is so sote,
  Lete me anoynte thin holy fote
  And for my balys thus wyn sum bote,
            And mercy, Lord, for my trespace.

  _Jhesus._ Woman, ffor thi wepynge wylle,
    Sum socowre God xal the sende;
  The to save I have grett skylle,
    ffor sorwefful hert may synne amende.
  Alle thi prayour I xal fulfylle,
    To thi good hert I wul attende,
  And save the fro thi synne so hylle,
    And fro vij. develys I xal the ffende,—
            ffendys, flethe ȝour weye!
  Wyckyd spyritys I ȝow conjowre,
  fflethe out of hire bodyly bowre,
  In my grace she xal evyr fflowre,
            Tyl dethe doth here to deye.

  _Maria Magdalene._ I thanke the, Lorde, of this grett grace;
    Now these vij. ffendys be fro me fflytt.
  I xal nevyr fforffett nor do trespace,
    In wurd nor dede, ne wyl, nor wytt.

  Now I am brought ffrom the fendys brace,
    In thi grett mercy closyd and shytt;
  I xal nevyr returne to synful trace,
    That xulde me dampne to helle pytt.
            I wurchep the on knes bare,
  Blyssyd be the tyme that I hedyr sowth,
  And this oynement that I hedyr brought,
  ffor now myn hert is clensyd from thought,
            That ffyrst was combryd with care.

  _Judas._ Lord! me thynkyth thou dost ryght ille,
  To lete this oynement so spylle,
  To selle it yt were more skylle,
            And bye mete to poer men.
  The box was worthe of good moné,
  iij.c. pens, fayr and fre,
  This myght a bowht mete plenté.
            To ffede oure power kene.

  _Jhesus._ Pore men xul abyde;
    Ageyn the woman thou spekyst wronge.
  And I passe forthe in a tyde,
    Off mercy is here mornyng songe.

_Here Cryst restyth and etyth a lytyl, and seyth, syttyng to his
disciplis, and Mary Mawdelyn_,

  _Jhesus._ Myn herte is ryght sory and no wondyr is,
    Thoo dethe I xal go and nevyr dyd trespas;
  But ȝitt most grevyth myn hert evyr of this,
    On of my bretheryn xal werke this manas.
  On of ȝow here syttynge my treson xal tras,
    On of ȝow is besy my dethe here to dyth,
  And ȝitt was I nevyr in no synful plas,
    Wherefore my dethe xuld so shamfully be pyght.

  _Petrus._ My dere Lord, I pray the the trewthe for to telle,
    Whiche of us ys he that treson xal do?
  Whatt traytor is he that his lord that wold selle?
    Expresse his name, Lord, that xal werke this woo.
  _Johannes._ If that ther be on that wolde selle so,
    Good mayster, telle us now opynly his name.
  What traytour is hym that from the that wolde go?
    And with ffals treson ffulfylle his grett shame?

  _Andreas._ It is ryght dredfull suche tresson to thynke,
    And wel more dredfful to werk that bad dede;
  ffor that ffals treson to helle he xal synke,
    In endles peynes grett myscheff to lede.
  _Jacobus major._ It is not I, Lord, ffor dowte I have drede,
    This synne to fulfylle cam nevyr in my mende.
  Iff that I solde the thy blood ffor to blede,
    In doyng that treson my sowle xulde I shende.

  _Matheus._ Alas! my dere Lord, what man is so wood,
    ffor gold or for sylvyr hymself so to spylle?
  He that the doth selle ffor gold and for other good,
    With his grett covetyse hymself he doth kylle.
  _Bartholomeus._ What man so evyr he be of so wyckyd wylle,
    Dere Lord, among us telle us his name alle owt;
  He that to hym tendyth this dede to fulffille,
    ffor his grett treson his sowle stondyth in dowt.

  _Philippus._ Golde, sylver, and tresoour sone dothe passe away,
    But withowtyn ende evyr dothe laste thi grace.
  A! Lord! who is that wylle chaffare the for monay?
    ffor he that sellyth his lord to grett is the trespace.
  _Jacobus minor._ That traytour that doth this orryble manace,
    Bothe body and sowle I holde he be lorn;
  Dampnyd to helle-pytt, fer from thi face,
    Amonge alle ffowle fyndys to be rent and torn.

  _Symon._ To bad a marchawnt that traytour he is,
    And ffor that monye he may mornyng make;
  Alas! what cawsyth hym to selle the kyng of blys?
    ffor his fals wynnynge the devyl hym xal take.
  _Thomas._ ffor his ffals treson the fendys so blake
    Xal here his sowle depe down into helle pytt;
  Resste xal he non have, but evyr more wake,
    Brennyng in hoot fyre, in preson evyr shytt.

  _Thadeus._ I woundyr ryght sore who that he xuld be,
    Amonges us alle bretheryn, that xuld do this synne?
  Alas, he is lorn! ther may no grace be,
    In depe helle donjeon his sowle he doth pynne.
  _Jhesus._ In my dysche he etyht this treson xal begynne,
    Wo xal betydyn hym for his werke of dred;
  He may be ryght sory swyche ryches to wynne,
    Ad whysshe hymself unborn ffor that synful ded.

  _Judas._ The trewth wolde I knowe as leff as ȝe,
    And therfore, good ssere, the trewthe thou me telle;
  Whiche of us alle here that traytour may be,
    Am I that person that the now xal selle.
  _Jhesus._ So seyst thiselff, take hed att thi spelle,
    Thou askyst me now here if thou xalt do that treson;
  Remembyr thiself, avyse the ryght welle,
    Thou art of grett age, and wotysst what is reson.

_Here Judas rysyth prevely and goth in the place and seyt_,

  _Judas._ Now cowntyrfeted I have a prevy treson,
    My masterys power for to felle,
  I, Judas, xal asay be some encheson,
    Onto the Jewys hym for to selle.
  Som mony for hym ȝet wold I telle,
    Be prevy menys I xal asay,
  Myn intent I xal fulfylle,
    No lenger I wole make delay.

  The princys of prestys now be present,
    Unto hem now my way I take,
  I wyl go tellyn hem myn entent,
    I trow ful mery I xal hem make.
  Mony I wyl non forsake,
    And thei profyr to my plesyng,
  For covetyse I wyl with hem wake,
    And onto my maystyr I xal hem bryng.

  Heyl prynsesse and prestys that ben present,
    New tydynges to ȝow I come to telle,
  ȝyf ȝe wole folwe myn intent,
    My mayster, Jhesu, I wole ȝow selle,
  Hese intent and purpose for to felle;
    ffor I wole no lenger folwyn his lawe;—
  Late sen what mony that I xal telle,
    And late Jhesu my maystyr ben hangyn and drawe.

  _Gamalyel._ Now welcome, Judas, oure owyn frende!
    Take hym in, serys, be the honde:
  We xal the bothe geve and lende,
    And in every qwarel by the stonde.
  _Rewfyn._ Judas, what xal we for thi mayster pay?
    Thi sylver is redy, and we acorde,
  The payment xal have no delay,
    But be leyde down here at a worde.

  _Judas._ Late the mony here down be layde,
    And I xal telle ȝow, as I kan;
  In old termys I have herd seyde,
    That mony makyth schapman.
  _Rewfyn._ Here is thretty platys of sylver bryth,
    Fast knyth withinne this glove;
  And we may have thi mayster this nyth,
    This xalt thou have, and alle oure love.

  _Judas._ ȝe are resonable chapman to bye and selle,
    This bargany with ȝow now xal I make;
  Smyth up, ȝe xal have al ȝour wylle,
    ffor mony wyl I non forsake.
  _Leyon._ Now this bargany is mad ful and fast,
    Noyther part may it forsake;
  But Judas thou must telle us in hast,
    Be what menys we xal hym take.

  _Rewfyn._ ȝa ther be many that hym nevyr sowe,
    Weche we wyl sende to hym in fere;
  Therfor be a tokyn we must hym knowe,
    That must be prevy betwyx us here.
  _Leyon._ ȝa beware of that for ony thynge,
    For o dyscypil is lyche thi mayster in al parayl;
  And ȝe go lyche in alle clothyng,
    So myth we of oure purpose fayl.

  _Judas._ As for that, serys, have ȝe no dowth.
    I xal ordeyn, so ȝe xal not mysse;
  Whan that ȝe cum hym alle abowth,
    Take the man that I xal kysse.

  I must go to my maystyr ageyn,
    Dowth not, serys, this matere is sure i-now.
  _Gamalyel._ Farewel, Judas, oure frend serteyn,
    Thi labour we xal ryth wel alow
  _Judas._ Now wyl I sotely go seke my mayster ageyn,
    And make good face, as I nowth knew;
  I have hym solde to wo and peyn,
    I trowe ful sore he xal it rew.

_Here Judas goth in sotylly wher as he cam fro._

  _Annas._ Lo, serys, a part we have of oure entent,
    For to take Jhesu now we must provyde;
  A sotyl meny to be present,
    That dare fyth and wele abyde.
  _Gamalyel._ Ordeyn eche man on his party,
    Cressetys, lanternys, and torchys lyth;
  And this nyth to be ther redy,
    With exys, gleyvis, and swerdys bryth.
  _Cayphas._ No lenger than make we teryeng,
    But eche man to his place hym dyth,
  And ordeyn prively for this thyng,
    That it be don this same nyth.

_Here the buschopys partyn in the place, and eche of hem takyn here
leve, be contenawns, resortyng eche man to his place with here meny to
make redy to take Cryst; and than xal the place ther Cryst is in xal
sodeynly unclose rownd abowt, shewyng Cryst syttyng at the table and hese
dyscypules eche in ere degré, Cryst thus seyng_,

  _Jhesu._ Bredereyn, this lambe that was set us beforn,
    That we alle have etyn in this nyth,
  It was comawndyd be my fadyr to Moyses and Aaron,
    Whan thei weryn with the chylderyn of Israel in Egythp.
  And as we with swete bredys have it ete,
    And also with the byttyr sokelyng,
  And as we take the hed with the fete,
    So dede thei in alle maner thyng.

  And as we stodyn so dede thei stond,
    And here reynes thei gyrdyn veryly,
  With schon on here fete and stavys in here hond,
    And as we ete it, so dede thei hastyly.
  This fygure xal sesse, anothyr xal folwe therby;
    Weche xal be of my body that am ȝour hed,
  Weche xal be shewyd to ȝow be a mystery,
    Of my fflesche and blood in forme of bred.

  And with fervent desyre of hertys affeccion,
    I have enterly desyryd to kepe my mawndé,
  Among ȝow er than I suffre my passyon,
    ffor of this no more togedyr suppe xal we.
  And as the Paschal lomb etyn have we,
    In the eld lawe was usyd for a sacryfyce,
  So the newe lomb that xal be sacryd be me,
    Xal be usyd for a sacryfyce most of price.

_Here xal Jhesus take a noble in his hand, lokyng upward into hefne, to
the fadyr thus seyng_,

  Wherefore to the, Fadyr of hefne, that art eternalle,
    Thankyng and honor I ȝeld onto the,
  To whom be the Godhed I am eqwalle,
    But be my manhod I am of lesse degré.
  Wherefore I, as man, worchep the deyté,
    Thankyng the, fadyr, that thou wylt shew this mystery,
  And thus thurwe thi myth, Fadyr, and blyssyng of me.
    Of this that was bred is mad my body.

_Here xal he spekyn ageyn to his dysciples, thus seyng_,

  Bretheryn, be the vertu of these wordys that rehercyd be,
    This that shewyth as bred to ȝour apparens,
  Is mad the very flesche and blod of me,
    To the weche thei that wole be savyd must ȝeve credens.
  And as in the olde lawe it was comawndyd and precepte,
    To ete this lomb to the dystruccyon of Pharao unkende,
  So to dystroy ȝour gostly enmye this xal be kepte,
    ffor ȝour paschal lombe into the werdys ende.

  ffor this is the very lombe, withowte spot of synne,
    Of weche John the Baptyst dede prophesy,
  Than this prophesye he dede begynne,
    Seyng “Ecce agnus Dey!”
  And how ȝe xal ete this lombe I xal ȝeve infformacion,
    In the same forme as the eld lawe doth specyfye,
  As I shewe be gostly interpretacyon;
    Therfore to that I xal sey ȝour wyttes loke ȝe replye.

  With no byttyr bred this bred ete xal be,
    That is to say, with no byttyrnesse of hate and envye,
  But with the suete bred of love and charyté,
    Weche ffortefyet the soule gretlye.
  And it schuld ben etyn with the byttyr sokelyng,
    That is to mene, ȝyf a man be of synful dysposycion,
  Hathe led his lyff here with myslevyng,
    Therfore in his hert he xal have byttyr contrycion.

  Also the hed with the feet ete xal ȝe,
    Be the hed ȝe xal undyrstand my Godhed,
  And be the feet ȝe xal take myn humanyté,
    These tweyn ȝe xal receyve togedyr in dede.
  This immaculat lombe that I xal ȝow ȝeve,
    Is not only the Godhed alone,
  But bothe God and man, thus must ȝe beleve;
    Thus the hed with the feet ȝe xal receyve eche on.

  Of this lombe un-ete yf owth belevyth i-wys,
    Yt xuld be cast in the clere fyre and brent;
  Weche is to mene, yf thou undyrstande nowth al this,
    Put thi feyth in God, and than thou xalt not be shent.
  The gyrdyl that was comawndyd here reynes to sprede,
    Xal be the gyrdyl of clennes and chastyté;
  That is to sayn, to be contynent in word, thought, and dede,
    And alle leccherous levyng cast ȝow for to fle.

  And the schon that xal be ȝour feet upon,
    Is not ellys but exawnpyl of vertuis levyng;
  Of ȝour form fadeyrs ȝou beforn,
    With these schon my steppys ȝe xal be sewyng.

  And the staf that in ȝour handys ȝe xal holde,
    Is not ellys but the exawmplys to other men teche;
  Hold fast ȝour stavys in ȝour handys, and beth bolde
    To every creature myn precepttys for to preche.

  Also ȝe must ete this paschalle lombe hastyly,
    Of weche sentens this is the very entent;
  At every oure and tyme ȝe xal be redy,
    ffor to fulfylle my cowmawndement.

  ffor thow ȝe leve this day, ȝe are not sure
    Whedyr ȝe xal leve to morwe or nowth;
  Therfor hastyly every oure do ȝoure besy cure,
    To kepe my preceptys, and than thar ȝe not dowth.

  Now have I lerned ȝow how ȝe xal ete
    ȝour paschal lombe, that is my precyous body;
  Now I wyl fede ȝow alle with awngellys mete,
    Wherfore to reseyve it come fforth seryattly.

  _Petrus._ Lord, ffor to receyve this gostly sustenawns
    In dewe forme, it excedyth myn intellygens;
  ffor no man of hymself may have substawns
    To receyve it with to meche reverens.
  ffor with more delycyous mete, Lord, thou may us not fede,
    Than with thin owyn precyous body;
  Wherfore what I have trespacyd in word, thought, or dede,—
    With byttyr contrycion, Lord, I haske the mercy.

_Whan oure Lorde ȝyvyth his body to his dyscypulys, he xal sey to eche of
hem, except to Judas_,

  This is my body, fflesch, and blode,
  That for the xal dey upon the rode.

_And whan Judas comyth last, oure Lord xal sey to hym_,

  Judas, art thou avysyd what thou xalt take?
  _Judas._ Lord, thi body I wyl not forsake!

_And sythyn oure Lord xal sey onto Judas_,

  _Jhesu._ Myn body to the I wole not denye,
    Sythyn thou wylt presume therupon;
  Yt xal be thi dampnacyon verylye,—
    I ȝeve the warnyng now beforn.

_And aftyr that Judas hath reseyvyd, he xal syt ther he was, Cryst seyng_,

  On of ȝow hath betrayd me,
    That at my borde with me hath ete;
  Bettyr it hadde hym for to a be
    Bothe unborn and unbegete.

_Than eche dyscypyl xal loke on other, and Petyr xal sey_,

  _Petrus._ Lord, it is not I.

_And so alle xul seyn, tyl thei comyn at Judas, weche xal sey_,

  _Judas._ Is it owth I, Lord?

_Than Jhesus xal sey_,

  _Jhesus._ Judas, thou seyst that word!
  Me thou ast solde, that was thi ffrend,
  That thou hast begonne brenge to an ende.

_Than Judas xal gon ageyn to the Jewys, and, yf men wolne, xal mete with
hym and sey this speche folwyng, or levynt, whether thei wyl, the devyl
thus seyng_,

  _Demon._ A! a! Judas, derlyng myn!
    Thou art the best to me that evyr was bore!
  Thou xalt be crownyd in helle peyn!
    And therof thou xalt be sekyr for evyrmore!

  Thow hast solde thi maystyr and etyn hym also,
    I wolde thou kowdyst bryngyn hym to helle every del;
  But ȝet I fere he xuld do ther sum sorwe and wo,
    That alle helle xal crye out on me that sel.

  Sped up thi matere that thou hast begonne,
    I xal to helle for the to mak redy;
  Anon thou xalt com wher thou xalt wonne,
    In fyre and stynk thou xalt sytt me by.

  _Jhesu._ Now the sone of God claryfyed is,
    And God in hym is claryfyed also;
  I am sory that Judas hath lost his blysse,
    Weche xal turne hym to sorwe and wo.

  But now in the memory of my passyon,
    To ben partabyl with me in my reyn above,
  ȝe xal drynk myn blood with gret devocyon,
    Wheche xal be xad ffor mannys love.
  Takyth these chalys of the newe testament,
    And kepyth this evyr in ȝour mende;
  As often as ȝe do this with trewe intent,
    It xal defende ȝow from ȝe ffende.

_Than xal the dysciplys com and take the blod. Jhesus seyng_,

  This is my blood that for mannys synne,
  Outh of myn herte it xal renne.

_And the dyscyplys xul sett them aȝen ther thei were, and Jhesus xal
seyn_,

  Takyth hed now, bretheryn, what I have do;
    With my flesch and blood I have ȝow fed!
  ffor mannys love I may do no mo
    Than for love of man to be ded.

  Werfore, Petyr, and ȝe everychon,
    ȝyf ȝe love me, fede my schep;
  That, for fawth of techyng, thei go not wrong,
    But evyr to hem takyth good kep.

  ȝevyth hem my body, as I have to ȝow,
    Qweche xal be sacryd be my worde;
  And evyr I xal thus abyde with ȝow,
    Into the ende of the werde.

  Ho so etyth my body and drynkyth my blood,
    Hol God and man he xal me take;
  It xal hym defende from the devyl wood,
    And at his deth I xal hym nowth forsake.

  And ho so not ete my body nor drynke my blood,
    Lyfe in hym is nevyr a dele;
  Kepe wel this in mende for ȝour good,
    And every man save hymself wele.

_Here Jhesus takyth a basyn with watyr and towaly gyrt abowtyn hym, and
fallyth beforn Petyr on his o kne._

  _Jhesus._ Another exawmpyl I xal ȝow shewe,
    How ȝe xal leve in charyté;
  Syt here down at wordys fewe,
    And quat I do ȝe, sofre me.

_Here he takyth the basyn and the towaly, and doth as the roberych seyth
beforn._

  _Petrus._ Lord! what wylt thou with me do?
    This service of the I wyl forsake;
  To wassche my feet thou xal not so,—
    I am not worthy it of the to take.

  _Jhesu._ Petyr and thou forsake my servyces alle,
    The weche to ȝow that I xal do;
  No part with me have thou xal,
    And nevyr com my blysse onto.

  _Petrus._ That part, Lord, we wyl not forgo,
    We xal abey his comawndement;
  Wasche hed and hond, we pray the so,
    We wyl don aftyr thin entent.

_Here Jhesus wasshyth his dyscipulys feet by and by, and whypyth hem and
kyssyth hem mekely, and sythyn settyth hym down, thus seyng_,

  ffrendys, this wasshyng xal now prevayll,
    ȝoure Lord and mayster ȝe do me calle;
  And so I am, withowytn fayl,
    ȝet I have wasschyd ȝow alle.
  A memory of this have ȝe xall,
    That eche of ȝow xal do to othyr,
  With umbyl hert submyt egal,
    As eche of ȝow were otherys brother.

  Nothyng, serys, so wele plesyth me,
    Nor no lyff that man may lede,
  As thei that levyn in charyté;
    In efne I xal reward here mede.
  The day is come,—I must procede
    ffor to fulfylle the prophecy;
  This nyth for me ȝe xal han drede,
    Whan noumber of pepyl xal on me cry.

  ffor the prophetys spoke of me,
    And seydyn of deth that I xuld take;
  ffro wheche deth I wole not fle,
    But for mannys synne amendys make.

  This nyth fro ȝow be led I xal,
    And ȝe for fer fro me xal fle;
  Not onys dur speke whan I ȝow calle,
    And some of ȝow forsake me.

  ffor ȝow xal I dey and ryse ageyn,—
    Un the thrydde day ȝe xal me se
  Beforn ȝow all walkyng playn,
    In the lond of Galylé.

  _Petrus._ Lord, I wyl the nevyr forsake!
    Nor for no perellys fro the fle;
  I wyl rather my deth take,
    Than onys, Lord, forsake the!

  _Jhesu._ Petyr, thou ferthere than thou doyst knowe,
    As for that promese loke thou not make;
  ffor or the cok hath twyes crowe,
    Thryes thou xal me forsake.

  But all my frendys, that arn me dere,
    Late us go, the tyme drawyth ny;
  We may no lengere abydyn here,
    ffor I must walke to Betany.

  The tyme is come, the day drawyth nere,
    Onto my deth I must in hast;
  Now, Petyr, make halle thi felawys chere,
    My flesche for fere is qwakyng fast.

_Here Jhesus goth to Betany-ward, and his dyscipulys folwyng with sad
contenawns, Jhesus seyng_,




XVIII. THE BETRAYING OF CHRIST.


  Now, my dere frendys and bretheryn echone,
    Remembyr the wordys that I xal sey;
  The tyme is come that I must gon,
    ffor to fulfylle the prophesey.

  That is seyd that I xal dey,
    The fendys power fro ȝow to flem;
  Weche deth I wole not deney,
    Mannys sowle my spouse for to redem.

  The oyle of mercy is grawntyd playn
    Be this jorné that I xal take;
  Be my fadyr I am sent sertayn,
    Betwyx God and man an ende to make.

  Man for my brother may I not forsake,
    Nor shewe hym unkendenesse be no wey;
  In peynys for hym my body schal schake,
    And for love of man, man xal dey.

_Here Jhesus and his discipules go toward the mount of Olyvet; and whan
he comyth a lytyl ther besyde, in a place lyche to a park, he byddyt his
dyscipules abyde hym ther, and seyth to Petyr or he goth_,

  Petyr, with thi ffelawys here xalt thou abyde,
    And weche tyl I come ageyn;
  I must make my prayere here ȝou besyde.
    My flesche qwakyth sore for fere and peyn.

  _Petrus._ Lord, thi request doth me constreyn;
    In this place I xal abyde stylle
  Not remeve tyl that thou comyst ageyn,
    In confermyng, Lord, of thi wylle.

_Here Jhesu goth to Olyvet and settyth hym downe on his knes, and pray th
to his fadyr, thus seyng_,

  O, ffadyr! fadyr! for my sake
    This gret passyon thou take fro me
  Weche arn ordeyned that I xal take,
    ȝyf mannys sowle savyd may be.
  And ȝyf it behove, Fadyr, for me
    To save mannys sowle that xuld spylle,
  I am redy in eche degré,
    The vyl of the for to fulfylle.

_Here Jhesus gothe to his dyscipulis and fyndyth hem sclepyng, Jhesus
thus seyng to Petyr_,

  Petyr! Petyr! thou slepyst fast,
    Awake thi felawys and sclepe no more;
  Of my deth ȝe are not agast,
    ȝe take ȝour rest and I peyn sore.

_Here Cryst goth ageyn the second tyme to Olyvet, and seyth knelyng_,

  ffadyr in hevyn, I beseche the
    Remeve my peynes be thi gret grace,
  And lete me fro this deth fle,
    As I dede nevyr no trespace!
  The watyr and blood owth of my face,
    Dystyllyth for peynes that I xal take;
  My flesche qwakyth in ferful case,
    As thow the joyntes asondre xuld schake.

_Here Jhesus goth aȝen to his discipulis and fyndyth hem asclepe; Jhesus
thus seyng, latyng hem lyne_,

  ffadyr, the thrydde tyme I come ageyn,
    ffulleche myn erdon for to spede;
  Delyver me, Fadyr, fro this peyn,
    Weche is reducyd with ful gret drede.
  Onto thi sone, Fadyr, take hede!
    Thou wotyst I dede nevyr dede but good!
  It is not for me this peyn I lede,
    But for man I swete bothe watyr and blode.

_Here an aungel descendyth to Jhesus, and bryngyth to hym a chalys, with
an host therin._

  _Angelus._ Heyl, bothe God and man indede!
    The ffadyr hath sent the this present,—
  He bad that thou xuldyst not drede,
    But fulfylle his entent.
  As the parlement of hefne hath ment
    That mannys sowle xal now redemyd be;
  ffrom hefne to herd, Lord, thou wore sent,
    That dede appendyth onto the.

  This chalys ys thi blood, this bred is thi body,
    ffor mannys synne evyr offeryd xal be;
  To the fadyr of heffne that is almythty,
    Thi dyscipulis and alle presthood xal offere fore the.

_Here the aungel ascendyth aȝen sodeynly._

  _Jhesu._ ffadyr, thi wyl ffulfyllyd xal be,
    It is nowth to say aȝens the case;
  I xal fulfylle the prophesye,
    And sofre deth ffor mannys trespace.

_Here goth Cryst ageyn to his dyscipulys, and fyndyth hem sclepyng
stylle._

  Awake, Petyr, thi rest is ful long;
    Of sclep thou wylt make no delay:
  Judas is redy, with pepyl strong,
    And doth his part me to betray.
  Ryse up, serys, I ȝou pray!
    Onclose ȝour eyne for my sake;
  We xal walke into the way,
    And sen hem come that xul me take.

  Petyr, whan thou seyst I am forsake
    Amonge myn frendys, and stond alone,
  Alle the cher that thou kanst make,
    Geve to thi bretheryn everychone.

_Here Jhesus with his dyscipulis goth into the place, and ther xal come
in a x. personys weyl be-seen in white arneys, and breganderes, and some
dysgysed in odyr garmentes, with swerdys, gleyvys, and other straunge
wepons, and cressettys, with feyr and lanternys and torchis lyth; and
Judas formest of al conveyng hem to Jhesu be contenawns. Jhesus thus_,

  Serys, in ȝour wey ȝe have gret hast
    To seke hym that wyl not fle;
  Of ȝow I am ryth nowth agast,—
    Telle me, serys, whom seke ȝe?
  _Leyon._ Whom we seke here I telle the now,
    A tretour is worthy to suffer deth;
  We knowe he is here among ȝow,—
    His name is Jhesus of Nazareth.

  _Jhesu._ Serys, I am here that wyl not fle,
    Do to me all that ȝe kan;
  Forsothe I telle ȝow I am he,
    Jhesus of Nazareth, that same man.

_Here alle the Jewys falle sodeynly to the erde, whan thei here Cryst
speke, and qwhan byddyth hem rysyn, thei rysyn aȝen, Cryst thus seyng_,

  Aryse, serys, whom seke ȝe? fast have ȝe gon.
    Is howth ȝour comyng hedyr for me?
  I stond beforn ȝow here echone,
    That ȝe may me bothe knowe and se.
  _Rufyne._ Jhesus of Naȝareth we seke,
    And we myth hym here aspye.
  _Jhesu._ I told ȝow now with wordys meke,
    Beforn ȝow alle, that it was I.

  _Judas._ Welcome, Jhesu, my mayster dere,
    I have the sowth in many a place!
  I am ful glad I fynd the here,
    For I wyst nevyr wher thow wace.

_Here Judas kyssyth Jhesus, and anoon alle the Jewys come abowth hym, and
ley handys on hym, and pullyn as thei were wode, and makyn on hym a gret
cry alle at onys; and aftyr this, Petyr seyth_,

  I drawe my swerd now this sel;
    Xal I smyte, mayster? fayn wolde I wete!

_And forthwith he smytyth of Malchus here, and he cryeth “Help myn here!
myn here!” and Cryst blyssyth it, and tys hol._

  _Jhesus._ Put thy swerd in the shede fayr and wel,
    ffor he that smyth with swerd, with swerd xal be smete.

  A! Judas, this treson cowntyrfetyd hast thou!
    And that thou xalt ful sore repent!
  Thou haddyst be bettyr a ben unborn now,
    Thi body and sowle thou hast shent!

  _Gamalyel._ Lo, Jhesus! thou mayst not the cace refuse,
    Bothe treson and eresye in the is fownde;
  Stody now fast on thin excuse,
    Whylys that thou gost in cordys bownde.
  Thou kallyst the kyng of this werd rownde,
    Now lete me se thi gret powere,
  And save thiself here, hool and sownde,
    And brynge the out of this dawngere.

  _Leyon._ Bryng forth this tretoure, spare hym nowth!
    Onto Cayphas thi jewge we xal the lede.
  In many a place we have the sowth,
    And to thi werkys take good hede.

  _Rufyne._ Com on, Jhesus, and folwe me;
    I am ful glad that I the have;
  Thou xalt ben hangyn upon a tre,—
    A melyon of gold xal the not save!
  _Leyon._ Lete me leyn hand on hym in heye,
    Onto his deth I xal hym bryng;
  Shewe forth thi wychecrafte and nygramansye;
    What helpyth ye now al thi fals werkyng?

  _Jhesu._ ffrendys, take hede ȝe don unryth,
    So unkendely with cordys to bynd me here;
  And thus to falle on me be nyth,
    As thow I were a thevys fere.
  Many tyme beforn ȝow I dede apere;
    Withinne the temple sen me ȝe have,
  The lawys of God to teche and lere,
    To hem that wele here sowlys sawe.

  Wy dede ȝe not me dysprave,
    And herd me preche, both lowd and lowe?
  But now as wood men ȝe gynne to rave,
    And do thyng that ȝe notwth knove.
  _Gamalyel._ Serys, I charge ȝow not o word more this nyth,
    But onto Cayphas in hast loke ȝe hym lede;
  Have hym forth with gret dyspyte,
    And to his wordys take ȝe non hede.

_Here the Jewys lede Cryst oute of the place with gret cry and noyse,
some drawyng Cryst forward and some bakward, and so ledyng forth with
here weponys alofte, and lytys brennyng. And in the mene tyme Marye
Magdalene xal rennyn to oure Lady, and telle here of oure Lordys takyng,
thus seyng_,

  _Maria Magdelene._ O, inmaculate modyr, of alle women most meke!
    O devowtest, in holy medytacyon evyr abydyng!
  The cawse, Lady, that I to ȝour person seke,
    Is to wetyn yf ȝe heryn ony tydyng
  Of ȝour swete sone, and my reverent Lord Jhesu,
    That was ȝour dayly solas, — ȝour gostly consolacyon!
  _Mary._ I wold ȝe xuld telle me, Mawdelyn, and ȝe knew,
    ffor to here of hym it is alle myn affeccyon.

  _Maria Magdelene._ I wold fayn telle, Lady, and I myth for wepyng,
    For sothe, Lady, to the Jewys he is solde;
  With cordys thei have hym bownde and have hym in kepyng,
    The hym bety spetously, and have hym fast in holde.
  _Maria Virgo._ A! A! A! how myn hert is colde!
    A! hert hard as ston, how mayst thou lest?
  Whan these sorweful tydyngys are the told,
    So wold to God, hert, that thou mytyst brest.

  A! Jhesu! Jhesu! Jhesu! Jhesu!
    Why xuld ȝe sofere this trybulacyon and advercyté?
  How may thei fynd in here hertys ȝow to pursewe,
    That nevyr trespacyd in no maner degré?
  For nevyr thyng but that was good thowth ȝe,
    Wherfore than xuld ȝe sofer this gret peyn?
  I suppoce veryly it is for the tresspace of me,
    And I wyst that myn hert xuld cleve on tweyn.

  ffor these langowrys may I susteyn,
    The swerd of sorwe hath so thyrlyd my meende;
  Alas! what may I do? alas! what may I seyn?
    These prongys myn herte asondyr thei do rende.

  O ffadyr of hefne! wher ben al thi behestys
    That thou promysyst me, whan a modyr thou me made?
  Thi blyssyd sone I bare betwyx tweyn bestys,
    And now the bryth colour of his face doth fade.

  O good fadyr! why woldyst that thin owyn dere sone xal sofre al this?
    And dede he nevyr aȝens thi precept, but evyr was obedyent;
  And to every creature most petyful, most jentyl, and benygn i-wys,
    And now for alle these kendnessys is now most shameful schent.

  Why wolt thou, gracyous Fadyr, that it xal be so?
    May man not ellys be savyd be non other kende?
  ȝet, Lord Fadyr, than that xal comforte myn wo,
    Whan man is savyd be my chylde, and browth to a good ende.

  Now, dere sone, syn thou hast evyr be so ful of mercy,
    That wylt not spare thiself for the love thou hast to man;
  On alle mankend now have thou pety,
    And also thynk on thi modyr, that hevy woman.




XXIX. KING HEROD.


  _Primus doctor._ O thou altitude of al gostly ryches!
    O thou incomprehensibele of grete excyllence!
  O thou luminarye of pure lyghtnes!
    Shete oute thi bemys ontyl this audyens.

  _Secundus doctor._ O fili Altissimi! clepyd by eternalyté!
    Hele this congregacion with the salve of thi passyon!
  And we prey the, Spiritus paraclyté!
    With the ffyre of thi love to slake alle detraccion.

  _Primus doctor._ To the pepyl not lernyd I stonde as a techer,
    Of this processyon to ȝeve informacion;
  And to them that be lernyd, as a gostly precher,
    That in my rehersayl they may have delectacion.

  _Secundus doctor._ Welcome of the aposteyls, the gloryous qwere,
    ffyrst Petyr ȝour prynce and eke ȝour presydent,
  And Andre we ȝour half brother, togedyr in ffere,
    That ffyrst ffowlyd Cryst be on assent.

  _Primus doctor._ O ȝe tweyn luminaryes, Jamys and John!
    Contynually brennyng as bryght as the sonn bem!
  With the chene of charyté, bothe knyt in on,
    And offeryd of ȝour modyr to Cryst in Jherusalem.

  _Secundus doctor._ Welcome, Phelypp, that convertyd Samaryan!
    And convertyd the tresorere of the qwene Cabdas!
  With Jamys the lesser, that apud Jherosolyman
    Was made fyrst patryarke, by the ordenauns of Cephas.

  _Primus doctor._ Heyl, Mathew the apostel and also Evangelyst!
    That was clepyd to the fflok of gostly conversacion
  ffrom thyrknes of concyens that ȝe were in ffest,
    With Bertylmew that ffled alle carnalle temptacion.

  _Secundus doctor._ Heyl, Symeon Zelotes! thus be ȝour name,
    And Judas, that bothe wel lovyd oure Lord!
  Therffore ȝe have bothe joye and game,
    Wher nevyr is sstryff but good acorde.

  _Primus doctor._ Heyl, Poul, grett doctour of the ffeyth,
    And vessel chosyn be trewe eleccion!
  Heyl Thomas, of whom the gospel seyth,
    In Crystys wounde was ȝour refleccion!

  _Secundus doctor._ Heyl, John Baptyst, most sovereyn creature
    That evyr was born be naturalle conseyvyng!
  And hyest of prophetys, as wytnessyth Scrypture;
    Heyl voys that in desert was allewey cryeng!

_What tyme that processyon is enteryd into the place, and the Herowdys
takyn his schaffalde, and Pylat and Annas and Cayphas here schaffaldys;
also than come ther an exposytour, in doctorys wede, thus seyng_,

  _Contemplacio._ Sofreynes and frendys, ȝe mut alle be gret with gode;
    Grace, love, and charyté evyr be ȝou among;
  The maydenys sone preserve ȝou that for man deyd on rode;
    He that is o God in personys thre, defende ȝou fro ȝour fon!

  Be the leve and soferauns of allemythty God,
    We intendyn to procede the matere that we lefte the last ȝere;
  Wherefore we beseche ȝow that ȝour wyllys be good,
    To kepe the passyon in ȝour mende that xal be shewyd here.

  The last ȝere we shewyd here how oure Lord for love of man
    Cam to the cety of Jherusalem mekely his deth to take;
  And how he made his mawndé, his body ȝevyng than,
    To his apostelys evyr with us to abydyn for mannys sake.

  In that mawnd he was betrayd of Judas, that hym solde
    To the Jewys for xxxᵗⁱ. platys to delyvyr hym that nyth.
  With swerdys and gleyvys to Jhesu they come with the tretour bolde,
    And toke hym amonges his apostelys about myndnyth.

  Now wold we procede, how he was browth than
    Beforn Annas and Cayphas, and sythe beforn Pylate:
  And so forth in his passyon how mekely he toke it for man,
    Besekyng ȝou for mede of ȝour soulys to take good hede theratte.

_Here the Herowndys xal shewe hymself and speke._

  _Herodes Rex._ Now sees of ȝour talkyng, and gevyth lordly audyence;
    Not o word I charge ȝow, that ben here present,
  Noon so hardy to presume in my hey presence
    To onlose hese lyppys ageyne myn intent.
  I am Herowde, of Jewys kyng most reverent,
    The lawys of Mahownde my powere xal fortefye;
  Reverens to that Lord of grace moost excyllent,
    ffor be his powere alle thinge doth multyplye.

  ȝef ony Crystyn be so hardy his feyth to denye,
    Or onys to erre ageyns his lawe;
  On gebettys with cheynes I xal hangyn hym heye,
    And with wylde hors tho traytorys xal I drawe.
  To kylle a thowsand Crystyn I gyf not an hawe;
    To se hem hangyn or brent to me is very plesauns,
  To dryvyn hem into doongenys dragonys to knawe,
    And to rende here flesche and bonys onto here sustenauns.

  John the Baptyst crystenyd Cryst, and so he dede many on,
    Therfore myself dede hym brynge o dawe;
  It is I that dede hym kylle, I telle ȝou everychon,
    ffor and he had go forth he xuld a dystroyd our lawe.
  Where as Crystyn apperyth to me is gret grevauns,
    It peynyth myn hert of tho tretowrys to here;
  ffor the lawys of Mahownde I have in governawns,
    The whiche I wele kepe, that Lord hath no pere!
            ffor he is God most prudent!
  Now I charge ȝou, my lordys, that ben here,
  Yf any Crystyn doggys here doth apere,
  Bryng tho tretores to my hey powere,
            And thei xal have sone jewgement.

  _Primus miles._ My sovereyn Lord, heyest of excillens,
    In ȝou alle jewgement is termynabyle;
  Alle Crystyn dogges that do not here dyligens,
    ȝe put hem to peynes that ben inportable.
  _Secundus miles._ Nothing in ȝou may be more comendable,
    As to dysstroye tho traytores that erre
  Ageyn oure lawys, that ben most profytable;
    Be rythwysnesse that lawe ȝe must profferre.

  _Rex Herowdes._ Now, be gloryous Mahownd, my sovereyn Savyour,
    These promessys I make, as I am trewe knyth!
  Thoo that excede his lawys by ony errour,
    To the most xamefullest deth I xal hem dyth.
  But o thyng is sore in my gret delyte,
    Ther is on Jhesus of Nazareth, as men me tellyth;
  Of that man I desyre to han a sythte,
    ffor with many gret wondrys oure lawe he fellyth.

  The son of God hymself he callyth,
    And kyng of Jewys he seyth is he,
  And many woundrys of hym he fallyth—
    My hert desyryth hym for to se.
  Seres, yf that he come in this cowntré,
    With oure jurresdyccion loke ȝe aspye,
  And anon that he be brouth onto me,
    And the trewth myself than xal trye.

  _Primus miles._ Tomorwe my jorné I xal begynne,
    To seke Jhesus with my dew dilygens;
  ȝyf he come ȝour provynce withinne,
    He xal not askape ȝour hey presens.
  _Secundus miles._ Myn sovereyn, this is my cowncel that ȝe xal take,
    A man that is bothe wyse and stronge,
  Thurwe alle Galylé a serge to make,
    Yf Jhesu be enteryd ȝour pepyl among,
  Corrette hese dedys that be do wronge,
    ffor his body is undyr ȝour bayle,
  As men talkyn hem among,
    That he was born in Galylé.
  _Rex._ Thanne of these materys, serys, take hede;
    ffor a whyle I wele me rest,
  Appetyde requyryth me so indede,
    And ffesyk tellyth me it is the best.




XXX. THE TRIAL OF CHRIST.


_Here xal a massanger com into the place rennyng and criyng “Tydyngys!
tydynges!” and so rownd abowth the place, “Jhesus of Naȝareth is take!
Jhesus of Naȝareth is take!” and forthwith heylyng the prynces, thus
seyng_,

  _Massanger._ Alle heyle, my lordys, princys of prestys!
    Sere Cayphas and sere Annas, lordys of the lawe!
  Tydynges I brynge ȝou, reseyve them in ȝour brestys;
    Jhesus of Naȝareth is take, therof ȝe may be fawe!
  He xal be browth hedyr to ȝou anon;
    I telle ȝou trewly with a gret rowth,—
  Whan he was take I was hem among,
    And ther was I ner to kachyd a clowte.

  Malcus bar a lanterne and put hym in pres,
    Anoon he had a towche and of went his ere!
  Jhesus bad his dyscyple put up his swerd and ces,
    And sett Malcus ere ageyn as hool as it was ere!
  So mot y the, methowut it was a strawnge syth!
    Whan we cam fyrst to hym, he cam us ageyn,
  And haskyd whom we sowth that tyme of nyth?
    We seyd Jhesus of Naȝareth, we wolde have hym fayn.

  And he seyd, “it is I that am here in ȝour syth;”
    With that word we ovyrthrowyn bakward everychone,
  And some on her bakkys lyeng upryth,
    But standyng upon fote manly ther was not on.
  Cryst stode on his fete as meke as a lom,
    And we loyn stylle lyche ded men tyl he bad us ryse;
  Whan we were up, fast handys we leyd hym upon,
    But ȝet me thought I was not plesyd with the newe gyse.

  Therfore takyth now ȝour cowncel and avyse ȝou ryth weyl,
    And beth ryth ware that he make ȝou not amat;
  ffor be my thryfte I dare sweryn at this seyl,
    ȝe xal fynde hym a strawnge watt!

_Here bryng thei Jhesus beforn Annas and Cayphas, and on xal seyn thus_,

  Lo! lo! lordys, here is the man
    That ȝe sent us fore.
  _Annas._ Therfore we cone ȝou thanke than,
    And reward ȝe xal have the more.

  Jhesus, thou art welcome hedyr to oure presens;
    Ful oftyn tymes we han the besyly do sowth;
  We payd to thi dyscyple for the thretty pens,
    And as an ox or an hors we trewly the bowth.
  Therfore now art oure as thou standyst us before;
    Sey, why thou ast trobelyd us and subvertyd oure lawe?
  Thou hast ofte concludyd us, and so thou hast do more,
    Wherfore it were ful nedful to bryng the a dawe.

  _Cayphas._ What arn thi dysciplys that folwyn the aboute?
    And what is thi doctryne that thou dost preche?
  Telle me now somewhath, and bryng us out of doute,
    That we may to othere men thi prechyng forth teche.
  _Jhesus._ Al tymes that I have prechyd, opyn it was don
    In the synagog or in the temple, where that alle Jewys com:
  Aske hem what I have seyd, and also what I have don;
    Thei con telle the my wordys, aske hem everychone.

  _Primus Judeus._ What thou, fela? to whom spekyst thou?
    Xalt thou so speke to a buschop?
  Thou xalt have on the cheke, I make a vow,
    And ȝet therto a knok.

_Here he xal smyte Jhesus on the cheke._

  _Jhesus._ Yf I have seyd amys,
    Therof wytnesse thou mayst bere;
  And yf I have seyd but weyl in this,
    Tho[u] dost amys me to dere!

  _Annas._ Serys, takyth hed now to this man,
    That he dystroye not oure lawe;
  And brynge ȝe wyttnesse aȝens hym that he can,
    So that he may be browt of dawe.
  _Primus doctor._ Sere, this I herd hym with his owyn mowth seyn,—
    Brekyth down this temple without delay,
  And I xal settynt up ageyn
    As hool as it was, by the thrydde day.

  _Secundus doctor._ ȝa, ser, and I herd hym seyn also
    That he was the Sone of God;
  And ȝet many a fole wenyth so,
    I durst leyn theron myn hed.
  ȝa! ȝa! and I herd hym preche meche thyng,
    And aȝens oure lawe everydel;
  Of wheche it were longe to make rekenyng,
    To tellyn alle at this seel.

  _Cayphas._ What seyst now, Jhesus? whi answeryst not?
    Heryst not what is seyd aȝens the?
  Spek man, spek! spek, thou fop!
    Hast thou scorn to speke to me?
  Heryst not in how many thynges thei the acuse?
  Now I charge the and conjure, be the sonne and the mone,
  That thou telle us and thou be Goddys sone!

  _Jhesus._ Goddys sone I am, I sey not nay to the!
    And that ȝe alle xal se domys-day,
  Whan the sone xal come in gret powere and magesté,
    And deme the qweke and dede, as I the say.
  _Cayphas._ A! out! out! allas! what is this?
    Heryth ȝe not how he blasfemyth God?
  What nedyth us to have more wytness?
    Here ȝe han herd alle his owyn word!
  Thynk ȝe not he is worthy to dey?

_Et clamabant omnes. “ȝys! ȝys! ȝys! alle we seye he is worthy to dey,
ȝa! ȝa! ȝa!”_

  _Annas._ Takyth hym to ȝow and betyth hym som del,
  ffor hese blasfemyng at this sel.

_Here thei xal bete Jhesus about the hed and the body, and spyttyn in his
face, and pullyn hym down, and settyn hym on a stol, and castyn a cloth
ovyr his face; and the fyrst xal seyn_,

  _Primus Judæus._ A! felawys, beware what ȝe do to this man,
  ffor he prophecye weyl kan.
  _Secundus Judæus._ That xal be asayd be this batte,
  What thou, Jhesus? ho ȝaff the that?

_Et percuciet super caput._

  _Tertius Judæus._ Whar? whar? now wole I
  Wetyn how he can prophecy.
            Ho was that?
  _Quartus Judæus._ A! and now wole I a newe game begynne,
  That we mon pley at alle that am hereinne;
  Whele and pylle! whele and pylle!
  Comyth to halle ho so wylle.
            Ho was that?

_Here xal the woman come to Jewys and seyn_,

  _Prima ancilla._ What, serys, how take ȝe on with this man?
  Se ȝe not on of hese dysciplys how he beheldyth ȝou than.

_Here xal the tother woman seyn to Peter_,

  _Secunda ancilla._ A! good man me semyth be the,
  That thou on of hese dysciplys xulde be.
  _Petrus._ A! woman, I sey nevyr er this man,
  Syn that this werd fyrst began.

_Et cantabit gallus._

  _Prima ancilla._ What? thou mayst not sey nay, thou art on of hese men,
  Be thi face wel we may the ken.
  _Petrus._ Woman, thou seyst amys of me;
  I know hym not; so mote I the.
  _Primus Judæus._ A! fela myn, wel met,
  For my cosynys ere thou of smet;
  Whan we thi mayster in the ȝerd toke,
  Than alle thi ffelawys hym forsoke;
  And now thou mayst not hym forsake,
  For thou art of Galylé, I undyrtake.
  _Petrus._ Sere, I knowe hym not, be hym that made me!
    And ȝe wole me beleve ffor an oth,
  I take record of alle this compayné,
    That I sey to ȝow is soth.

_Et cantabit gallus. And than Jhesus xal lokyn on Petyr, and Petyr xal
wepyn, and than he xal gon out and seyn_,

  A! weel away! weel away! fals hert, why wylt thou not brest,
    Syn thi maystyr so cowardly thou hast forsake?
  Alas! qwher xal I now on erthe rest,
    Tyl he of his mercy to grace wole me take?
  I have forsake my mayster and my lord Jhesu
    Thre tymes, as he tolde me that I xuld do the same;
  Wherfore I may not have sorwe anow,
    I synful creature am so meche to blame.

  Whan I herd the cok crowyn, he kest on me a loke,
    As who seyth, “bethynke the what I seyd before?”
  Alas, the tyme that I evyr hym forsoke!
    And so wyl I thynkyn from hens evyrmore.
  _Cayphas._ Massangere! Massangere!
  _Massangere._ Here, lord, here!

  _Cayphas._ Massanger, to Pylat in hast thou xalt gon,
    And sey hym we comawnde us in word and in dede;
  And prey hym that he be at the mot-halle anoon,
    ffor we han gret matere that he must nedes spede.
  In hast now go thi way,
    And loke thou tery nowth.
  _Massanger._ It xal be do, lord, be this day,
    I am as whyt as thought.

_Here Pylat syttyth in his skaffald, and the massanger knelyth to hym,
thus seyng_,

  Al heyl! sere Pylat, that semly is to se!
    Prynce of al this Juré, and kepere of the lawe!
  My lord busshop Cayphas comawndyd hym to the,
    And prayd the to be at the mot-halle by the day dawe.
  _Pylat._ Go thi way, praty masanger, and comawnde me also;
    I xal be there in hast, and so thou mayst say:
  Be the oure of prime I xal comyn hem to,
    I tery no lenger, no make no delay.

_Here the massanger comit aȝen and bryngit an answere, thus seyng_,

  _Massanger._ Al heyl! myn lordys, and buschoppys, and princys of the
      lawe!
    Ser Pylat comawndyth hym to ȝou, and bad me to ȝou say,
  He wole be at the mot-halle in hast sone after the day dawe,
    He wold ȝe xuld be ther be prime withouth lenger delay.
  _Cayphas._ Now weyl mote thou fare, my good page;
  Take thou this for thi massage.

_Here enteryth Judas onto the Juwys thus seyng_,

  _Judas._ I Judas have synnyd and treson have don,
    ffor I have betrayd this rythful blood;
  Here is ȝour mony aȝen, alle and some,
    ffor sorwe and thowth I am wax wood.
  _Annas._ What is that to us? avyse the now,
    Thou dedyst with us covnawnt make;
  Thou seldyst hym us as hors or kow,
    Therfore thin owyn dedys thou must take!

_Than Judas castyth down the mony, and goth and hangyth hymself._

  _Cayphas._ Now, serys, the nyth is passyd, the day is come;
    It were tyme this man had his jewgement;
  And Pylat abydyth in the mot-halle alone,
    Tyl we xuld this man present;
  And therfore go we now forth with hym in hast.
  _Primus Judæus._ It xal be don and that in short spas.
  _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa! but loke yf he be bownd ryth wel and fast.
  _Tertius Judæus._ He is saff anow! go we ryth a good pas!

_Here thei ledyn Jhesu abowt the place tyl thei come to the halle._

  _Cayphas._ Sere Pylat, takyght hede to this thyng!
    Jhesus we han beforn the browth,
  Wheche owre lawe doth down bryng,
    And mekyl schame he hath us wrowth.
  _Annas._ ffrom this cetye into the lond of Galylé,
    He hath browth oure lawys neyr into confusyon,
  With hese craftys wrowth be nygramancye,
    Shewyth to the pepyl be fals symulacyon.

  _Primus doctor._ ȝa! ȝet, ser, another and werst of alle!
    Aȝens Sesar, oure emperour that is so fre,
  Kyng of Jewys he doth hym calle,
    So oure emperoures power nowth xuld be!
  _Secundus doctor._ Sere Pylat, we kannot telle half the blame
    That Jhesus in oure countré hath wrowth;
  Therfore we charge the in the emperores name,
    That he to the deth in hast be browth!

  _Pylat._ What seyst to these compleyntys, Jhesu?
    These pepyl hath the sore acusyd,
  Because thou bryngyst up lawys newe,
    That in oure days were not usyd.
  _Jhesus._ Of here accusyng me rowth nowth,
    So that thei hurt not here soulys ne non mo.
  I have nowth ȝet founde that I have sowth,
    ffor my faderys wyl fforth must I go.

  _Pylat._ Jhesus, be this than I trowe thou art a kyng,
    And the sone of God thou art also,—
  Lord of erth and of alle thing,—
    Telle me the trowth, if it be so!
  _Jhesus._ In hefne is knowyn my faderys intent,
    And in this werlde I was born;
  Be my fadyr I was hedyr sent,
    For to seke that was forlorn.
  Alle that me heryn and in me belevyn,
    And kepyn here feyth stedfastly;
  Thow thei weryn dede I xal them recuryn,
    And xal them bryng to blysse endlesly.

  _Pilate._ Lo! serys, now ȝe an erde this man, how thynk ȝe?
    Thynke ȝe not alle be ȝoure reson?
  But as he seyth it may wel be,
    And that xulde be this incheson.
  I fynde in hym non obecyon
    Of errour, nor treson, ne of no maner gylt;
  The lawe wele in no conclusyon
    Withowte defawth he xuld be spylt.

  _Primus doctor._ Sere Pylat, the lawe restyth in the,
    And we knowe veryly his gret trespas;
  To the emperour this mater told xal be,
    Yf thou lete Jhesus thus from the pas!

  _Pylat._ Serys, than telle me o thyng,
  What xal be his acusyng?
  _Annas._ Sere, we telle the altogedyr,
  ffor his evyl werkys we browth hym hedyr;
  And yf he had not an evyl doere be,
  We xuld not a browth hym to the.
  _Pylat._ Takyth hym than after ȝour sawe,
  And demyth hym aftyr ȝour lawe.
  _Cayphas._ It is not lefful to us, ȝe seyn,
  No maner man for to slen;
  The cawse why we bryng hym to the,
  That he xuld not oure kyng be.
  Weyl thou knowyst kyng we have non,
  But oure Emperour alon.
  _Pylat._ Jhesu, thou art kyng of Juré?
  _Jhesus._ So thou seyst now to me.
  _Pylat._ Tel me than, where is thi kyngham?
  _Jhesus._ My kyngham is not in this werld,
  I telle the at o word.
  Yf my kyngham here had be,
  I xuld not a be delyveryd to the.
  _Pylat._ Seres, avyse ȝow as ȝe kan.
  I can fynde no defawth in this man.

  _Annas._ Sere, here is a gret record take hed therto,
    And knowyng gret myschef in this man;
  And not only in o day or to,
    It is many ȝerys syn he began.
  We kan telle the tyme where and whan,
    That many a thowsand turnyd hath he,
  As alle this pepylle record weyl kan,
    From hens into the lond of Galylé.

_Et clamabunt “ȝa! ȝa! ȝa!”_

  _Pilat._ Serys, of o thyng than gyf me relacyon,
    If Jhesus were outborn in the lond of Galylye,
  ffor we han no poer, ne no jurediccyon,
    Of no man of that contré.
  Therfore the trewth ȝe telle me,
    And another wey I xal provyde,—
  If Jhesus were born in that countré,
    The jugement of Herowdys he must abyde.

  _Cayphas._ Sere, as I am to the lawe trewly sworn,
    To telle the trewth I have no fer;
  In Galelye I know that he was born,
    I can telle in what place and where.
  Aȝens this no man may answere,
    ffor he was born in Bedlem Judé;
  And this ȝe knowe, now alle I have don here,
    That it stant in the lond of Galelye.

  _Pylat._ Weyl, serys, syn that I knowe that it is so,
    The trewth of this I must nedys se:
  I undyrstand ryth now what is to do,
    The jugement of Jhesu lyth not to me.
  Herowde is kyng of that countré,
    To jewge that regyon in lenth and in brede;
  The jurysdyecyon of Jhesu now han must he,
    Therfore Jhesu in hast to hym ȝe lede;
  In halle the hast that ȝe may spede,
    Lede hym to the Herownde anon present,
  And sey I comawnde me, with worde and dede,
    And Jhesu to hym that I have sent.
  _Primus doctor._ This erand in hast sped xal be,
    In alle the hast that we can do;
  We xal not tary in no degré,
    Tyl the Herowdys presens we come to.

_Here thei take Jhesu and lede hym in gret hast to the Herowde; and the
Herowdys scafald xal unclose, shewyng Herowdes in astat, alle the Jewys
knelyng, except Annas and Cayphas, thei xal stondyn, etc._

  _Primus doctor._ Heyl, Herowde, most excyllent kyng!
    We am comawndyd to thin presens, —
  Pylat sendyth the be us gretyng,
    And chargyth us, be oure obedyens,
  _Secundus doctor._ That we xuld do oure dylygens
    To bryng Jhesus of Naȝareth onto the,
  And chargyth us to make no resystens,
    Becawse he was born in this countré.
  _Annas._ We knowe he hath wrowth gret folé
    Ageyns the lawe shewyd present;
  Therfore Pylat sent hym onto the,
    That thou xuldyst gyf hym jugement.
  _Herowde Rex._ Now, be Mahound my God of Grace!
    Of Pylat this is a dede ful kende;
  I forgyf hym now is gret trespace,
    And schal be his frend withowtyn ende.
  Jhesus to me that he wole sende,
    I desyred ful sore hym for to se;
  Gret ese in this Pylat xal fynde,
    And, Jhesus, thou art welcome to me!
  _Primus Judæus._ My sovereyn lord, this is the case,
    The gret falsnesse of Jhesu is opynly knawe;
  Ther was nevyr man dede so gret trespas,
    ffor he hath almost destroyd oure lawe.
  _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa! be fals crafte of soserye,
    Wrowth opynly to the pepylle alle,
  And be sotyl poyntes of nygramancye,
    Many thowsandys fro oure lawe be falle.
  _Cayphas._ Most excellent kyng, ȝe must take hede,
    He wol dystroye alle this countré, bothe elde and ȝyng;
  Yf he ten monthis more procede,
    Be his meraclys and fals prechyng,
  He bryngyth the pepyl in gret fonnyng,
    And seyth dayly among hem alle,
  That he is lord and of the Jewys kyng,
    And the sone of God he doth hym calle.
  _Rex Herowde._ Serys, alle these materys I have herd sayd,
    And meche more than ȝe me telle;
  Alletogedyr thei xal be layde,
    And I wyl take thereon cowncelle.
  Jhesus, thou art welcome to me;
    I kan Pylat gret thank for his sendyng;
  I have desyryd ful longe the to se,
    And of thi meracles to have knowyng.

  It is told me thou dost many a wondyr thyng,
    Crokyd to gon and blynd men to sen,
  And thei that ben dede gevyst hem levyng,
    And makyst lepers fayre and hool to ben.
  These arn wondyr werkys wrougth of the,
    Be what wey I wolde knowe the trew sentens.
  Now Jhesu, I pray the, lete me se
    O meracle wrougth in my presens.
  In hast now do thi dylygens,
    And peraventure I wyl shew favour to the;
  ffor now thou art in my presens,
    Thyn lyf and deth here lyth in me.

_And here Jhesus xal not speke no word to the Herowde._

  Jhesus, why spekyst not to thi kyng?
    What is the cawse thou standyst so stylle?
  Thou nowyst I may deme alle thyng, —
    Thyn lyf and deth lyth at my wylle!

  What? spek Jhesus, and telle me why
    This pepyl do the so here acuse?
  Spare not, but telle me now on he,
    How thou canst thiself excuse.
  _Cayphas._ Loo! serys, this is of hym a false sotylté,
    He wyl not speke but whan he lyst;
  Thus he dysceyvyth the pepyl in eche degré;
    He is ful fals, ȝe veryly tryst.
  _Rex Herowde._ What, thou onhangyd harlot, why wylt thou not speke?
    Hast thou skorne to speke onto thi kyng?
  Becawse thou dost oure lawys breke,
    I trowe thou art aferd of oure talkyng.
  _Annas._ Nay, he is not aferde, but of a fals wyle,
    Becawse we xuld not hym acuse;
  If that he answerd ȝow ontylle,
    He knowyth he kan not hymself excuse.
  _Rex Herowde._ What? spek I say, thou foulyng, evyl mot thou fare!
    Loke up, the devyl mote the cheke!
  Seres, bete his body with scorges bare,
    And asay to make hym for to speke!
  _Primus Judæus._ It xal be do withoutyn teryeng, —
    Come on, thou tretour, evyl mot thou the!
  Whylt thou not speke onto oure kyng?
    A new lesson we xal lere the!

_Here thei pulle of Jhesus clothis, and betyn hym with whyppys._

  _Secundus Judæus._ Jhesus, thi bonys we xal not breke,
    But we xal make the to skyppe!
  Thou hast lost thi tonge, thou mayst not speke,
    Thou xalt asay now of this whippe.
  _Tertius Judæus._ Serys, take these whyppys in ȝour honde,
    And spare not whyl thei last;
  And bete this tretoure that here doth stonde,
    I trowe that he wyl speke in hast.

_And qwhan thei han betyn hym tyl he is alle blody, than the Herownd
seyth_,

            Sees, seres, I comawnde ȝou be name of the devyl of helle!
  Jhesus, thynkyst this good game?
  Thou art strong, to suffyr schame,
  Thou haddyst levyr be betyn lame,
            Than thi defawtys for to telle.
  But I wyl not thi body alle spyl,
    Nor put it here into more peyn;
  Serys, takyth Jhesus at ȝour owyn wyl,
    And lede hym to Pylat hom ageyn.
  Grete hym weyl, and telle hym serteyn,
    Alle my good frenchep xal he have;
  I gyf hym powere of Jhesus, thus ȝe hym seyn,
    Whether he wole hym dampne or save.
  _Primus doctor._ Sere, at ȝour request it xal be do,
    We xal lede Jhesus at ȝour demawde;
  And delyvyr hym Pylat onto,
    And telle hym alle as ȝe comawnde.

_Here enteryth Satan into the place in the most orryble wyse, and qwyl
that he pleyth, thei xal don on Jhesus clothis and overest a whyte
clothe, and ledyn hym abowth the place, and than to Pylat, be the tyme
that hese wyf hath pleyd._




XXXI. PILATE’S WIFE’S DREAM.


  _Sathan._ Thus I reyne as a rochand with a rynggyng rowth,
    As a devyl most dowty dred is my dynt;
  Many a thowsand develys to me do thei lowth,
    Brennyng in flamys as fyre out of flynt!
  Ho so serve me, Sathan, to sorwe is he sent,
    With dragonys in doungenys and develys fu derke,
  In bras and in bronston the brethellys be brent,
    That wene in this werd my wyl for to werke!

  With myschef on moolde here membrys I merke,
    That japyn with Jhesus that Judas solde;
  Be he nevyr so crafty nor conyng clerke,
    I harry them to helle as tretour bolde.
  But ther is o thyng that grevyth me sore,
    Of a prophete that Jhesu men calle;
  He peynyth me every day more and more,
    With his holy meraclis and werkys alle.

  I had hym onys in a temptacyon,
    With glotenye, with covetyse, and veynglorye,
  I hasayd hym be alle weys that I cownde don,
    And uttyrly he refusyd hem, and gan me defye.
  That rebuke that he gaf me xal not be unqwyt,
    Somwhat I have begonne, and more xal be do;
  ffor alle his barfot goyng, fro me xal he not skyp,
    But my derk dongeon I xal bryngyn hym to.
  I have do made redy his cros that he xal dye upon,
    And thre nayles to takke hym with that he xal not styrte;
  Be he nevyr so holy he xal not fro me gon,
    But with a sharpe spere he xal be smet to the herte.

  And sythyn he xal come to helle be he nevyr so stowte,
    And ȝet I am aferd and he come he wole do som wrake;
  Therfore I xal go warnyn helle that thei loke abowte,
    That thei make redy chenys to bynd hym with in lake.
            Helle! Helle! make redy, for here xal come a gest,
  Hedyr xal come Jhesus that is clepyd Goddys sone,
  And he xal ben here be the oure of none,
  And with the here he xal wone,
            And han ful shrewyd rest.

_Here xal a devyl spekyn in helle._

  _Demon._ Out upon the! we conjure the,
  That nevyr in helle we may hym se,
  ffor and he onys in helle be,
            He xal oure power brest.
  _Sathan._ A! A! than have I go to ferre;
    But som wyle help, I have a shrewde torne,
  My game is wers than I wend here,
    I may seyn my game is lorne.

  Lo! a wyle ȝet have a kast,
    If I myth Jhesus lyf save,
  Helle gatys xal be sperd fast,
    And kepe stylle alle tho I have.

  To Pylatys wyff I wele now go,
    And sche is aslepe a bed ful fast,
  And byd here withowtyn wordys mo,
    To Pylat that sche send in hast.

  I xal asay, and this wol be
    To bryng Pylat in belef;
  Withinne a whyle, ȝe xal se,
    How my craft I wole go pref.

_Here xal the devyl gon to Pylatys wyf, the corteyn drawyn as she lyth in
bedde; and he xal no dene make; but she xal sone after that he is come
in, makyn a rewly noyse, commyng and rennyng of the schaffald, and her
shert and here kyrtyl in here hand, and sche xal come beforn Pylat leke a
mad woman, seyng thus_,

  _Uxor Pilaty._ Pylat, I charge the that thou take hede!
    Deme not Jhesu, but be his frende!
  ȝyf thou jewge hym to be dede,
    Thou art dampnyd withowtyn ende!
  A fend aperyd me beforn,
    As I lay in my bed slepyng fast;
  Sethyn the tyme that I was born
    Was I nevyr so sore agast!

  As wylde fyre and thondyr blast,
    He cam cryeng onto me;
  He seyd, thei that bete Jhesu or bownd hym fast,
    Withowtyn ende dampnyd xal be!

  Therfore a wey herein thou se,
    And lete Jhesu from the clere pace;
  The Jewys thei wole begyle the,
    And put on the alle the trespace.

  _Pylat._ Gramercy, myn wyf, for evyr ȝe be trewe;
    ȝour cowncel is good and evyr hath be!
  Now to ȝour chawmer ȝe do sewe,
    And alle xal be weyl, dame, as ȝe xal se.




XXXII. THE CONDEMNATION AND CRUCIFIXION OF CHRIST.


_Here the Jewys bryng Jhesus aȝen to Pylat._

  _Primus doctor._ Sere Pylat, gode tydandys thou here of me,—
    Of Herowd the kyng thou hast good wyl;
  And Jhesus he sendyth aȝen to the,
    And byddyth the chese hym to save or spylle!

  _Secundus doctor._ ȝa! ser, alle the poer lyth now in the,
    And thou knowyst oure feyth he hath nere schent:
  Thou knowyst what myschef therof may be,
    We charge the to gyf hym jwgement.

  _Pylat._ Serys, trewly ȝe be to blame,
    Jhesus thus to bete, dyspoyle, or bynde;
  Or put hym to so gret schame;
    ffor no defawth in hym I fynde.

  Ne Herowdys nother to whom I sent ȝow,
    Defawte in hym cowde fynde ryth non;
  But sent hym aȝen to me be ȝow,
    As ȝe knowe wel everychon.

  Therfore undyrstande what I xal say,
    ȝe knowe the custom is in this londe,
    Of ȝour Pasche day that is ner honde,
    What theff or tretour be in bonde,
  For worchep of that day xal go fre away
            Without any price.
    Now than me thynkyth it were ryth,
    To lete Jhesus now go qwyte,
    And do to hym no mo dyspyte,—
  I wolde wete what ȝe say.
            Seres, this is myn avyse.

_Here alle thei xul cryen, “Nay! nay! nay!”_

  _Primus doctor._ Delyvere us the theff Barabas,
  That for mansclawth presonde was.
  _Pylat._ What xal I than with Jhesu do?
  Whether xal he abyde or go?
  _Secundus doctor._ Jhesus xal on the cros be don,
  _Crucifigatur_ we cry echon!
  _Pylat._ Seres, what hath Jhesus don amys?
  _Populus clamabunt._ _Crucifigatur_ we sey at onys.

  _Pylat._ Serys, syn al gatys ȝe wolyn so,
    Puttyn Jhesu to wo and peyn;
  Jhesu a wyle with me xal go,
    I wole hym examyne betwyx us tweyn.

_Here Pylat takyth Jhesu, and ledyth hym into the cowncel hous, and
seyth_,

  Jhesus, what seyst now? lete se,
    This matere now thou undyrstonde;
  In pes thou myth be for me,
    But for thi pepyl of thi londe.

  Busshoppys and prestys of the lawe,
    Thei love the not, as thou mayst se;
  And the comon pepyl aȝens the drawe,
    In pes thou myth a be for me,—
            This I telle the pleyn!
  What seyst, Jhesus? whi spekest not me to?
  Knowyst not I have power on the cros the to do,
  And also I have power to lete the forth go!
            What kanst thou here to seyn?

  _Jhesus._ On me poer thou hast ryth non,
  But that my fadyr hath grawntyd beforn;
  I cam my faderys wyl to fullefylle,
  That mankynd xuld not spylle.
  He that hath betrayd me to the at this tyme,
  His trespas is more than is thine.
  _Primus doctor._ ȝe prynces and maysteres, takyth hed and se
    How Pylat in this matere is favorabyl;
  And thus oure lawys dystroyd myth be,
    And to us alle unrecurabyl!

_Here Pylat letyth Jhesus alone and goth into the Jewys, and seyth_,

  Seres, what wole ȝe now with Jhesu do?
    I can fynde in hym but good!
  It is my cownce ȝe lete hym go, —
    It is rewthe to spylle his blood!
  _Cayphas._ Pylat, me thynkyth thou dost gret wrong,
    Aȝens oure lawe thus to fortefye;
  And the pepyl here is so strong,
    Bryngyng the lawful testymonye.
  _Annas._ ȝa! and thou lete Jhesu fro us pace,
    This we welyn upholdyn alle;
  Thou xalt answere for his trespas,
    And tretour to the emperour we xal the kalle.
  _Pylat._ Now than, syn ȝe wolne non other weye,
  But in al wyse that Jhesus must deye,
  Artyse, bryng me watyr, I prey the,
  And what I wole do, ȝe xal se.

_Hic unus afferet aquam._

  As I wasche with watyr my handys clene,
  So gyltles of hese deth I must ben.
  _Primus doctor._ The blod of hym mut ben on us,
  And on oure chyldyr aftyr us!

_Et clamabunt “ȝa! ȝa! ȝa!”_

_Than Pylat goth aȝen to Jhesu, and bryngit hym, thus seyng_,

  Lo! seres, I bryng hym here to ȝour presens,
  That ȝe may knowe I fynde in hym non offens.
  _Secundus doctor._ Delyvere hym! delyvere hym! and let us go,
  On the crosse that he were do!
  _Pilat._ Seres, wolde ȝe ȝour kyng I xulde on the cros don?
  _Tertius doctor._ Sere, we seyn that we have no kyng but the emperour
      alon.
  _Pilat._ Seres, syn al gatys it must be so,
  We must syt and our office do;
  Brynge forth to the barre that arn to be dempt,
  And thei xal have here jugement.

_Here thei xal brynge Barabas to the barre, and Jhesu, and ij. Jewys
in here shertys bare-leggyd, and Jhesus standing at the barre betwyx
them; and Annas and Cayphas xal gon into the cowncelle hous qwhan Pylat
syttyth._

  _Pylat._ Barabas, hold up thi hond!
  For here at thi delyvere dost thou stond.

_And he halt up his hond._

  Serys, qwhat sey ȝe of Barabas thef and tretour bold?
  Xal he go fre or he xal be kept in holde?
  _Primus doctor._ Sere, for the solemnyté of oure Pasche day,
  Be oure lawe he xal go fre away.
  _Pylat._ Barabas, than I dysmysse the,
  And ȝeve the lycens to go fre.

_Et curret._

  Dysmas and Jesmas ther as ȝe stondys,
  The lawe comawndyth ȝou to hold up ȝour hondys;
  Sere, what sey ȝe of these thevys tweyn?
  _Secundus doctor._ Sere, thei ben bothe gylty, we seyn.
  _Pylat._ And what sey ȝe of Jhesu of Naȝareth?
  _Primus doctor._ Sere, we sey he xal be put to deth!
  _Pylat._ And kone ȝe put aȝens hym no trespas.
  _Secundus Doctor._ Sere, we wylle alle that he xal be put upon the
      crosse!

_Et clamabunt omnes voce magna dicentes, “ȝa! ȝa! ȝa!”_

  _Pylat._ Jhesu, thin owyn pepyl han dysprevyd,
  Al that I have for the seyd or mevyd;
  I charge ȝou alle at the begynnyng,
    As ȝe wole answere me beforn,
  That ther be no man xal towche ȝour kyng,
    But yf he be knyght or jentylman born.

  Fyrst his clothis ȝe xal of don,
    And makyn hym nakyd for to be;
  Bynde hym to a pelere, as sore as ȝe mon,
    Than skorge hym with qwyppys that al men may se!
  Whan he is betyn, crowne hym for ȝour kyng!
  And than to the cros ȝe xal hym bryng!

  And to the crosse thou xalt be fest,
  And on thre naylys thi body xal rest!
  On xal thorwe thi ryth hand go,
  Anothyr thorwe thi lyfte hand also;
  The thred xal be smet thoro bothe thi feet,
  Wheche nayle ther to be mad ful mete!
  And ȝet thou xalt not hange alone,
  But on eyther syde of the xal be on.
  Dysmas now, I deme the,
  That on hese ryth hand thou xalt be!
  And Jesmas on the left hand hangyd xal ben,
  On the mowth of Calverye, that men may sen!

_Here Pylat xal rysyn and gon to his schaffald, and the busshoppys with
hym; and the Jewys xul crye for joy with a gret voys, and arryn hym and
pullyn of his clothis, and byndyn hym to a pelere, and skorgyn hym; on
seyng thus_,

  _Primus Judæus._ Doth gladly, oure kyng,
  For this is ȝour first begynnyng!

_And qwhan he is skorgyd, thei put upon hym a cloth of sylk, and settyn
hym on a stol, and puttyn a kroune of thornys on hese hed with forkys;
and the Jewys knelyng to Cryst, takyng hym a septer and skornyng hym,
and than thei xal pullyn of the purpyl clothe, and don on ageyn his owyn
clothis; and leyn the crosse in hese necke to berynt, and drawyn hym
forth with ropys; and than xal come to women wepyng, and with here handes
wryngyn, seyng thus_,

  _Primus mulier._ Allas! Jhesus, allas! Jhesus, wo is me!
    That thou art thus dyspoylyd, allas!
  And ȝet nevyr defawth was fownd in the,
    But evyr thou hast be fole of grace.
  _Secundus mulier._ A! here is a rewful syth of Jhesu so good,
    That he xal thus dye aȝens the ryth;
  A! wykkyd men, ȝe be more than wood.
    To do that good Lord so gret dyspyte!

_Here Jhesus turnyth aȝen to the women with his crosse, thus seyng_,

  Dowterys of Hierusalem, for me wepyth nowth,
    But for ȝourself wepyth and for your chyldyr also;
  For the days xal come that thei han aftyr sowth,
    Here synne and here blyndnesse xal turne hym to wo!

  Than xal be sayd “blyssyd be the wombys that bareyn be,
    And wo to the tetys tho days that do ȝevyn sokyng!”
  And to here faderes, thei xul seyn, “Wo to the tyme that thou begat me!”
    And to her moderes, “Allas! wher xal be oure dwellyng?”

  Than to the hyllys and mownteynes they xal crye and calle,
    Oppyn and hyde us from the face of hym syttyng in trone!
  Or ellys ovyrthrowyth and on us now come falle,
    That we may be hyd from oure sorweful mone.

_Here Jhesus turnyth fro the women and goth forth, and ther thei metyn
with Symonem in the place, the Jewys seyng to hym_,

  _Primus Judæus._ Sere, to the a word of good;
    A man is here thou mayst se,
  Beryth hevy of a rode,
    Where an he xal hangyd be.

  Therfore we pray alle the,
    Thou take the crosse of the man;
  Bere it with us to Kalvarye,
    And ryth gret thank thou xalt han.

  _Symon._ Seres, I may not in no degré,—
    I have gret errandys for to do;
  Therfore I pray ȝow excuse me,
    And on my herand lete me go.

  _Secundus Judæus._ What? harlot, hast thou skorne
    To here the tre? whan we the praye!
  Thou xalt berynt, haddyst thou sworn,
    And yt were ten tyme the weye!

  _Symon._ Serys, I pray ȝow dysplese ȝou nowth,
    I wole help to here the tre;
  Into the place it xal be browth,
    Where ȝe wole commawnde me.

_Here Symon takyth the cros of Jhesus, and beryth it forth._

  _Veronica._ A! ȝe synful pepyl, why fare thus?
    ffor swet and blod he may not se!
  Alias! holy prophete, Cryst Jhesus!
    Careful is myn hert for the!

_And sche whypyth his face with her kerchy._

  _Jhesus._ Veronyca, thi whipyng doth me ese!
    My face is clene that was blak to se:
  I xal them kepe from alle mysese,
    That lokyn on thi kerchy and remembyr me!

_Than xul thei pulle Jhesu out of his clothis, and leyn them togedyr; and
ther thei xul pullyn hym down and leyn along on the cros, and after that
naylyn hym thereon._

  _Primus Judæus._ Come on now here, we xal asay
    Yf the cros for the be mete;
  Cast hym down here in the devyl way,
    How long xal he standyn on his fete?

  _Secundus Judæus._ Pul hym down, evyl mote he the!
    And gyf me his arm in hast;
  And anon we xal se
    Hese good days thei xul be past!

  _Tertius Judæus._ Gef hese other arm to me,—
    Another take hed to hese feet;
  And anon we xal se
    Yf the borys be for hym meet.

  _Quartus Judæus._ This is mete, take good hede;
    Pulle out that arm to the sore.
  _Primus Judæus._ This is short, the devyl hym sped,
    Be a large fote and more.

  _Secundus Judæus._ ffest on a rop and pulle hym long,
    And I xal drawe the ageyn;
  Spare we not these ropys strong,
    Thow we brest both flesch and veyn!

  _Tertius Judæus._ Dryve in the nayle anon, lete se,
    And loke and the flesch and sennes welle last.
  _Quartus Judæus._ That I graunt, so mote I the;
    Lo! this nayl is dreve ryth wel and fast.

  _Primus Judæus._ ffest a rope than to his feet,
    And drawe hym down long anow.
  _Secundus Judæus._ Here is a nayl for both good and greet,
    I xal dryve it thorwe, I make a vow!

_Here xule thei leve of and dawncyn abowte the cros shortly._

  _Tertius Judæus._ Lo! fela, here a lythe takkyd on a tre!
  _Quartus Judæus._ ȝa! and I trowe thou art a worthy kyng!
  _Primus Judæus._ A! good sere, telle me now what helpyth thi prophecy
      the?
  _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa! or any of thi ffals prechyng!

  _Tertius Judæus._ Seres, set up the cros on the honde,
    That we may loke hym in the face.
  _Quartus Judæus._ ȝa! and we xal knelyn onto oure kyng so kend,
    And preyn hym of his gret grace!

_Here qwhan thei han set hym up, thei xuln gon before hym, seyng eche
affter other thus_,

  _Primus Judæus._ Heyl! kyng of Jewys, yf thou be.
  _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa! ȝa! sere, as thou hangyst there flesche and bonys.
  _Tertius Judæus._ Com now down of that tre!
  _Quartus Judæus._ And we wole worchepe the alle at onys.

_Here xul poer comonys stand and loke upon the Jewys iiij. or v., and the
Jewys xul come to them, and do them hange the thevys._

  _Primus Judæus._ Come on, ȝe knavys, and set up these ij. crosses ryth,
    And hange up these to thevys anon!

  _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa! and in the worchep of this worthy knyth,
    On eche syde of hym xal hangyn on!

_Here the sympyl men xul settyn up these ij. crossys, and hangyn up
the thevys be the armys and therwhylys xal the Jewys cast dyce for his
clothis, and fytyn and stryvyn; and in the mene tyme xal oure Lady come
with iij. Maryes with here and Sen John with hem, settyng hem down asyde
afore the cros; oure Lady swuonyng and mornyng and leysere seyng_,

  _Maria._ A! my good Lord, my sone so swete!
    Why hast thou don? why hangyst now thus here?
  Is ther non other deth to the now mete,
    But the most shamful deth among these thevys fere?

  A! out on my hert! whi brest thou nowth?
    And thou art maydyn and modyr, and seyst thus thi childe spylle!
  How mayst thou abyde this sorwe and this woful thowth?
    Ah! deth! deth! deth! Why wilt thou not me kylle?

_Here oure Lady xal swonge aȝen, and ore Lord xal seyn thus_,

  _Jhesus._ O ffadyr almythy! makere of man!
    fforgyff these Jewys that don me wo!
  fforgeve hem, fadyr! forgeve hem than!
    ffor thei wete nowth what thei do.

  _Primus Judæus._ ȝa! vath! vath! now here is he
    That bad us dystroye oure tempyl on a day,
  And withinne days thre
    He xuld reysynt aȝen in good aray.

  _Secundus Judæus._ Now and thou kan do sweche a dede,
    Help now thiself, yf that thou kan;
  And we xal belevyn on the withoutyn drede,
    And seyn thou art a mythty man!

  _Tertius Judæus._ ȝa! yf thu be Goddys sone, as thou dedyst teche,
    ffrom the cros come now downe!
  Than of mercy we xal the beseche,
    And seyn thou art a Lord of gret renown!
  _Jestes._ Yf thou be Goddys sone, as thou dedyst seye,
    Helpe here now both the and us!
  But I fynde it not al in my feye,
    That thou xuldyst be Cryst, Goddys sone Jhesus.

  _Dysmas._ Go wey, fool! why seyst thou so?
    He is the sone of God, I beleve it wel!
  And synne dede he nevyr, lo!
    That he xuld be put this deth tyl.
  Be we ful meche wrong han wrowth, —
    He dede nevyr thing amys!
  Now mercy, good Lord! mercy! and forgete me nowth
    Whan thou comyst to thi kyngham and to thi blysse!

  _Jhesus._ Amen! amen! thou art ful wyse!
    That thou hast askyd I grawnt the!
  This same day in paradyse
    With me thi God thou xalt ther be!

  _Maria._ O my sone! my sone! my derlyng dere!
    What have I defendyd the?
  Thou hast spoke to alle tho that ben here,
    And not o word thou spekyst to me!

  To the Jewys thou art ful kende,
    Thou hast forgeve al here mysdede;
  And the thef thou hast in mende,
    For onys haskyng mercy hefne is his mede.

  A! my sovereyn Lord, why whylt thou not speke
    To me that am thi modyr in peyn for thi wrong?
  A! hert! hert! why whylt thou not breke?
    That I were out of this sorwe so stronge!

  _Jhesus._ A! woman, woman, behold ther thi sone!
    And thou Jon take her for thi modyr!
  I charge the to kepe her as besyly as thou kone,
    Thou a clene mayde xal kepe another!

  And, woman, thou knowyst that my fadyr of hefne me sent
    To take this manhod of the, Adamys rawnsom to pay;
  ffor this is the wyl and to my ffaderys intent,
    That I xal thus deye to delyvere man fro the develys pray!

  Now syn it is the wyl of my fadyr it xuld thus be,
    Why xuld it dysplese the, modyr, now my deth so sore?
  And for to suffre al this for man I was born of the,
    To the blys that man had lost man aȝen to restore.

_Here owe Lady xal ryse and renne and halse the crosse._

  _Maria Magdalen._ A! good lady, why do ȝe thus?
    ȝour dolful cher now chevit us sore.
  And for the peyne of my swete Lord Jhesus,
    That he seyth in ȝou, it peyneth hym more.

  _Maria virgo._ I pray yow alle lete me ben here,
    And hang me up here on this tre,
  Be my frend and sone that me is so dere;
    ffor ther he is, ther wold I be.

  _Johannes._ Jentyl lady, now leve ȝour mornyng,
    And go with us, now we ȝou pray!
  And comfort oure Lord at hese departyng,
    ffor he is almost redy to go his way.

_Here thei xal take oure lady from the crosse, and here xal Pylat come
down from his shaffald with Cayphas and Annas, and alle here mené; and
xul come and lokyn on Cryst, and Annas and Cayphas xul skornfully seyn_,

  _Cayphas._ Lo! seres, lo! beholdyth and se,
    Here hangyth he that halpe many a man;
  And now yf he Goddys sone be,
    Helpe now hymself yf that he kan.

  _Annas._ ȝa! and yf thou kyng of Israel be,
    Come down of the cros among us alle!
  And lete thi God now delyvere the,
    And than oure kyng we wole the calle!

_Here xal Pylat askyn penne and inke and a tabyl, xal betake hym wretyn
afore, “Hic est Jhesus Nazarenus rex Judæorum.” And he xal make hym to
wryte, and than gon upon a leddere, and settyn the tabyl abovyn Crystes
hed; and then Cayphas xal makyn hym to redyn, and seyng_,

  _Cayphas._ Sere Pylat, we merveylyth of this,
  That ȝe wryte hym to be kyng of Jewys.
  Therfore we wolde that ȝe xuld wryte thus,
  That he namyd hymself Kyng of Jewus.
  _Pylat._ That I have wretyn, wretyn it is,
  And so it xal be for me i-wys.

_And so forth alle thei xal gon aȝen to the skaffald, and Jhesus xal
cryen_

  Heloy! Heloy! Lama zabathany!
  My fadyr in hevyn on by,
            Why dost thou me forsake?
  The frelté of my mankende,
  With stronge peyn yt gynnyth to peynde,
  Ha, dere fadyr, have me in mende,
            And lete deth my sorwe slake!

  _Secundus Judæus._ Methynkyth he this doth calle Hely;
  Lete us go nere and aspy,
  And loke yf he come prevely,
            From cros hym down to reve.
  _Jhesus._ So grett a thrust dede nevyr man take
  As I have, man, now for thi sake;
  For thrust asundyr my lyppys gyn crake,—
            For drynes thei do cleve.

  _Tertius Judæus._ ȝour thrust, sere hoberd, for to slake,
  Eyȝil and galle here I the take,
  What! me thynkyth a mowe ȝe make:—
            Is not this good drynk?
  To crye for drynke ȝe had gret hast,
  And now it semyth it is but wast,—
  Is not this drynk of good tast?
            Now telle me how ȝe thynk!

  _Quartus Judæus._ On lofte, sere hoberd, now ȝe be sett,
  We wyl no lenger with ȝou lett!
  We grete ȝou wel on the newe gett,
            And make on ȝou a mowe.
  _Primus Judæus._ We grete ȝou wel with a scorn,
  And pray ȝou, bothe evyn and morn,
  Take good eyd to oure corn,
            And chare awey the crowe.

  _Jhesus._ In manus tuas, Domine!
  Holy fadyr in hefly se,
  I comende my spyryte to the,
            For here now hendyth my fest!
  I xal go sle the fende, that freke,
  ffor now myn herte begynnyth to breke,
  Wurdys mo xal I non speke!
            Nunc consummatum est!

  _Maria._ Alas! alas! I leve to longe,
  To se my swete sone with peynes stronge,
  As a theff on cros doth honge,
            And nevyr ȝet dede he synne!
  Alas! my dere chyld to deth is dressyd!
  Now is my care wel more incressyd!
  A! myn herte with peyn is pressyd!
            ffor sorwe myn hert doth twynne.

  _Johannes._ A! blyssyd mayde, chaunge ȝour thought;
  ffor thow ȝour sone with sorwe be sought,
  ȝitt by his owyn wyl this werk is wrought,
            And wylfully his deth to take!
  ȝow to kepe he chargyd me here;
  I am ȝour servaunt, my lady dere,
  Wherfore I pray ȝow, be of good chere,
            And merthis that ȝe make!

  _Maria._ Thow he had nevyr of me be born,
  And I sey his flesche thus al to-torn,
  On bak behyndyn, on brest beforn,
            Rent with woundys wyde!
  Nedys I must wonyn in woo,
  To se my ffrende with many a fo
  Alle to-rent from top to too,
            His flesche withowtyn hyde!

  _Johannes._ A! blyssyd lady, as I ȝow telle,
  Had he not deyd, we xuld to helle,
  Amonges ffendys ther evyr to dwelle,
            In peynes that ben smert!
  He sufferyth deth for oure trespace,
  And thorwe his deth we xal have grace,
  To dwelle with hym in hevyn place;
            Therfore beth mery in hert!

  _Maria._ A! dere ffrende, weel woot I this,
  That he doth bye us to his blys;
  But ȝitt of myrth evyr more I mys,
            Whan I se this syght!
  _Johannes._ Now, dere lady, therfore I ȝow pray,
  ffro this dolful dolour wende we oure way,
  ffor whan this syght ȝe se nought may,
            ȝoure care may waxe more lyght.

  _Maria._ Now sythe I must parte hym fro,
  ȝit lete me kysse or that I go
  His blyssyd ffeyt that sufferyn wo,
            Naylid on this tre.
  So cruelly with grett dyspyte,
  Thus shamfully was nevyr man dyghte,
  Therfore in peyn myn hert is pyghte,
            Al joye departyth fro me!

_Hic quasi semimortua cadat prona in terram, et dicit._

  _Johannes._ Now, blyssyd mayd, com forthe with me!
  No lengere this syght that ȝe se,
  I xal ȝow gyde in this countré,
            Where that it plesyth ȝow best.
  _Maria._ Now, jentyl John, my sonys derlyng!
  To Goddys temple thou me brynge,
  That I may prey God with sore wepynge,
            And mornynge that is prest!

  _Johannes._ Alle ȝour desyre xal be wrought,
  With herty wylle I werke ȝour thought;
  Now, blyssyd mayde, taryeth nowth,
            In the temple that ȝe ware!
  ffor holy prayere may chaunge ȝour mood,
  And cawse ȝour chere to be more good;
  Whan ȝe se notȝ ȝour childys blood,
            The lasse may be ȝour care!

_Tunc transiet Maria ad templum cum Johanne, etc._

  _Maria._ Here in this temple my lyff I lede,
  And serve my lord God with hertyly drede, —
  Now xal wepynge me fode and fede,
            Some comforte tylle God sende.
  A! my lord God, I the pray,
  Whan my childe ryseth the iij.ᵈᵉ day,
  Comforte thanne thyn hand-may,
            My care for to amende!




XXXIII. THE DESCENT INTO HELL.


  _Anima Christi._ Now alle mankende, in herte be glad,
  Withe alle merthis that may be had,
  ffor mannys sowle that was be-stad
            In the logge of helle.
  Now xal I ryse to lyve agayn,
  From peyn to pleys of paradyse pleyn;
  Therfore, man, in hert be fayn.
            In merthe now xalt thou dwelle!

  I am the sowle of Cryst Jhesu,
  The whiche is kynge of alle vertu;
  My body is ded, the Jewys it slew,
            That hangyth ȝitt on the rode!
  Rent and torn, al blody red,
  ffor mannys sake my body is deed,
  ffor mannys helpe my body is bred,
            And sowle drynke my bodyes blode.

  Thow my body be now sclayn,
  The thrydde day, this is certayn,
  I xal reyse my body agayn,
            To lyve as I ȝow say!
  Now wole I go streyth to helle,
  And feche ffrom the fendys felle,
  Alle my frendys that therin dwelle,
            To blysse that lestyth ay.

_The sowle goth to helle gatys and seyth, “Attollite portas, principes,
vestras, et elevamini, portæ eternales, et introibit Rex Gloriæ.”_

  Ondothe ȝoure ȝatys of sorwatorie!
  On mannys sowle I have memorie,
  Here comyth now the kynge of glorye,
            These gates for to breke!
  ȝe develys that am here withinne,
  Helle gatys ȝe xal unpynne,
  I xal delyvere mannys kynne, —
            ffrom wo I wole hem wreke!

  _Belyalle._ Alas! alas! out and harrow!
  Onto thi byddynge must we bow,
  That thou art God now do we know,
            Of the had we grett dowte.
  Aȝens the may no thynge stonde,
  Alle thynge obeyth to thyn honde,
  Bothe hevyn and helle, watyr and londe, —
            Alle thynge must to the lowte.

  _Anima Cristi._ Aȝens me it were but wast
  To holdyn or to stondyn fast;
  Helle logge may not last
            Aȝens the kynge of glorye.
  Thi derke dore down I throwe,
  My fayr ffrendys now wele I knowe,
  I xal hem brynge reknyd be rowe
            Out of here purcatorye!




XXXIV. THE BURIAL OF CHRIST.


  _Centurio._ In trewthe now I knowe with ful opyn syght,
    That Goddys dere sone is naylid on tre!
  These wundyrful tokenys aprevyn ful ryght
    Quod vere filius Dei erat iste!

  _Alius miles (2)._ The very child of God I suppose that he be,
    And so it semyth wele be his wundyrful werk!
  The erthe sore qwakyth, and that agresyth me,
    With myst and grett wedyr it is woundyr dyrk!

  _Alius Miles (3)._ Soche merveylis shewe may non erthely man,
    The eyr is ryght derke, that fyrst was ryght clere;
  The erthe-qwave is grett, the clowdys waxe whan,
    These tokenys preve hym a lord without any pere!

  _Centurio._ His fadyr is pereles kyng of most empere,
    Bothe lorde of this world and kynge of hevyn hyȝe;
  ȝitt out of alle synne to brynge us owt of daungere,
    He soferyth his dere sone for us alle to dye.

  _Nichodemus._ Alas! alas! what syght is this?
  To se the lorde and kynge of blys,
  That nevyr synnyd ne dede amys,
            Thus naylid upon a rode!
  Alas! ȝewys, what have ȝe wrought?
  A! ȝe wyckyd wytys, what was ȝour thought?
  Why have ȝe bobbyd and thus betyn owth
            Alle his blyssyd blood?

  _Senturyo._ A! now trewly telle weyl I kan,
    That this was Goddys owyn sone!
  I knowe he is both God and man,
    Be this wark that here is done!

  Ther was nevyr man but God that cowde make this werk,
    That evyr was of woman born!
  Were he nevyr so gret a clerk,
    It passeth hem alle, thow thei had sworn!

  Hese lawe was trewe, I dare wel saye,
    That he tawth us here amonge!
  Therfore I rede ȝe turne ȝour faye,
    And amende that ȝe han do wronge!

  _Joseph of Aram._ O! good Lord Jhesu, that deyst now here on rode,
    Have mercy on me and forgyf me mys!
  I wold the worchep here with my good,
    That I may come to thi blysse!

  To Pylat now wool I goon,
    And aske the body of my Lord Jhesu;
  To bery that now wold I soon,
    In my grave that is so new.

  Heyl! sere Pylat, that syttyth in sete!
    Heyl! justyce of Jewys men do the calle!
  Heyl! with helthe I do the grete,
    I pray the of a bone what so befalle.

  To bery Jhesuis body I wole the pray,
    That he were out of mennys syth;
  ffor to morwyn xal be oure holyday,
    Than wole no man hym bery, I the plyth.

  And yf we lete hym hange ther stylle,
    Some wolde seyn therof anow;
  The pepyl therof wold seyn ful ylle,
    That nother xuld be ȝour worchep nor prow.

  _Pylat._ Sere Joseph of Baramathie, I graunt the
    With Jhesuis body do thin intent;
  But fyrst I wole wete that he ded be,
    As it was his jugement!

  Sere knytys, I comawnd ȝow that ȝe go
    In hast with Josepht of Baramathie;
  And loke ȝe take good hede therto,
    That Jhesu suerly ded be.

  Se that this comawndement ȝe fulfylle,
    Without wordys ony mo;
  And than lete Joseph do his wylle,
    What that he wyl with Jhesu do.

_Here come to knytes beforn Pylat at onys, thus seyng_,

  _Primus Miles._ Sere, we xal do oure dylygens,
    With Joseph goyng to Calvarye;
  Be we out of thi presens,
    Sone the trewthe we xal aspye.

  _Joseph._ Gramercy, Pylat, of ȝour jentylnesse,
    That ȝe ban grawntyd me my lyst;
  Any thyng in my province
    ȝe xal have at ȝour resquest.

  _Pylat._ Sere, alle ȝour lest ȝe xal have,
    With Jhesuis body do ȝour intent;
  Whethyr ȝe bery hym in pyt or grave,
    The powere I grawnt ȝow here present.

_The ij. knygtes go with Joseph to Jhesus, and stande and heldyn hym in
the face_,

  _Secundus miles._ Me thynkyth Jhesu is sewre anow,—
    It is no ned his bonys to breke:
  He is ded, how thinkyth ȝow?
    He xal nevyr go nor speke.

  _Primus miles._ We wyl be sure or than we go,
    Of a thyng I am bethowth;
  ȝondyr is a blynd knyth I xal go to,
    And sone awhyle here xal be wrowth.

_Here the knyth goth to blynde Longeys, and seyth_,

  Heyl, sere Longeys, thou gentyl knyth!
    The I prey now ryth hertyly;
  That thou wylt wend with me ful wyth,
    It xal be for thi prow veryly.
  _Longeus._ Sere, at ȝour comawndement with ȝow wyl I wende,
    In what place ȝe wyl me have;
  For I trost ȝe be my frend;
    Lede me forth, sere, oure sabath ȝou save!

  _Primus miles._ Lo! sere Longeys, here is a spere!
    Bothe long, and brood, and sharp anow;
  Heve it up fast that it wore there,
    ffor here is game:— show, man, show.

_Here Longeys showyth the spere warly, and the blood comyth rennyng to
his hand, and he avantoresly xal wype his eyn._

  _Longeus._ O good Lord! how may this be,
    That I may se so bryth now?
  This thretty wyntyr I myth not se,
    And now I may se I wote nevyr how!
  But ho is this that hangyth here now?
    I trowe it be the mayndonys sone;
  And that he is now I knowe wel how,
    The Jewys to hym this velany han don!

_Here he ffallyth downe on his knes._

  Now, good Lord, fforgyf me that,
    That I to the now don have;
  For I dede I wyst not what,—
    The Jewys of myn ignorans dede me rave.
            Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! I crye.

_Than Joseph doth set up the lederes and Nychodemus comyth to help hym._

  _Nicodemus._ Joseph ab Aramathy, blyssyd thou be!
    ffor thou dost a fol good dede;
  I prey the lete me help the,
    That I may be partenere of thi mede.

  _Joseph._ Nychodemus, welcome indede!
    I pray ȝow ȝe wole help therto;
  He wole aqwyte us ryth wele oure mede,
    And I have lysens for to do.

_Here Joseph and Nychodemus takyn Cryst of the cros, on on o ledyr and
the tother on another leddyr; and qwhan is had down, Joseph leyth hym in
our Ladys lappe, seyng the knytes turnyng hem, and Joseph seyth_,

  _Joseph._ Lo! Mary modyr, good and trewe,
    Here is thi son, blody and bloo!
  ffor hym myn hert ful sore doth rewe,
    Kysse hym now onys eer he go!

  _Maria Virgo._ A, mercy! mercy! myn owyn sone so dere,
    Thi blody face now I must kysse!
  Thi face is pale, withowtyn chere!
    Of meche joy now xal I mysse!
  Ther was nevyr modyr that sey this,
    So her sone dyspoyled with so gret wo;
  And my dere chylde nevyr dede amys,—
    A, mercy! fadyr of hefne, it xulde be so!

  _Joseph._ Mary, ȝour sone ȝe take to me;
    Into his grave it xal be browth.

  _Maria._ Joseph, blyssyd ever mot thou be,
    For the good ded that ȝe han wrowth!

_Here thei xal leyn Cryst in his grave._

  _Joseph._ I gyf the this syndony that I have bowth,
    To wynde the in whyl it is new.
  _Nichodemus._ Here is an onyment that I have browth,
    To anoynt withalle myn lord Jhesu.

  _Joseph._ Now Jhesu is withinne his grave,
    Wheche I ordeyn somtyme for me;
  On the, Lord, I vowche it save,
    I knowe my mede ful gret xal be.

  _Nichodemus._ Now lete us leyn on this ston ageyn,
    And Jhesu in this tombe stylle xal be;
  And we wyl walke hom ful pleyn,—
    The day passyth fast I se.
  Farewel, Joseph, and wel ȝe be;
    No lengere teryeng here we make.

  _Joseph._ Sere, almythy God be with the,
    Into his blysse he mote ȝou take!

  _Maria._ ffarewel, ȝe jentyl princes kende,
    In joye evyr mote ȝe be!
  The blisse of hefne withowtyn ende
    I knowe veryly that ȝe xal se.

_Here the princes xal do reverens to oure Lady, and gon here way, and
leve the Maryes at the sepulchre._




XXXV. THE RESURRECTION.


_Cayphas goth to Pylat, seyng thus_,

  _Cayphas._ Herk, sere Pylat, lyst to me!
    I xal the telle tydynges new;
  Of o thyng we must ware be,
    Or ellys hereafter we myth it rewe.

  Thou wotyst weyl that Jhesu,
    He seyd to us with wordys pleyn,
  He seyd we xuld fynd it trew,—
    The thryd day he wold ryse ageyn.
  Yf that hese dyscyplys come serteyn,
    And out of his grave stele hym away,
  Thei wyl go preche and pleyn seyn
    That he is reson the thryd day.

  This is the cowncel that I gyf here,
    Take men and gyf hem charge therto
  To weche the grave with gret power,
    Tyl the thryd day be go.

  _Pylat._ Sere Cayphas, it xal be do,
    For, as ȝe say, ther is peryl in;
  And it happend that it were so,
    It myth make our lawys for to blyn.
  ȝe xal se, ser, er that ȝe go,
    How I xal this mater save,
  And what I xal sey therto,
    And what charge thei xal have.

  Come forth, ȝe ser Amorawnt,
    And ser Arphaxat; com ner also
  Ser Cosdram, and ser Affraunt,
    And here the charge that ȝe must do.
  Seres, to Jhesuis grave ȝe xal go,
    Tyl that the thryd day be gon;
  And lete nother frend nor fo,
    In no wey to towche the ston.

  Yf ony of hese dyscipelys come ther
    To feche the body fro ȝou away,
  Bete hym down, have ȝe no fere,
    With shamful deth do hym day.
  In payn of ȝour godys and ȝour lyvys,
    That ȝe lete hem nowth shape ȝou fro,
  And of ȝour chyldere and ȝour wyfys,
    For al ȝe lese, and ȝe do so.

  _Primus miles._ Sere Pylat, we xal not ses
    We xal kepe it strong anow.
  _Secundus miles._ ȝa, and an hunderyd put hem in pres,
    Thei xal dey, I make a vow.
  _Tertius miles._ And han hunderyd! fy on an c. and an c. therto!
    Ther is non of hem xal us withstonde.
  _Quartus miles._ ȝa, and ther com an hunderyd thowsand and mo,
    I xal hem kylle with myn honde.

  _Pylat._ Wel, seres, than ȝour part ȝe do,
    And to ȝour charge loke ȝe take hede,
  Withowtyn wordys ony mo,
    Wysly now that ȝe precede.

_Here the knytes gon out of the place._

  Lo! Ser Cayphas, how thynkyth ȝow?
    Is not this wel browth abowth?
  _Cayphas._ In feyth, ser, it is sure anow,
    Hardely have ȝe no dowth.

  _Arfaxat._ Let se, ser Amaraunt, where wele ȝe be?
    Wole ȝe kepe the feet or the hed?
  _Ameraunt._ At the hed, so mote I the,
    And ho so come here he is but dead.
  _Arfaxat._ And I wole kepe the feet this tyde,
    Thow ther come both Jakke and Gylle.
  _Cosdram._ And I xal kepe the ryth syde,
    And ho so come I xal hym kylle.

  _Affraunt._ And I wole on the lefte hand ben,
  And ho so come here, he xal nevyr then;
  fful sekyrly his bane xal I ben,
            With dyntys of dowte.
  Syr Pylat, have good day!
  We xul kepyn the body in clay,
  And we xul wakyn wele the way,
            And wayten alle abowte.

  _Pylatus._ Now, jentyl seres, wole ȝe vowchesaffe
  To go with me and sele the graffe,
  That he ne ryse out of the grave,
            That is now ded?
  _Cayphas._ We graunte, wel lete us now go:
  Whan it is selyd and kepte also,
  Than be we sekyr withowtyn wo,
            And have of hym no dred.

_Tunc ibunt ad sepulcrum Pilatus, Cayphas, Annas, et omnes milites, et
dicunt._

  _Annas._ Loo! here is wax fful redy dyght,
  Sett on ȝour sele anon ful ryght,
  Than be ȝe sekyr, I ȝow plyght—
            He xal not rysyn ageyn.
  _Pilatus._ On this corner my seal xal sytt,
  And with this wax I sele this pytt;
  Now dare I ley he xal nevyr flytt
            Out of this grave serteayn.

  _Annas._ Here is more wax fful redy, loo!
  Alle the corneres ȝe sele also,
  And with a lokke loke it too,—
            Than lete us gon oure way.
  And lete these knytes abydyn therby,
  And yf hese dysciplys com prevyly
  To stele awey this ded body,
            To us they hem brynge without delay.

  _Pilatus._ On every corner now is sett my seale,
  Now is myn herte in welthe and wele,
  This may no brybour awey now stele
            This body from undyr ston.
  Now, syr buschopp, I pray to the,
  And Annas also, com on with me,
  Evyn togedyr alle we thre
            Homward the wey we gon.

  As wynde wrothe,
  Knyghtes, now goht,
  Clappyd in clothe,
            And kepyth hym welle.
  Loke ȝe be bolde
  With me for to holde,
  ȝe xul have gold,
            And helme of stele.

_Pylat, Annas, and Cayphas go to ther skaffaldys, and the knyghtes seyn_,

  _Affraunt._ Now in this grownde
  He lyth bounde,
  That tholyd wounde,
            ffor he was ffals.
  This lefft cornere
  I wyl kepe here,
  Armyd clere,
            Bothe hed and hals.

  _Cosdran._ I wyl have this syde,
  What so betyde;
  If any man ryde
            To stele the cors,
  I xal hym chyde
  With woundys wyde,
  Amonge hem glyde
            With fyne fors.

  _Ameraunt._ The hed I take,
  Hereby to wake;
  A stele stake
            I holde in honde,
  Maystryes to make,
  Crownys i-crake,
  Schafftys to shake,
            And schapyn schonde.

  _Arfaxat._ I xal not lete
  To kepe the fete,
  They ar ful wete,
            Walterid in blood.
  He that wylle stalke,
  Be brook or balke,
  Hedyr to walke,
            Tho wrecchis be wood.

  _Primus miles._ Myn heed dullyth,
  Myn herte ffullyth
            Of sslepp.
  Seynt Mahownd,
  This beryenge grownd
            Thou kepp!

  _Secundus miles._ I sey the same,
  ffor any blame
            I falle.
  Mahownd whelpe,
  Aftyr thin helpe
            I calle!

  _Tertius miles._ I am hevy as leed,
  ffor any dred
            I slepe.
  Mahownd of myght,
  This ston to nyght
            Thou kepe!

  _Quartus miles._ I have no foot
  To stonde on root
            By brynke.
  Here I aske
  To go to taske
            A wynke.

_Tunc dormyent milites; et veniet Anima Christi de inferno, cum Adam et
Eva, Abraham, John Baptist, et aliis._

  _Anima Christi._ Come forthe, Adam, and Eve with the,
  And alle my frendys that here in be;
  To Paradys come forthe with me,
            In blysse for to dwelle!
  The fende of helle, that is ȝour ffoo,
  He xal be wrappyd and woundyn in woo;
  ffro wo to welthe now xul ȝe go,
            With myrthe evyrmore to melle.

  _Adam._ I thanke the, Lord, of thi grett grace,
  That now is forȝovyn my grett trespace;
  Now xal we dwellyn in blysful place,
            In joye and endeles myrthe.
  Thorwe my synne man was fforlorn,
  And man to save thou wore alle torn,
  And of a mayd in Bedlem born,
            That evyr blyssyd be thi byrthe!

  _Eva._ Blyssyd be thou, Lord of lyff!
  I am Eve, Adamis wyff;
  Thou hast soferyd strok and stryff,
            ffor werkys that we wrought.
  Thi mylde mercy haht alle forȝevyn,
  Dethis dentys on the were drevyn,
  Now with the, Lord, we xul levyn,—
            Thi bryght blood hath us bowthe.

  _Johannes Baptista._ I am thi cosyn, my name is John;
  Thi woundys hath betyn the to the bon;
  I babtyȝid the in flom Jordon,
            And ȝaff thi body baptyȝe.
  With thi grace now xul we gon
  ffrom oure enmyes everychon,
  And fyndyn myrthis many on,
            In pley of paradyse.

  _Abraham._ I am Abraham, fadyr trowe,
  That reyned after Noes flowe;
  A sory synne Adam gan sowe,
            That clad us alle in care.
  A sone that maydenys mylk hath sokyn,
  And with his blood oure bonde hath brokyn,
  Helle logge lyth unlokyn,
            ffro fylthe with frende we fare.

  _Anima Christi._ ffayre ffrendys, now be ȝe wunne,
  On ȝow shyneth the sothfast sunne;
  The gost that alle grevaunce hath gunne,
            fful harde I xal hym bynde.
  As wyckyd werme thou gunne apere,
  To tray my chylderyn that were so dere,
  Therfore, traytour, hevermore here
            Newe peynes thou xalt evyr ffynde.

  Thorwe blood I took of mannys kynde,
  ffals devyl, I here the bynde,
  In endles sorwe I the wynde,
            Therin evyrmore to dwelle.
  Now thou art bownde, thou mayst not fle,
  ffor thin envyous cruelté
  In endeles dampnacian xalt thou be,
            And nevyr comyn out of helle.

  _Belialle._ Alas! herrow! now am I bownde,
  In helle gonge to ly on grounde,
  In hendles sorwe now am I wounde,
            In care evyr more to dwelle.
  In helle logge I lyȝ alone,
  Now is my joye awey al gone,
  ffor alle fendys xul be my fone,
            I xal nevyr com from helle.

  _Anima Christi._ Now is ȝour ffoo boundyn in helle,
  That evyr was besy ȝow for to qwelle;
  Now wele I rysyn fflesche and ffelle,
            that rent was for ȝour sake.
  Myn owyn body that hynge on rode,
  And be the Jewys nevyr so wode,
  It xal aryse bothe flesche and blode;
            My body now wyl I take.

_Tunc transiet anima Christi ad resuscitandum corpus, quo resuscitato,
dicat Jhesus_,

  _Jhesus._ Harde gatys have I gon,
  And peynes sofryd many on,
  Stomblyd at stake and at ston,
            Nyȝ thre and thretty ȝere.
  I lyght out of my faderes trone,
  ffor to amende mannys mone;
  My flesche was betyn to the bon,
            My blood i-bledde clere.

  ffor mannys love I tholyd dede,
  And for mannys love I am rysyn up rede,
  ffor man I have mad my body in brede,
            His sowle for to fede.
  Man, and thou lete meyns gone,
  And wylt not folwyn me anone,
  Suche a frende fyndyst thou nevyr none,
            To help the at thi nede.

  Salve, sancta parens! my modyr dere!
  Alle heyl, modyr, with glad chere!
  ffor now is aresyn, with body clere,
            Thi sone that was delve depe.
  This is the thrydde day that I ȝow tolde,
  I xuld arysyn out of the cley so colde,—
  Now am I here with brest ful bolde,
            Therfore no more ȝe wepe.

  _Maria._ Welcom, my Lord! welcom, my grace!
  Welcome, my sone, and my solace!
  I xal the wurchep in every place, —
            Welcom, Lord God of myght!
  Mekel sorwe in hert I leed,
  Whan thou were leyd in dethis beed,
  But now my blysse is newly breed,—
            Alle men may joye this syght.

  _Jhesus._ Alle this werlde that was forlorn,
  Shal wurchepe ȝou bothe evyn and morn,
  ffor had I not of ȝow be born,
            Man had be lost in helle.
  I was deed, and lyff I have,
  And thorwe my dethe man do I save,
  ffor now I am resyn out of my grave,
            In hevyn man xal now dwelle.

  _Maria._ A, dere sone! these wurdys ben goode,
  Thou hast wel comfortyd my mornyng moode
  Blyssyd be thi precyous bloode,
            That mankende thus doth save!
  _Jhesus._ Now, dere modyr, my leve I take;
  Joye in hert and myrthe ȝe make,
  ffor dethe is deed and lyff dothe wake,
            Now I am resyn fro my grave!

  _Maria._ ffarewel, my sone! farewel, my childe!
  ffarewel, my Lorde! my God so mylde!
  Myn hert is wele that ffyrst was whylde;
            ffarewel, myn owyn dere love!
  Now alle mankynde bethe glad with gle,
  ffor deth is deed, as ȝe may se,
  And lyff is reysed endles to be
            In hevyn dwellynge above!

  Whan my sone was nayled on tre,
  Alle women myght rewe with me,
  ffor grettere sorwe myght nevyr non be,
            Than I dede suffyr i-wys.
  But this joy now passyth alle sorwe,
  That my childe suffryd in that hard morwe,
  ffor now he is oure alderers borwe,
            To brynge us alle to blys.

_Tunc evigilabunt milites sepulcri, et dicet primus miles_,

  Awake! awake!
  Hillis gyn quake,
  And tres ben shake
            Ful nere a too.
  Stonys clevyd,
  Wyttys ben revid,
  Erys ben devid,
            I am servid soo.

  _Secundus miles._ He is aresyn, this is no nay,
  That was deed and colde in clay, —
  Now is he resyn belyve this day,
            Grett woundyr it is to me.
  He is resyn by his owyn myght,
  And fforthe he gothe his wey ful ryght;
  How xul we now us qwytte,
            Whan Pylat doth us se?

  _Tertius miles._ Lete us now go
  Pilat ontoo,
  And ryght evyn so,
            As we have sayn,
  The trewthe we say,
  That out of clay,
  He is resyn this day
            That Jewys han slayn.

  _Quartus miles._ I holde it best,
  Lete us nevyr rest,
  But go we prest
            That it were done.
  Alle heyl, Pilatt
  In thin astat!
  He is resyn up latt,
            That thou gast dome.

  _Pilat._ What! what! what! what!
  Out upon the, why seyst thou that?
  ffy upon the, harlat,
            How darst thou so say?
  Thou dost myn herte ryght grett greff!
  Thou lyest upon hym, fals theff;
  How xulde he rysyn ageyn to lyff,
            That lay deed in clay?

  _Primus miles._ ȝa, thow thou be nevyr so wrothe,
  And of these tydandys nevyr so lothe,
  ȝitt goodly on ground on lyve he gothe,
            Qwycke and levynge man.
  Yff thou haddyst a ben ther we ware,
  In hert thou xuldyst han had gret care,
  And of blysse a ben ryght bare,
            Of colore bothe pale and whan.

  _Pilatus._ Or ȝe come there,
  ȝe dede alle swere,
  To fyght in fere,
            And bete and bynde.
  Alle this was trayn,
  ȝour wurdes wore vayn,
  This is sertayn,
            ȝow fals I fynde.

  _Secundus miles._ Be the dethe the devyl deyd,
  We were of hym so sore atreyd,
  That ffor ffer we us down leyd
            Ryght evyn upon oure syde.
  Whan we were leyd upon the grounde,
  Stylle we lay as we had be bounde,
  We durst not ryse for a thousand pounde,
            Ne not for alle this worlde so wyde.

  _Pilatus._ Now ffy upon ȝour grett bost!
  Alle ȝour wurchep is now lost;
  In felde, in town, and in every cost,
            Men may ȝow dyspravyn.
  Now alle ȝour wurchep it is lorn,
  And every man may ȝow we scorn,
  And bydde ȝow go syttyn in the corn,
            And chare awey the ravyn.

  _Tertius miles._ ȝa, it was hyȝ tyme to leyn oure bost,
  ffor whan the body toke aȝen the gost,
  He wold a frayd many an ost,
            Kynge, knyght, and knave.
  ȝa, whan he dede ryse out of his lake,
  Than was ther suche an erthe-quake,
  That alle the worlde it gan to shake,
            That made us ffor to rave.

  _Quartus miles._ ȝa, ȝa, herke, ffelawys, what I xal say;
  Late us not ses be nyght nor day,
  But telle the trewthe, ryght as it lay,
            In countré where we goo.
  And than I dare ley myn heed,
  That thei that Crystes lawys leed,
  They wyl nevyr ses tyl they be deed,
            His dethe that brought hym too.

  _Primus miles._ Be Belyalle, this was now wele ment;
  To this cowncelle lete us consent,
  Lett us go tellyn with on assent,
            He is resyn up this day.
  _Secundus miles._ I grawnt therto, and that forthe right,
  That he is resyn by his owyn myght,
  ffor ther cam non, be day nor nyght,
            To helpe hym owte of clay.

  _Pilatus._ Now, jentyl seres, I yray ȝow alle
  Abyde stylle a lytyl thralle,
  Whylle that I myn cowncell calle,
            And here of ther councelle.
  _Primus miles._ Syr, att ȝour prayour we wyl abyde
  Here in this place a lytel tyde,
  But tary not to longe, ffor we must ryde, —
            We may not longe dwelle.

  _Pilatus._ Now, jentyl seres, I pray ȝow here,
  Sum good cowncel me to lere.
  ffor sertes, seres, without dwere,
            We stounde in ryght grett dowte.
  _Cayphas._ Now trewly, sere, I ȝow telle,
  This matere is bothe ffers and ffelle,
  Combros it is therwith to melle,
            And evyl to be browth abowte.

  _Annas._ Syr Pylat, thou grett justyse,
  Thow thou be of wittys wyse,
  ȝit herke fful sadly with good devyse,
            What that thou xalt do.
  I counsel the, be my reed,
  This wundyrful tale pray hem to hede,
  And upon this ȝeve hem good mede,
            Bothe golde and sylver also.

  And, sere, I xalle telle ȝow why,
  In ȝoure erys prevyly,
  Betweyn us thre serteynly,
            Now herk, seres, in ȝour erys!

_Hic faciant Pilatus, Cayphas, et Annas, privatim inter se, consilium;
quo finito, dicat_,

  _Annas._ ffor mede dothe most in every qwest,
  And mede is mayster, bothe est and west,
  Now trewly, seres, I held this best,
            With mede men may bynde berys.

  _Cayphas._ Sekyr, sere, this counselle is good;
  Pray these knyghtes to chaunge ther mood;
  ȝeve then golde, ffeste, and ffood,
            And that may chaunge ther wytt.
  _Pylatt._ Seres, ȝoure good councel I xalle fulfylle:
  Now, jentyl knyhtes, come hedyr me tylle,
  I yray ȝow, seres, of ȝour good wylle,
            No ferther that ȝe fflytt.

  Jentyl knyhtes, I ȝow pray,
  A bettyr sawe that ȝe say;
  Sey ther he was cawth away
            With his dyscyplis be nyght.
  Sey he was with his dyscyplis ffett,
  I wolde ȝe worn in ȝour sadelys ssett,
  And have here gold in a purs knett,
            And to Rome rydyth ryght.

  _Quartus miles._ Now, Syr Pylatt,
  We gon oure gatt,
  We wylle not prate
            No lengere now.
  Now we have golde,
  No talys xul be tolde
  To whithtes on wolde,
            We make the a vow.

  _Pilatus._ Now, ȝe men of mythe,
  As ȝe han hyght,
  Evyn so forthe ryght,
            ȝoure wurdys not falle.
  And ȝe xul gon
  With me anon,
  Alle everychon
            Into myn halle.

  _Primus miles._ Now hens we go
  As lyth as ro;
  And ryght evyn so
            As we han seyd,
  We xul kepe counsel,
  Where so evyr we dwelle
  We xul no talys telle, —
            Be not dysmayd.




XXXVI. THE THREE MARIES.


_Hic venient ad sepulcrum Maria Magdalene, Maria Jacobi, et Maria Solomæ;
et dicit Maria Magdalene_,

  Swete systeryn, I ȝow beseche,
  Heryght now my specyal speche;
  Go we with salvys ffor to leche
            Cryst that tholyd wounde.
  He hath us wonnyn owt of wreche;
  The ryght wey God wyl us teche
  ffor to seke my lorde, my leche,
            His blood hath me unbownde.

  vij. devyls in me were pyght:
  My love, my lord, my God Almyght,
  Awey he weryd tho ffyndys wight
            With his wyse wurde.
  He droff fro me the fendes lees,
  In myn swete sowle his chawmere I ches,
  In me belevyth the lorde of pes,
            I go to his burryenge boorde.

  _Maria Jacobi._ My systeres sone I woot he was,
  He lyth in here as sunne in glas,
  The chylde was born by oxe and asse
            Up in a bestys stalle.
  Thow his body be gravyd undyr gras,
  The grete godhede is nevyr the lasse,
  The Lord xal rysyn and gon his pas,
            And comfortyn his ffrendys alle.

  _Maria Salomæ._ My name is Mary Salome,
  His modyr and I systeres we be,
  Annys dowteres we be alle thre,—
            Jhesu, we be thin awntys.
  The naylis gun his lemys feyn,
  And the spere gan punche and peyn,
  Ontho woundys we wold have eyn,
            That grace now God graunt us.

  _Maria Magdalene._ Now go we stylle,
  With good wylle,
            Ther he is leyd.
  He deyd on crowche,
  We wolde hym towche,
            As we han seyd.

_Tunc respicit Maria Magdalene in sepulcro, dicens_,

  Where is my Lord that was here,
  That for me bledde bowndyn in brere?
  His body was beryed rygh by this mere,
            That ffor me gan deye.
  The Jewys, ffekylle and ffals ffownde,
  Where have thei do the body with wounde?
  He lythe not upon this grownde,
            The body is don aweye.

  _Maria Jacobi._ To my Lorde, my love, my ffrende,
  ffayn wolde I salve a spende,
  And I myght aught amende
            His woundys depe and wyde.
  To my lorde I owe lowlyté,
  Bothe homage and fewté
  I wolde with my dewté
            A softyd hand and syde.

  _Maria Salome._ To myghtfful God omnypotent,
  I bere a boyst of oynement;
  I wold han softyd his sore dent,
            His sydys al abowte.
  Lombe of Love withowt lothe,
  I ffynde the not, myn hert is wroth,
  In the sepulcre ther lyth a cloth,
            And jentyl Jhesu is owte.

  _Angelus._ Wendyth fforthe, ȝe women thre,
  Into the strete of Galylé;
  ȝour Savyour ther xul ȝe se
            Walkynge in the waye.
  ȝour ffleschely lorde now hath lyff,
  That deyd on tre with strook and stryff;
  Wende fforthe, thou wepynge wyff,
            And seke hym, I the saye.

  Now, gothe fforthe ffast alle thre
  To his dyscyplys ffayr and fre,
  And to Petyr the trewthe telle ȝe,—
            Therof have ȝe no dreed.
  Spare ȝe not the soth to say,
  He that was deed and closyd in clay,
  He is resyn this same day,
            And levyth with woundys reed.

  _Maria Magdalen._ A, myrthe and joye in herte we have!
  ffor now is resyn out of his grave,
  He levyth now oure lyf to save,
            That dede lay in the clay.
  _Maria Jacoby._ In hert I was ryght sore dysmayd,
  The aungel to us whan that he sayd
  That Cryst is resyn; I was affrayd
            The aungel whan I say.

  _Maria Salome._ Now lete us alle thre fulfylle
  The angelys wurde and Goddys wylle,
  Lett us sey, with voys wul shrylle,
            Cryst that Jewys dede sle,
  Oure Lord that naylyd was on the rode,
  And betyn out was his bodyes blode,
  He is aresyn, thoughe they ben wode;
            A, Lorde! ȝitt wele thou be!

_Maria Magdalene dicit Petro et cæteris apostolis_,

  Bretheryn alle, in herte be glad,
  Bothe blythe and joyful in herte ful fayn,
  ffor ryght good tydandys have we had
            That oure Lord is resyn agayn!
  An aungel bade us ryght thus sertayn,
  To the, Petyr, that we xulde telle,
  How Cryst is resyn, the whiche was slayn,
            A lovynge man evyr more to dwelle.

  _Maria Jacobi._ To lyve is resyn ageyn that Lorde,
    The qwyche Judas to Jewys solde;
  Of this I bere ryght trewe recorde,
    By wurdys that the aungel tolde.
  Now myrthe and joye to man on molde!
    Every man now myrthe may have!
  He that was closyd in cley ful colde
    This day is resyn owt of his grave!

  _Petrus._ Sey me, systeryn, with wurdys blythe,
    May I troste to that ȝe say?
  Is Cryst resyn ageyn to lyve,
    That was ded and colde in clay?
  _Maria Salome._ ȝa, trostythe us truly, it is no nay;
    He is aresyn, it is no les;
  And so an aungel us tolde this day,
    With opyn voys and speche expres.

  _Johannes._ ȝa, these be tydynges of ryght gret blys,
    That oure mayster resyn xulde be;
  I wyl go renne in hast i-wys,
    And loke my Lord yf I may se.
  _Petrus._ ffor joye also I renne with the,
    My brother John, as I the say;
  In hast anon evyn forthe go we,—
    To his grave we renne oure way.

_Hic currunt Johannes et Petrus simul ad sepulcrum; et Johannes prius
venit ad monumentum, sed non intrat._

  _Johannes._ The same shete here I se
    That Crystys body was in wounde;
  But he is gon, where so ever he be,
    He lyth not here upon this grownde.

_Petrus intrat monumentum, et dicit Petrus_,

  In this cornere the shete is fownde,
    And here we fynde the sudary
  In the whiche his hed was wounde,
    Whan he was take from Calvary.

_Hic intrat Johannes monumentum, dicens_,

  The same sudary and the same shete,
    Here with my syth I se bothe tweyn;
  Now may I wele knowe and wete,
    That he is rysyn to lyve ageyn.
  Onto oure bretheryn lete us go seyn
    The trewthe ryght hevyn as it is;
  Oure mayster lyvythe, the wheche was slayn,
    Allemyghty Lorde and kynge of blys.

  _Petrus._ No lengere here wylle we dwelle,
    To oure bretheryn the wey we take;
  The trewthe to them whan that we telle,
    Grett joye in hert than wul thei make.

_Hic Petrus loquitur omnibus apostolis simul collectis._

  Bethe mery, bretheryn, for Crystys sake,—
    That man that is oure mayster so good,
  ffrom deth to lyve he is awake,
    That sore was rent upon the rood.

  _Johannes._ As women seyd so have we fownde,
    Remevyd awey we saw the ston;
  He lyth no lengere undyr the grownde,
    Out of his grave oure mayster is gon.

_Omnes congregatus Thomas._

  We have grett woundyr everychon
    Of these wurdys that ȝe do speke;
  A ston ful hevy lay hym upon,
    ffrom undyr that ston how xuld he breke?

  _Petrus._ The trewthe to tellyn it passyth oure witt,
    Wethyr he be resyn thorwe his owyn myght,
  Or ellys stolyn out of his pitt
    Be sum man prevely be nyght.
  That he is gon we saw with syght,
    ffor in his grave he is nowth;
  We cannot tellyn in what plyght,
    Out of his grave that he is browth.




XXXVII. CHRIST APPEARING TO MARY.


_Maria Magdalene goth to the grave, and wepyth, and seyth_,

  ffor hertyly sorwe myn herte dothe breke,
    With wepynge terys I wasche my face;
  Alas! ffor sorwe I may not speke,
    My Lorde is gon that hereinne wase:
  Myn owyn dere Lorde and kynge of gras,
    That vij. develys ffro me dyd take,
  I kan nat se hym, alas! alas!
    He is stolyn awey owt of this lake.

  _Aungelus._ Woman, that stondyst here alone?
    Why dost thou wepe, and morne, and wepe so sore?
  What cawse hast thou to make suche mone?
    Why makyst thou suche sorwe, and wherefore?
  _Maria Magdalene._ I have gret cawse to wepe evyrmore;
    My Lord is take out of his grave,
  Stolyn awey and fro me lore,
    I kannot wete where hym to have.

_Hic parum deambulet a sepulcro, dicens_,

  Alas! alas! what xal I do?
    My Lord awey is fro me take;
  A, woful wrecche! whedyr xal I go?
    My joye is gon owth of this lake.
  _Jhesus._ Woman, suche mornynge why dost thou make?
    Why is thi chere so hevy and badde?
  Why dost thou sythe so sore and qwake?
    Why dost thou wepe so sore and sadde?

  _Maria Magdalene._ A grettyr cawse had nevyr woman,
    ffor to wepe bothe nyth and day,
  Than I myself have in serteyn,
    And for to sorwyn evyr and ay.
  Alas! ffor sorwe myn hert doth blede,
    My Lorde is take fro me away;
  I muste nedys sore wepe and grede;
    Where he is put I kan not say.

  But, jentyl gardener, I pray to the,
    If thou hym took out of his grave,
  Telle me qwere I may hym se,
    That I may go my Lorde to have.
  _Jhesus._ MARIA.
  _Maria Magdalene._ A! mayster and Lorde to the I crave,
    As thou art Lord and kynge of blys! [_Spectans._
  Graunt me, Lord, and thou vowchesave
    Thyn holy ffete that I may kys!

  _Jhesus._ Towche me nott as ȝett, Mary,
    ffor to my fadyr I have not ascende;
  But to my bretheryn in hast the hyȝ,
    With these gode wurdys here care amende.
  Sey to my bretheryn that I intende
    To stey to my fadyr and to ȝowre,
  To oure Lord both God and frende,
    I wyl ascende to hevyn towre.

  In hevyn to ordeyn ȝow a place,
    To my ffadyr now wyl I go;
  To merthe, and joye, and grett solace,
    And endeles blys to brynge ȝow to.
  ffor man I sufferyd both schame and wo,
    More spyteful deth nevyr man dyd take,
  ȝit wyl I ordeyn ffor al this, lo,
    In hevyn an halle for mannys sake!

  _Maria Magdalyn._ Gracyous Lord, at ȝour byddyng,
    To alle my bretheryn I xal go telle
  How that ȝe be man levynge,
    Quyk and qwethynge of flesche and ffelle.
  Now alle hevynes I may expelle,
    And myrth and joy now take to me;
  My Lord that I have lovyd so wele,
    With opyn syght I dede hym se.

  Whan I sowght my Lord in grave,
    I was fful sory and ryght sad;
  ffor syght of hym I myght non have,
    ffor mornynge sore I was nere mad.
  Grettere sorwe ȝit nevyr whithe had,
    Whan my Lord awey was gon,
  But now in herte I am so glad,
    So grett a joy nevyr wyff had non.

  How myght I more gretter joye have,
    Than se that Lorde with opyn syght,
  The whiche my sowle from synne to save,
    ffrom develys sefne he mad me qwyght?

  There kan no tounge my joye expres,
    Now I have seyn my Lorde on lyve;
  To my bretheryn I wyl me dresse,
    And telle to hem a non ryght belyve:
  With opyn speche I xal me shryve,
    And telle to hem, with wurdys pleyn
  How that Cryst ffrom deth to lyve,
    To endles blys is resyn ageyn.

  Bretheryn, al blyth ȝe be,
    ffor joyful tydynges tellyn I kan;
  I saw oure Lorde Cryst, lyste wel to me,
    Of flesche and bon quyk levynge man.
  Beth glad and joyful, as for than,
    ffor trost me trewly it is ryght thus,
  Mowthe to mowthe, this is sertayn,
    I spak ryght now with Cryst Jhesus.

  _Petrus._ A woundyrful tale forsothe is this:
    Ever onowryd oure Lorde mote be!
  We pray the, Lord, and kynge of blys,
    Onys thi presence that we may se!
  Ere thu ascende to thi magesté,
    Gracyous God, if that ȝe plese,
  Late us have sum syght of the,
    Oure careful hertes to sett in ease! _Amen!_

_Explicit apparicio Mariæ Magdalen._




XXXVIII. THE PILGRIM OF EMAUS.


_Hic incipit aparicio Cleophæ et Lucæ._

  _Cleophas._ My brother, Lucas, I ȝow pray,
    Plesynge to ȝow if that it be,
  To the castel of Emawus, a lytyl way,
    That ȝe vowchesaf to go with me.
  _Lucas._ Alle redy, brother, I walke with the
    To ȝone castelle with ryght good chere;
  Evyn togedyr anon go we,
    Brother Cleophas, we to in fere.

  _Cleophas._ A! brother Lucas! I am sore mevyd,
    Whan Cryst oure mayster comyth in my mynde;
  Whan that I thynke how he was grevyd,
    Joye in myn herte kan I non fynde;
  He was so lowlye, so good, so kynde,
    Holy of lyf, and meke of mood;
  Alas! the Jewys thei were to blynde,
    Hym for to kylle that was so good!

  _Lucas._ Brothyr Cleophas, ȝe sey ful soth,
    They were to cursyd and to cruelle;
  And Judas that traytor, he was to lothe
    ffor golde and sylvyr his mayster to selle.
  The Jewys were redy hym for to qwelle,
    With skorgys bete out alle his blood;
  Alas! thei were to fers and ffelle;
    Shamfully thei henge hym on a rood!

  _Cleophas._ ȝa, betwen to thevys, alas! for shame,
    They henge hym up with body rent;
  Alas! alas! they were to blame,
    To cursyd and cruel was ther intent.
  Whan for thurste he was nere shent,
    Eyȝil and galle thei ȝovyn hym to drynke;
  Alas! for ruthe his dethe thei bent
    In a ffowle place of horryble stynke!

  _Lucas._ ȝa, and cawse in hym cowde they non fynde;
    Alas, for sorwe! what was here thought?
  And he dede helpe bothe lame and blynde,
    And alle seke men that were hym browght:
  Aȝens vice alwey he wrought,
    Synfulle dede wold he nevyr do,
  ȝit hym to kylle thei sparyd nought;
    Alas! alas! why dede they so?

  _Jhesus._ Welle ovyrtake, ȝe serys in same,
    To walke in felachep with ȝow I pray.
  _Lucas._ Welcom, serys, in Goddys name!
    Of good felachep we sey not nay.
  _Jhesus._ Qwhat is ȝour langage, to me ȝe say,
    That ȝe have to-gedyr, ȝe to?
  Sory and evysum ȝe ben alway,
    ȝour myrthe is gon; why is it so?

  _Cleophas._ Sere, me thynkyth thou art a pore pylgrym
    Here walkynge be thiselfe alone,
  And in the ceté of Jerusalem,
    Thou knowyst ryght lytyl what ther is done;
  ffor pylgrymys comyn and gon ryth sone,
    Ryght lytyl whyle pylgrymes do dwelle;
  In alle Jerusalem as thou hast gone,
    I trowe no tydynges that thou canst telle.

  _Jhesus._ Why, in Jherusalem what thynge is wrought?
    What tydynges fro thens brynge ȝe?
  _Lucas._ A! ther have they slayn a man for nought;
    Gyltles he was, as we telle the;
  An holy prophete with God was he,
    Myghtyly in wurde and eke in dede;
  Of God he had ryght grett poosté,
    Amonge the pepyl his name gan sprede.

  He hyght Jhesu of Naȝarethe,
    A man he was of ryght grett fame;
  The Jewys hym kylde with cruel dethe,
    Without trespas or any blame:
  Hym to scorne they had grett game,
    And naylid hym streyte ontylle a tre;
  Alas! alas! me thynkyth grett shame,
    Without cawse that this xulde be.

  _Cleophas._ ȝa, sere, and ryght grett troste in hym we had,
    Alle Israel countré that he xuld save;
  The thrydde day is this that he was clad
    In coold cley and leyd in grave.
  ȝitt woundyrful tydynges of hym we have,
    Of women that sought hym beforn day-lythe;
  Wethyr they sey truthe or ellys do rave,
    We can not telle the trewe verdythe.

  Whan Cryst in grave thei cowde not se,
    They comyn to us and evyn thus tolde,
  How that an aungelle seyd to them thre,
    That he xuld leve with brest fful bolde.
  ȝitt Petyr and John preve this wolde,
    To Crystys grave they ran, thei tweyne;
  And whan they come to the grave so coolde,
    They fownde the women fful trewe serteyne.

  _Jhesus._ A! ȝe ffonnys and slought of herte
    ffor to beleve in holy Scrypture!
  Have not prophetys with wurdys smerte,
    Spoke be tokenys in signifure,
  That Cryste xuld deye ffor ȝour valure,
    And syth entre his joye and blys?
  Why be ȝe of herte so dure,
    And trust not in God that myghtful is?

  Bothe Moyses and Aaron and othyr mo,
    In holy Scrypture ȝe may rede it,
  Of Crystis dethe thei spak also,
    And how he xuld ryse out of his pitt.
  Owt of ffeyth than why do ȝe fflitte,
    Whan holy prophetys ȝow teche so pleyne?
  Turne ȝour thought and chaunge ȝour witte,
    And truste wele that Cryst dothe leve ageyne.

  _Lucas._ Leve ageyn! man, be in pes;
    How xulde a ded man evyr aryse?
  I cowncelle the suche wurdys to ses,
    ffor dowte of Pylat, that hyȝ justyce.
  He was slayn at the gre asyse,
    Be councelle of lordys many on;
  Of suche langage take bettyr avyse,
    In every company ther thou dost gon.

  _Christus._ Trewthe dyd nevyr his maystyr shame;
    Why xulde I ses than trewth to say?
  Be Jonas the prophete I preve the same,
    That was in a whallys body iij. nyghtis and iij. day;
  So longe Cryst in his grave lay,
    As Jonas was withinne the se;
  His grave is brokyn that was of clay,
    To lyff resyn aȝen now is he.

  _Cleophas._ Sey nott so, man, it may not be,
    Thow thyn exaumple be sumdele good;
  ffor Jonas on lyve evyr more was he,
    And Cryst was slayn upon a rood.
  The Jewys on hym they were so wood,
    That to his herte a spere they pyght,
  He bled owt alle his herte blood;
    How xulde the thanne ryse with myght?

  _Christus._ Take hede at Aaron and his dede styk,
    Whiche was ded of his nature,
  And ȝit he floryschyd with flowres ful thyk,
    And bare almaundys of grett valure.
  The dede styk was signifure,
    Holy Cryst that shamfully was deed and slayn,
  As that dede styk bare frute ful pure,
    So Cryst xuld ryse to lyve ageyn.

  _Lucas._ That a deed styk ffrute xulde bere,
    I merveyle sore therof i-wys;
  But ȝitt hymsylf ffro dethe to rere,
    And leve ageyn, more woundyr it is.
  That he doth leve, I trost not this,
    ffor he hath bled his blood so red;
  But ȝitt of myrthe evyr moor I mys,
    Whan I have mende that he is ded.

  _Christus._ Why be ȝe so harde of truste?
    Dede not Cryste reyse, thorwe his owyn myght,
  Laȝarus that deed lay undyr the duste,
    And stynkyd ryght foule, as I ȝow plyght?
  To lyff Cryst reysid hym aȝen ful ryght
    Out of his grave, this is serteyn;
  Why may nat Cryste hymself thus qwyght,
    And ryse from dethe to lyve ageyn?

  _Cleophas._ Now trewly, sere, ȝour wurdys ben good,
    I have in ȝow ryght grett delyght;
  I pray ȝow, sere, with mylde mood,
    To dwelle with us alle this nyght.
  _Christus._ I must gon hens anon ful ryght,
    ffor grett massagys I have to do;
  I wolde abyde, yf that I myght,
    But at this tyme I must hens go.

  _Lucas._ ȝe xal not gon fro us this nyght,
    It waxit alle derke, gon is the day,
  The sonne is downe, lorn is the lyght,—
    ȝe xal not gon from us away.
  _Christus._ I may not dwelle, as I ȝow say,
    I must this nyght go to my ffrende;
  Therfore, good bretheryn, I ȝow pray,
    Lett me not my wey to wende.

  _Cleophas._ Trewly from us ȝe xal not go,
    ȝe xal abyde with us here stylle;
  ȝour goodly dalyaunce plesyth us so,
    We may nevyr have of ȝow oure fylle.
  We pray ȝow, sere, with herty wylle,
    Alle nyght with us abyde and dwelle;
  More goodly langage to talkyn us tylle,
    And of ȝour good dalyaunce more ffor to telle.

  _Lucas._ ȝa, brothyr Cleophas, be myn assent,
    Lete us hym kepe with strenthe and myght;
  Sett on ȝowre hand with good entent,
    And pulle hym with us the wey welle ryght.
  The day is done sere, and now it is nyght;
    Why wole ȝe hens now from us go?
  ȝe xal abyde, as I ȝow plyght;
    ȝe xal not walke this nyght us ffro.

  _Cleophas._ This nyght fro us ȝe go not away,
    We xal ȝow kepe betwen us tweyne;
  To us therfore ȝe say not nay,
    But walke with us, the wey is pleyne.
  _Christus._ Sythyn ȝe kepe me with myght and mayn,
    With herty wylle I xal abyde.
  _Lucas._ Of ȝour abydyng we be ful fayn,
    No man more welkom in this werd wyde.

  _Cleophas._ Off oure mayster Cryst Jhesu
    ffor ȝe do speke so meche good,
  I love ȝow hertyly, trust me trew,
    He was bothe meke and mylde of mood.
  Of hym to speke is to me food;
    If ȝe had knowe hym, I dare wel say,
  And in what plyght with hym it stood,
    ȝe wold have thought on hym many a day.

  _Lucas._ Many a day, ȝa, ȝa, i-wys
    He was a man of holy levynge,
  Thow he had be the childe of God in blys,
    Bothe wyse and woundyrfulle was his werkynge.
  But aftere ȝour labour and ferre walkynge,
    Takyth this loff and etythe sum bred;
  And than wyl we have more talkynge
    Of Cryst oure maystyr, that is now ded.

  _Christus._ Bethe mery and glad, with hert fful fre,
    ffor of Cryst Jhesu, that was ȝour ffrende,
  ȝe xal have tydynges of game and gle
    Withinne a whyle, or ȝe hens wende.
  With myn hand this bred I blys,
    And breke it here, as ȝe do se;
  I ȝeve ȝow parte also of this,
    This bred to ete and blythe to be.

_Hic subito discedat Christus ab oculis eorum._

  A, mercy, God! what was oure happe?
    Was not oure hert with love brennynge,
  Whan Cryst oure mayster so nere oure lappe
    Dede sitt and speke suche suete talkynge?
  He is now quyk and man lyvenge,
    That fyrst was slayn and put in grave;
  Now may we chaunge alle oure mornynge,
    ffor oure Lord is resyn his servauntes to save!

  _Lucas._ Alas! for sorwe, what hap was this?
    Whan he dyd walke with us in way,
  He prevyd by Scripture, ryght wel i-wys,
    That he was resyn from undyr clay.
  We trustyd hym not, but evyr seyd nay;
    Alas, for shame! why seyd we so?
  He is resyn to lyve this day,
    Out of his grave oure Lord is go!

  _Cleophas._ Latt us here no lengere dwelle,
    But to oure bretheryn the wey we wende;
  With talys trewe to them we telle
    That Cryst dothe leve, oure mayster and frende.
  _Lucas._ I graunt therto with hert ful hende,
    Lete us go walke forthe in owre way;
  I am ful joyfulle in hert and mende,
    That owre Lord levyth, that fyrst ded lay.

  _Cleophas._ Now was it not goodly don
    Of Cryst Jhesu, oure mayster dere;
  He hath with us a large wey gon,
    And of his uprysyng he dede us lere.
  Whan he walkyd with us in fere,
    And we supposyd hym bothe deed and colde,
  That he was aresyn ffrom undyr here,
    Be holy Scripture the trewthe he tolde.

  _Lucas._ Ryght lovyngely don forsoth this was,
    What myght owre mayster tyl us do more,
  Than us to chere that fforthe dede pas,
    And ffor his dethe we murnyd ful sore?
  ffor love of hym owre myrthe was lore,
    We were ffor hym ryght hevy in herte;
  But now owre myrthe he doth restore,
    ffor he is resyn bothe heyl and qwert.

  _Cleophas._ That he is thus resyn I have grett woundyr,
    An hevy ston ovyr hym ther lay;
  How shulde he breke the ston asoundyr,
    That was deed and colde in clay?
  Every man this mervayle may,
    And drede that Lorde of mekyl myght;
  But ȝit of this no man sey nay,
    ffor we have seyn hym with opyn syght.

  _Lucas._ That he doth leve, I woot wel this,
    He is aresyn with flesche and blood;
  A levynge man forsothe he is,
    That rewly was rent upon a rood.
  Alle heyl! dere brothyr, and chaunge ȝour mood,
    ffor Cryst doth levyn and hath his hele;
  We walkyd in wey with Cryst so good,
    And spak with hym wurdys fele.

  _Cleophas._ Evyn tylle Emawus the grett castelle
    ffrom Jerusalem with hym we went,
  Syxti ffurlonge, as we ȝow telle,
    We went with hym evyn passent.
  He spak with us with good entent,
    That Cryst xuld leve he tolde tylle us,
  And previd it be Scripture verament;
    Trust me trewe, it is ryght thus!

  _Lucas._ ȝa, and whan he had longe spokyn us tylle,
    He wold ffrom us a gon his way;
  With strenght and myght we keptyn hym stylle,
    And bred we tokyn hym to etyn in fay.
  He brak the loff, as evyn on tway,
    As ony sharpe knyff xuld kytt breed;
  Therby we knew the trewthe that day
    That Cryst dede leve and was not deed.

  _Petrus._ Now trewly, serys, I have grett woundyr
    Of these grete merveylis that ȝe us telle;
  In brekynge of bred fful evyn asoundyr,
    Oure mayster ȝe knew and Lord ryght welle.
  ȝe sey Cryst levith that Jewys dyd qwelle,
    Tylle us glad tydynges, this is serteyn,
  And that oure mayster with ȝow so longe dede dwelle,
    It dothe wel preve that he levith ageyn.

  A! brother Thomas, we may be ryght glad
    Of these gode novelle that we now have;
  The grace of oure lorde God is over us alle sprad,
    Oure Lord is resyn his servauntys to save.
  _Thomas._ Be in pes, Petyr, thou gynnyst to rave,
    Thy wurdys be wantowne and ryght unwyse;
  How xulde a deed man, that deed lay in grave,
    With qwyk fflesche and blood to lyve ageyn ryse?

  _Petrus._ ȝis, Thomas, dowte the not, oure mayster is on lyve!
    Record of Mawdelyn and of here systeres too,
  Cleophas and Lucas, the trewthe ffor to contryve,
    ffro Jerusalem to Emaws with hym dede they go.
  _Thomas._ I may nevyr in hert trust that it is so;
    He was ded on cros and colde put in pitt,
  Kept with knyghtes iiij., his grave sealyd also,
    How xulde he levyn ageyn that so streyte was shitt?

  _Petrus._ Whan Mawdelyn dede telle us that Cryst was aresyn,
    I ran to his grave, and John ran with me;
  In trewthe ther we ffownde he lay not in presyn,
    Gon out of his grave and on lyve than was he.
  Therfore, dere brother Thomas, I wole rede the
    Stedfastly thou trust that Cryst is not deed;
  ffeythfully beleeve a qwyk man that he be,
    Aresyn from his deth by myght of his Godhed.

  _Thomas._ I may nevyr beleve these woundyr merveles,
    Tyl that I have syght of every grett wounde,
  And put in my ffyngyr in place of the nayles,
    I xal nevyr beleve it ellys ffor no man on grownde.
  And tylle that myn hand the sperys pytt hath fownde,
    Whiche dede cleve his hert and made hym sprede his blood,
  I xal nevyr beleve that he is qwyk and sownde,
    In trewth whyl I knowe that he was dede on rood.

  _Petrus._ Cryst be thi comforte and chawnge thi bad witt!
    ffor ffeythe but thou have thi sowle is but lorn;
  With stedfast beleve God enforme the ȝitt,
    Of a meke mayde as he was ffor us born.
  _Christus._ Pees be amonge ȝow, beholde how I am torn,
    Take hede of myn handys, my dere brothyr Thomas.
  _Thomas._ My God and my Lorde, nyght and every morn
    I aske mercy, Lorde, ffor my grett trespas.

  _Christus._ Beholde wele, Thomas, my woundys so wyde
    Whiche I have sufferyd ffor alle mankynde;
  Put thin hool hand into my ryght syde,
    And in myn hert blood thin hand that thou wynde.
  So ffeythffulle a ffrend were mayst thou fynde?
    Be stedfast in feythe, beleve wel in me;
  Be thou not dowtefful of me in thi mynde,
    But trust that I leve that deed was on a tre.

  _Thomas._ My Lord and my God, with syght do I se
    That thou art now qwyk, whiche henge deed on rode;
  More feythful than I ther may no man be,
    ffor myn hand have I wasche in thi precyous blode.
  _Christus._ ffor thou hast me seyn, therfore thi ffeyth is good,
    But blyssyd be tho of this that have no syght,
  And beleve in me, they ffor here meke mood
    Shalle come into hefne, my blysse that is so bryght!

  _Thomas._ As a ravaschyd man whos witt is alle gon,
    Grett mornynge I make ffor my dredfful dowte;
  Alas! I was dowteful that Crysst from undyr ston
    Be his owyn grett myght no wyse myght gone owte.
  Alas! what mevyd me thus in my thought?
    My dowtefful beleve ryght sore me avexit,
  The trewthe do I knowe that God so hath wrought,
    Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

  He that was bothe deed and colde put in grave,
    To lyve is arysen by his owyn myght;
  In his dere herte blood myn hand wasche I have,
    Where that the spere poynt was peynfully pyght.
  I take me to feyth, fforsakynge alle unryght,
    The dowte that I had fful sore me avexit,
  ffor now have I seyn with ful opyn syght,
    Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

  I trustyd no talys that were me tolde,
    Tylle that myn hand dede in his hert blood wade;
  My dowte dothe aprevyn Cryst levynge fful bolde,
    And is a grett argument in feyth us to glade.
  Thou man that seyst this, ffrom feyth nevyr thou ffade,
    My dowte xal evyr chere the, that sore me avexit;
  Truste wele in Cryst that suche meracle hath made,
    Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

  The prechynge of Petir might not converte me,
    Tylle I felyd the wounde that the spere dyde cleve;
  I trustyd nevyr he levyd that deed was on a tre,
    Tylle that his herte blood dede renne in my sleve.
  Thus be my grett dowte oure feyth may we preve,
    Behold my blody hand to feyth that me avexit,
  Be syght of this myrroure ffrom feyth not remeve,
    Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

  Thow that Mary Magdalyn in Cryst dede sone beleve,
    And I was longe dowteful, ȝitt putt me in no blame;
  ffor be my grett dowte oure ffeyth may we preve,
    Aȝens alle tho eretykys that speke of Cryst shame.
  Truste wel Jhesu Cryst, the Jewys kyllyd the same,
    The ffende hath he fferyd oure feyth that evyr avexit;
  To hevyn ȝow brynge and save ȝow alle in same,
    That mortuus et sepultus iterum resurrexit! Amen.




XXXIX. THE ASCENSION.


_Hic incipit ascencio Domini nostri cum Maria et undecim discipulis et
duobis angelis sedentibus in albis, et Jhesus dicit discipulis suis etc._

  _Jhesus._ Pax vobis! amonge ȝow pes,
    Bothe love, and reste, and charyté,
  Amonge all vertues lete it not ses,
    ffor amonge alle vertues prynspal his he.
  ȝe be to blame I may wel preve,
    ffor I wyl use to ȝow wurdys pleyn,
  That ȝe be so hard of herte to beleve,
    That from dethe to lyve I am resyn ageyn.

  Nottwithstondynge, as ȝe knowe serteyn,
    To ȝow viij. sythys aperyd have I,
  Be soundry tymes the trewth to seyn,
    And this is the ix. tyme sothly,
            Evyn and no mo.
  But now sum mete
  Anon doth gete,
  ffor I wyl ete
            With ȝow, and goo.

  My dyscyplis, here what I sey,
    And to my wourdys ȝevythe attencion,
  ffrom Jersalem loke ȝe go nott awey,
    But mekely abydyth my fadyres promicion,
  Off whiche be my mowthe ȝe have have had informacion,
    Whylle bodyly with ȝow I was dwellynge,
  ffor John sothly ffor mannys salvacion,
    Onlye in watyr was me baptysynge;
            But I ȝow be-hete,
  Withinne ffewe days that ȝe
  In the Holy Goost xul baptyzid be,
  Therfore rysyth up and ffolwyht me
            Onto the mownte of Olyvete.
  _Jacobus major._ O Lord! vowchesaff us for to telle,
    Iff thou wylt now, withowte more delay,
  Restoryn the kyngdam of Israelle,
    And ȝeve us the joye, Lord, that lestyth ay.

  _Jhesus._ Seres, the tymes and the monthis knowe ȝe ne may,
    Whiche my fadyr hath put in his owyn power;
  But ȝe xul take within short day
    Of the Holy Goost the vertu cler.
            Thorwe whiche xul ȝe,
  In Jerusalem and in Jury,
  And moreovyr also in Samary,
  And to the worldys ende uttyrly,
            My wyttnes only be.

  Lovyth no wrathe nor no wronge,
    But levyth in charyté with mylde stevyn,
  With myrthe, and melody, and aungelle songe,
    Now I stey streyte ffro ȝow to hevyn.

_Hic ascendit ab oculis eorum, et in cœlo cantent, etc._

  _Angelus._ Returnyth ageyn to ȝour loggynge,
    To Jerusalem, ffor he wyl thus,
  His promys mekely ther abydynge,
    ffor dowteles this forseyd Jhesus
            Whiche from ȝow is take,
  In a clowde as ȝe hym seyn
  Steyng up, so xal comyn ageyn,
  Of al mankynde, this is serteyn,
            Jugement xal he make.

  O! ȝe bretheryn, attendyth to me,
    And takyth good hede what I xal seyn,
  It behovyth the Scripture ffulfylled to be,
    That of Davyd was seyd with wourdys pleyn,
  Of Judas whiche was the gyde serteyn
    Of hem that Cryst slew cruelly,
  Whiche aftyr ffrom dethe ros up ageyn,
    And hath abedyn in erthe fful days fourty;
            And aftyr alle this,
  Before oure eye,
  In a bryght skye,
  He dede up stye
            To hevyn blys.

  This seyd Judas was amonge us,
    Noumbryd apoustylle, and had lyche dygnyté,
  But whan he betrayd oure Lord Jhesus,
    He hynge hymself upon a tre.
  In whos sted muste nedys ordeyned be
    Another, oure noumbre ffor to restore,
  On of tho whiche, as weel knowe we,
    Han be conversaunt here longe before
            In oure company,
  Whiche xal wyttnes
  Berun expresse
  To more and lesse
            Of Crystys resurrexion stedfastly.

_Hic statuent duos, Joseph Justum et Mathiam, etc._

  O! sovereyn Lorde, whiche of every man
    The hertys dost knowe most inwardly,
  With alle the lowlyness we may or kan,
    To the we prey fful benygnely,
  That thou vowchesaff, thorwe thy mercy,
    Us hym to shewe, whiche in this cas
  Thou lykyst to chesyn effectuously,
    To ocapye the lott of Judas plas!

_Hic dabunt sortes et cadet super Mathiam, etc._

            Now gramercy, Lord!
  And to fulfylle
  Thin holy wylle,
  As it is skylle,
            We alle accorde!




XL. THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST.


_Modo de die Pentecost. Apostoli dicant genuflect. Spiritus Sanctus
decendat super eos, etc._

    Petrus,       Andreas,        Jacobus major.
    Honowre,      wurchipp,       and reverens.
    Johannes,     Philippus,      Jacobus minor.
    Glorye,       grace,          and goodnes.
    Thomas,       Bartholomeus,   Symon.
    Dygnité,      vertu,          and excellence.
    Matheus,      Judas,          Matheas.
    Bewté,        blyssynge,      and bryghtnes.

  _Petrus._ Be to that lord heye wurthynes!
  _Andreas._ Whiche hath performyd that he us hyght.
  _Jacobus major._ And us enbawmyd with suche swetnes.
  _Johannes._ Whiche to dyscrye ffer passyth oure myght.
  _Philippus._ This we alle wel kenne.
  _Jacobus minor._ Now gracious Lord Jhesu,
  _Thomas._ Conferme us in thi vertu!
  _Bartholomeus._ And graunt us grace evyr it to sew!
  _Symon._ Sey we alle togedyr, Amen! Amen!

_Et omnes osculant terram._

  _Primus Judæus._ Now ffelawys, take hede, ffor be my trewthe,
    ȝondyr syttyth a dronkyn ffelacheppe.
  _Secundus Judæus._ To don hem good it were grett ruthe.
  _Tertius Judæus._ ȝa, I prey God ȝeve hem alle shenscheppe.
  _Primus Judæus._ Muste in here brayn so sclyly dothe creppe,
    That thei cheteryn and chateryn as they jays were.
  _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa, were they ony wel browth asclepe,
    It wore almes to the revere hem to bere,
            There hem to baptyze.
  _Primus Judæus._ That were, as thynkyth me,
  A jentyl sporte to se,
  A bettyr game to be
            Cowde no man devyse.

  _Petrus._ Serys, alas! what do ȝe mene?
    Why scorne ȝe now thus Goddys grace?
  It is nothynge as ȝe do wene,
    Ther is no drunke man in this place;
  Wherefore ryght grett is ȝowre trespace:
    But, syres, lyst what it doth sygnifye;
  ffulfyllyd is now to mannys solace,
    Of Johel the pregnaunt prophecye,
            In whiche that he,
  That ȝe han seyn,
  In wourdys pleyn,
  Declareth serteyn:
            Now blyssyd God be! Amen.




XLI. THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN.


_Ad mea facta pater assit Deus et sua mater!_

  _Doctor._ Ryhte worchepful sovereynes, liketh yow to here
    Of the assumpcion of the gloryous moder Mary?
  That seynt Jhon the evangelist wrot and tauht, as I lere,
    In a book clepid Apocriphun, wythowtyn dyswary.
  At fourten yer sche conseyved Cryste in hire matere clere,
    And in the fiftene yer sche chyldyd, this avowe dare I;
  Here lyvyng wyth that swete sone thre and thretty yere,
    And after his deth in erthe xij. yer dede sche tary.
            Now acounte me thise yeris wysely,
  And I sey the age was of this maide Marye,
  When sche assumpte above the Ierarchye,
  Thre score yer, as Scripture dothe specyfye,
            Legenda Sanctorum autorysyth this trewely.

  She was inhabith in Juré by the mounte of Syon,
    After the assencion of hir sone conseyved in spoused,
  Alle the holy placys in erthe that Criste duellyd on,
    Devouthly sche went hem honoryng the Godhed;
  fferste to the place there Criste cristenyd was clepid fflum Jordone,
    There he fastyd and takyn was by malicious falshed,
  There he beryed was and roos victoryously alon,
    There he assendid alle hevenys God in his manned;
            Thus was sche occupyed I rede.
  And meche sche was in the temple preyand.
  Now blissid mot sche be! we owe to be seyand,
  How sche was assumpte here men schul be pleyand,
            Preyng you of audience, now ses and tak hede.

  Ces now youre blaberyng in the develis name,
    What, lousy begchis, now ye not se,
  Owre worthy prynsis, lo! are gaderid in same,
    That are statis of this lond hye men of degré?
  By there hye wisdom they shal now attayne.
    How alle Juré beste governyd may be,
  And of this pillid prechouris that oure lawis defame,
    They schul ben slayn as they se or fayn for to fle.
            Wherfore in pes be ye,
  And herkenyth onto hem moste stillyn I,
  ffor what boy bragge outh, hym spilly I,
  As knave wyth this craggyd knad hym kylle I, —
            Now herkenyth oure pryncis alle kneland on kne.

  _Episcopus._ Now ye prynsis i-prest of the lawe,
    Of this demaunde responcyon I aske here anon,
  Ys there ony renogat among us fer as ye knawe,
    Or ony that pervertyth the pepil wyth gay eloquens alon?
  Yif there be, we muste onto hem set awe.
    ffor they feyne falsly oure feyth, hem preve I houre fon,
  Sweche schul ben bounden up be the beltys til flyes hem blowe,
    And gnaggyd up by the gomys tyl the devyl doth hem grone.
            We may not won,
  To sweche harlotis settyn reddure,
  That geynseyn oure lawe and oure scripture,
  Now let, sere pryncis in purpure,
            In savynge of oure lawys now telle on.

  _Primus Princeps._ Sere, syn we slew hym that clepid hym oure king,
    And seyde he was Goddis sone Lord over alle;
  Syn his deth I herd of no maner rysyng,
    And, lo, yif he hadde levyd he had mad us his thrall.
  _Episcopus._ Therfore oure wysdam was to schortyn his endyng;
    Who so clyme over hie he hath a foule falle.
  _Secundus Princeps._ Ya, yit of on thing I warne yow at the gynnyng,
    His dame is levyng, Mary that men calle;
            Myche pepil halt hire wythall;
  Wherfore in peyne of reprefe,
  Yif we suffre hyre thus to relefe,
  Oure lawys sche schal make to myschefe,
            And meche schame don us sche schalle.
  _Episcopus._ A! sere, ye ben bolde i-now, art thou ferd of a wenche?
    What trowyste that sche myht don us agayn?
  _Tertius Princeps._ Sere, there are other in the centre that clenche,
    And prechyn he is levyng that we slewe, they seyn;
  And yif they ben sufferyd thus, this wille bredyn a stench,
    ffor thorow here fayre speche oure lawys they steyn.
  And therfore devyse we now upon this pleyn benche,
    What is beste for to do hem for to atteyn:
            We are but loste, yif they reyn.
  _Episcopus._ Why, let se than, sey me youre ententis.
  _Primus._ Lete us preson hem, til here myght schent is.
  _Secundus._ Bettyr is to slen hem wyth dentis.
  _Tercius._ Nay, best is to hang hem wyth peyn.
  _Episcopus._ Nay, seris, nowth so youre better avyse,
    Have in syth before what after may tide;
  Yif we slewe hem it wolde cause the comownys to ryse,
    And rathere the devyl sle hym than we schulde that abyde.
  But be that senstere ded, Mary that fise,
    We shal brenne here body and the aschis hide,
  And don here alle the dispith we can here devise,
    And than sle tho disciplis that walkyn so wyde,
            And here bodyes devyde.
  Halde ye not this beste, as is sayde?
  _Primus Episcopus._ Wyth youre wysdam, sere, we are wel payed.
  Than ye knyhtis, I charge yow, beth arayed,
            And the turmentouris redy that tyde,
  When Mary is ded.
  And but she deye the sunere, the devyl smyte of here hed.

_Hic est Maria in templo orans, et dicens_,

  _Maria._ O, hye wysdam, in youre dygne deyté,
    Youre infynyth lovnesse mad oure salvacyon,
  That it lyst you of me sympilest to take here humanité,
    Wyth dew obeschyauns I make you gratulacyon.
  And, glorious Lord and sone, yif it like youre benygnyté,
    Nouth to ben displesid wyth my desideracyon,
  Me longith to youre presense now conjunct to the unyté,
    Wyth alle myn herte and my sowle be natures excitacyon,
            To youre domynacyon.
  ffor alle creaturis in you don affye,
  And myche more owe I youre modyr be alye,
  Syn ye wern born God and man of my bodye,
            To desyre youre presens that were oure ferste formacyon.
  _Sapientia._ My suete moderis preyere onto me doth assende,
    Here holy herte and here love is only on me;
  Wherfore, aungyl, to here thou schalt now dyssende,
    Seyinge here sche schal comyn to myn eternyté.
  Myn habundaunt mercy on here I extende,
    Resservynge here to joye from worldly perplexité,
  And in tokyn therof this palme now pretende,
    Seyinge here sche fere no man of divercyté.
  _Angelus Primus._ By youre myth I dissende to youre moder in virginité.
  _Angelus secundus._ ffor qwyche message injoyeth the hefnely consorcyt.

_Hic discendet Angelus; ludentibus citharis, et dicet Mariæ_,

  _Primus Angelus._ Heyl! excellent prynces, Mary, moste pure!
    Heyl! radyant sterre, the sunne is not so bryth!
  Heyl! moder of mercy, and mayde most mure!
    The blessyng that God yaf Jacob upon you now is lyth!
  _Maria._ Now welcom bryth berde, Goddis aungel I sen,
    Ye ben messager of allemyhty, wolcom wyth my myhtis;
  I beseke you now say me upon youre hie nortur,
    What is the very name that to youre persone dith is?
  _Angelus._ What nedith you, Lady, my name ben desyrand?
  _Maria._ A! this, gracyows aungyl, I beseke you requyrand.
  _Angelus._ My name is gret and merveylous, treuly you telland,
    The hye God youre sone abidyth you in blis,
  The thrydde day hens ye schul ben expirand,
    And assende to the presence there my God youre sone is.
  _Maria._ Mercy and gromercy, God, now may I be seyand,
    Thankyng you suete aungyl for this message i-wys.
  _Angelus._ In tokenyng whereof, Lady, I am here presentand
    A braunce of palme, outh of paradis com this;
  Before youre here God biddith it be bore.
  _Maria._ Now thanke be to that Lord of his mercy evermore!
  _Angelus._ Yowre meknesse, youre lovnesse, and youre hie lore,
    Is most acceptable in the Trynité syth;
  Youre sete ryall in hefne apparaled is thore:
    Now dispose yow to deye, youre sone wyl thus rith.
  _Maria._ I obbeye the commaundement of my God here before;
    But on thyng I beseke that Lord of his myth,
  That my brether the appostelis myht me be before,
    To se me and I hem or I passe to that lyth;
  But they ben so deseverid me thynkyth it nyl be.
  _Angelus._ A! this, lady, inpossible to God nothyng trowe the,
  ffor he that sent Abbacuc with mete to Babylonye from Juré
    Into the lake of lyonys to Danyel the prophete
  Be an her of his hed, lo, so myhty was he,
    Se the same myht God make may the Appostolis here mete;
  And therfore abasche you not, lady, in yowre holy mende.
  _Maria._ No more I do, glorious aungyl in kynde;
  Also I beseke my sone I se not the fende,
    What tyme outh of this word I schal passe hens;
  His horible lok wold fere me so hende,
    Ther is nothyng I dowte but his dredfull presens.

  _Angelus._ What nedith it to fere you, empres so hende?
    Syn be the fruth of youre body was convycte his vyolens,
  That horible serpent dare not nyhyn youre kende,
    And yowre blosme schal make hym recistens,
            That he schal not pretende.
  Desyre ye outh ellys now rythis?
  _Maria._ Nouth, but blessyd be my God in his myhtys!
  _Angelus._ To yow I recomaunde me than, most excellent in sithis,
            And wyth this agayn to God I assende.

_Hic ascendit angelus._

  _Maria._ Now, Lord, thy swete holy name wyth lovnesse I blysse,
    Of qwyche hefne and erthe eche tyme pshalmodyeth;
  That it lykyth youre mercy me to you to wysse,
    My sympil sowle in serteyn youre name magnefyeth.
  Now, holy maydenys, the servauntis of God as I gysse,
    I schal passe from this world as the aungyl sertefyeth;
  Therfore to my sympil habitacyon, I telle you now this,
    I purpose me to go, besekyng yow replyeth,
  And assedually wachith me be dayes and nythis.

  _Prima virgo._ We schal, gracyous Lady, wyth alle oure mythis,
    Schul ye from us passe, swete sonne of socoure,
  That are oure sengler solas radyant in youre lythis,
    Youre peynful absence schal make me doloure.
  _Virgo Secunda._ Moste excellent princes in alle vertu that is dith,
    Alle hefne and erthe, Lady, you doth honure;
  We schal wachyn and wake, as oure dewe and ryth,
    Into the tyme ye passe to that hye toure.

  _Maria._ God thanke you and so do I;
    Now I wyl dispose me to this jurné redy;
  So wolde God my brether were here me by,
    To bere my body that bare Jhesu oure savyoure.

_Hic subito apparet sanctus Johannes evangelista ante portam Mariæ._

  _Johannes._ A! myrable God, meche is thy myth,
    Many wonderis thou werkyst evyn as thi wylle is;
  In Pheso I was prechyng a fer contré ryth,
    And by a whyte clowde I was rapt to these hyllys.
  Here duellyth Cristis moder I se wel in syth,
    Sum merveylous message is comyn that mayde tylle;
  I wyl go saluse that berde that in vertu is moste brith,
    And of my sodeyn comyng wete what is the skele.

_Hic pulsabit super portam, intrante domum Mariæ sibi dicente_,

  Heyl! moder Mary, maydyn perpetualle!
  _Maria._ A! welcome, mayde John, wyth alle myn herte in specyalle,
    ffor joye of youre presence myn herte gynnyth sweme;
  Thynke ye not, John, how my child eternalle,
    When he hynge on cros sayd us this teme,
  Lo! here thy sone, woman; so bad he me you calle,
    And you me moder eche othir to queme;
  He betok you the governayl there of my body terestyalle,
    On mayde to another at convenyens wold seme;
  And now that gracyows lord hath sent me yow sone.
  _Johannes._ Now, good fayr lady, what is ther to done?
  Tellyth the cause why I am heder sent.
  _Maria._ Swete sone, John, so wylle I anone;
  Owre lord God sent to me an aungyl that glent,
    And sayde I schulde passe hens where thre were in one,
  Tho I askyd the aungel to have you present.
  _Johannes._ A! holy moder, schul ye from us gone?
    My brether of this tydyngis sore wyl repent,
            That ȝe schuld ben absent.
  Ever trybulacyon, Lord, meche thou us sendyst,
  Thou oure mayster and oure comfort from us ascendist.
  And now oure joye, thy moder, to take thou pretendist,
            Thanne alle oure comfort is from us detent.
  But what seyde then aungyl, moder, onto you more?
  _Maria._ He brouth me this palme from my sone thore;
    Qwyche I beseke, as the aungyl me bad,
  That aforn my bere by you it be bore,
    Saynge my dirige devouthly and sad;
  ffor, John, I have herde the Jewys meche of me spelle.
  _Johannes._ A! good Lady, what likyth it you to telle?
  _Maria._ Secretly they ordeyne in here conseytis felle,
    When my sowle is paste where Godis sete is,
  To brenne my body and schamly it quelle,
    ffor Jhesu was of me born that they slew with here fistis;
  And therfore I beseke you, John, both fleche and felle
    Helpe I be beryed, for yn yow my tryst is.
  _Johannes._ ffere yow not, Lady, for I schal wyth you duelle:
    Wolde God my brether were here now and wyst this.

_Hic subito omnes apostoli congregentur ante portum mirantes_,

  A! holy brether, wyth grace be ye met here now:
    Lord God, what menyth this sodeyne congregacyon?
  Now, swete brother Powle, wyl ye take this upon yow?
    Preye to God for us alle we may have relacyon.
  _Paulus._ Good brother Peter, how schuld I here pray now,
    That am lest and most unworthy of this congregacyon?
  I am not worthy to be clepyd apostle sothly I say yow,
    ffor as a wood man ageyn Holy Cherche I mad persecucyon,
  But nevertheles I am the grace of God in that that I am, lo!
  _Petrus._ A! gret is youre lownesse, Powle, brother evermo!
  _Paulus._ The keyes of hevene, Peter, God hath you betake,
    And also ye ben peler of lith and prynce of us alle;
  It is most sittyng to you this preyere to make,
    And I unworthy wyth yow preyen here schalle.
  _Petrus._ I take this upon me, Poule, for youre sake.
    Now, almythty God, that sittiste above cherubyn halle;
  In synge of thyn holy cros oure handis we make,
    Besekyng thy mercy may upon us falle,
  And why we ben thus met, yif it lyke, us lare.
  _Johannes._ A! holy brether, alle welcom ye are:
  Why ye be met here I schal you declare;
    ffor Mary, Goddys moder, by message is sent,
  That from this wrecchid world to blysse sche schal fare,
    And at here deying sche desyryth to have us present.
  _Petrus._ A! brother John, we may syhyn and care,
    Xif it displese not God for these tydyngis ment.
  _Paulus._ fforsothe so we may, Peter, hevyin evermore,
    That oure moder and oure comfort schuld ben us absent.
  But nevertheles the wyl of God fulfyllid mot be.
  _Johannes._ That is wel seyd, Poule, but herof bewar ye,
    That non of you for here deth schewe hevy speche,
  ffor anon to the Jewys it schuld than notyd be,
    That we were ferd of deth, and that is ageyn that we teche;
  ffor we seyn alle tho belevyn in the hol Trynyté,
    They schul ever leve and nouth deye, this truly we preche;
  And yif we make hevynesse for here, than wyl it seyd be,
    Lo! youe prechouris to deye they fere hem ful meche;
  And therfore in God now beth glad everychon!
  _Petrus._ We schal don as ye sey us, holy brother John:
    Now we beseke you, let us se oure moder Marie.
  _Johannes._ Now, in Goddys name, to here than alle let us gon;
    Sche wyl ben ful glad to se this holy companye.
  _Petrus._ Heyl! moder and maydyn, so was never non,
    But only the most blissid treulye.
  _Paulus._ Heyl! incomparabil quen Goddis holy tron!
    Of you spreng salvacyon and alle oure glorye;
  Heyl mene for mankynde and mendere of mys!
  _Maria._ A! wyth alle myn hol herte, brether, ye are welcom i-wys:
    I beseke you now to telle me of youre sodeyne metyng.
  _Petrus._ In dyveris contreys we prechid of youre sone and his blis,
    Diveris clowdys eche of us was sodeynely curyng;
  And in on were brouth before youre yate here i-wys,
    The cause why no man cowde telle of oure comyng.
  _Maria._ Now I thanke God of his mercy, an hy merakle is this;
    Now I wyl telle yow the cause of my sonys werkyng;
  I desyrid his bodily presence to se.
  _Johannes._ No wonder, Lady, thow so dede ye.
  _Maria._ Tho my sone Jhesu of his hye peté
    Sent to me an aungyl, and thus he sayd,
  That the thredde nyth I schuld assende to my sone in deité;
    Thanne to have youre presence, brether, hertly I prayed,
  And thus at my request God hath you sent me.
  _Petrus._ Wys gracyous Lady, we are ryth wel payed.
  _Maria._ Blissid brethere, I beseke you than tent me;
    Now wyl I rest me in this bed that for me is rayed;
  Wachith me besily wyth youre laumpys and lithtis.
  _Paulus._ We schal, Lady, redy alle thyng for you dith is.
  _Maria._ Now, sone, schul ye se what Godis myth is,
    My flech gynnyth feble be nature.

_Hic erit decenter ornatus in lecto._

  _Petrus._ Brether, eche of you a candele takyth nowe rithis,
    And lith hem in haste, whil oure moder doth dure,
  And bisyli let us wachyn in this virgyne sythis,
    That when oure Lord comyth in his sponsed pure,
  He may fynde us wakyng and redy wyth oure lithis,
    ffor we knowe not the hour of his comyng now sure,
  And yn clennesse alle loke ye be redy.
  _Maria._ A! swete sone Jhesu, now mercy I cry,
    Over alle synful thy mercy let sprede!

_Hic dissendet Dominus cum omni celeste curia, et dicet_,

  _Dominus._ The voys of my moder me nyhith ful ny;
    I am dyssend on to here of whom I dede sede.

_Hic cantabunt org._

  _Maria._ A! welcom, gracyous Lord Jhesu, sone and God of mercy!
    An aungyl wold a ssuffysed me, hye kyng, at this nede.
  _Dominus._ In propire persone, moder, I wyl ben here redy,
  Wyth the hefnely quer yowre dirige to rede.
  Veni tu, electa mea, et ponam in te thronum meum,
  Quia concupivit rex speciem tuam.
  _Maria._ Paratum cor meum, Deus, paratum cor meum,
  Cantabo, et psalmum dicam Domino.
  _Apostoli._ Hæc est quæ nescivit thorum in delictis,
  Habebit requiem in respectu animarum sanctarum.
  _Maria._ Beatam me dicent omnes generationes;
  Quia fecit michi magna qui potens est, et sanctum nomen ejus.
  _Dominus._ Veni de Libano, sponsa mea, veni, coronaberis:
  Ecce, venio, quia in capite libri scriptum est de me.
  Ut facerem voluntatem tuam, Deus meus,
  Quia exultavit spes meus in Deo salutari mee.

_Hic exiet anima Mariæ de corpore in sinu Dei._

  _Dominus._ Now come, my swete soule, in clennesse most pure,
    And reste in my bosom brithtest of ble.
  Alle ye myn apostelis of this body takyth cure:
    In the vallé of Josephat there fynde schul ye,
  A grave new mad for Maryes sepulture,
    There beryeth the body withe alle youre solempnité,
  And bydyth me there stylle thre dayes severe,
    And I schal pere ageyn to yow to comfort your advercyté:
  Wyth this swete soule now from you I assende.
  _Petrus._ In oure tribulacyons, Lord, thou us defende!
    We have no comfort on erthe but of the alon.
  O! swete soule of Mary, prey thy sone us defende,
    Have mynde of thy pore brether when thou comyst to thi tron!
  _Chorus Mart._ Quæ est ista quæ assendit de deserto,
  Deliciis affluens injunxa super dilectum suum?
  _Ordo Angelus._ Ista est speciosa inter filias Jherusalem sicut
      vidistis eam,
  Plenam caritate et dilectione sicque in cœlum gandeus suscipitur,
  Et a dextris filii in trono gloriæ collocatur.

_Hic cantabit omnis celestis curia._

  _Prima virgo._ Now, suster, I beseke you let us do oure attendaunce,
    And wasche this glorious body that here in oure sith is,
  As is the use among us wythoutyn ony varyaunce:
    Now blessid be this persone that bar God of mythtis.
  _Secunda virgo._ I am redy, suster, wyth alle myn hol affyaunce,
    To wesche and worschepe this body that so brith is;
  Alle creaturys therto owyn dew obeschaunce,
    ffor this body resseyvid the holy gostis flithtis.

_Et osculabunt corpus Mariæ._

  _Johannes._ Now, holy brother Peter, I hertely you pray
    To bere this holy palme before this gloryous body,
  ffor ye ben Prince of Apostelis and hed of oure fay,
    Therfore it semyth you best to do this offis treuly.
  _Petrus._ Sere, and ye slept on Cristis brest seyng alle celestly,
    Ye are Goddis clene mayde wythoutyn any nay;
  This observaunce is most like you to do dewly,
    Wherfore tak it upon you, brother, we pray;
  And I schal helpe for to bere the bere.
  _Paulus._ And I, Peter, wyth oure brether in fere,
    This blessid body schal helpe to the ground;
  This holy cors now take we up here,
    Seyng oure observaunce wyth devouth sound.

_Hic portabunt corpus versus sepulturam, cum eorum luminibus._

  _Petrus._ Exiit Israel de Egipto, domus Jacob de populo barbaro!
      Allelujah!
  _Apostoli._ Facta est Judea sanctificatio ejus, Israel potestas
      ejus! allelujah!

_Hic angeli dulciter cantabunt in cœlo “allelujah!”_

  _Episcopus._ Herke, sere princys, what noyse is alle this?
    The erthe and the eyer is ful of melodye;
  I herde never er sweche a noyse now i-wys:
    Con ye outh say what they signefye?
  _Primus Princeps._ I not be my God that of myht meche is;
    Whatsumever they be hougely they crye:
  I am aferd there wylle be sumthyng amys,
    It is good prevely among us we spye
            Wythowte.
  _Secundus Princeps._ Now I have levyd this thre skore yer,
  But sweche another noyse herd I never er;
  Myn herte gynnyth ogyl and quake for fer,
            There is sum newe sorwe sprongyn I dowte.
  _Tertius Princeps._ Ya that there is, sothly, I say yow,
    The prophetis moder Mary is ded;
  The disciplis here beryn in gret aray now,
    And makyn alle this merthe in spyth of oure hed.
  _Episcopus._ ffy on you, lousy doggys, they were better nay;
    Outh, harrow! the devyl is in myn hed.
  Ye dodemusyd prynces faste yow aray,
    Or I make avow to Mahound youre bodyes schul blede.
            Now that quene is ded,
  The coward knytis in plate,
  And the tormentours thryfe schul ye late,
  ffaste, harlotys, go youre gate,
            And brynge me that bychyd body, I red.
  _Primus Princeps._ Dowte you not, sere byschop, in peyne of repref,
    Ded schal don schame to that body to tho prechours.
  _Secundus Princeps._ Sere, I schal geyne tho glaberis or gramly hem gref,
    Tho teynt tretouris schul tene yif my loke on hem louris.
  _Tertius Princeps._ To hurle wyth the harlotys me is ful lef,
    I schal snarle tho sneveleris wyth rith scharp schouris.
  _Episcopus._ Hens than, a develys name! and take me that thef,
    And bringe me that bygyd body evyn to-fore thes touris,
            And here disciplis ye slo.
  Hye you hens, harlotis, at onys,
  The devyl, boyes, mot breke youre bonys,
  Go stent me yone body wyth youre stonys:
            Outh, harrow! al wod now I go!

_Hic discendunt Principes cum suis ministris, ut feroci pecucienter
petras cum eorum capitibus._

  _Secundus Princeps._ What, devyl, where is this mené?
    I here here noyse but I se ryth nouth;
  Allas! I have clene lost my posté,
    I am ful wo, mad is my thowth.
  _Tertius Princeps._ I am so ferd I would fayn fle,
    The devyl hym spede hedyr me brouth;
  I renne, I rappe, so wo is me,
    Wynd and wod wo hath me wrouth!
            To deye I ne routh.
  _Primus Princeps._ A! cowardis, upon you now fy,
  Are ye ferd of a ded body?
  I schal sterte therto manly,
            Alle that company fere I ryth nouth.

_Hic saltat insanus adferetrum Mariæ et pendet per manus._

  Allas! my body is ful of peyne,
    I am fastened sore to this bere,
  Myn handys are ser bothe tweyne.
    O! Peter, now prey thi God for me here:
  In Cayfas halle when thou were seyne,
    And of the, Peter, a mayde acusid there,
  I halpe the tho; now helpe me ageyne;
    That I were hol outh of this fere,
            Sum medycyne me lere.
  _Petrus._ I may not tend to the, sere, at this hour,
  ffor ocupacyon of this body of honour;
  But nevertheles beleve in Jhesu Criste oure Saveyour,
            And that this was his moder that we bere on bere.
  _Primus Princeps._ I beleve in Jhesu, mannys salvacyon.
  _Petrus._ In Goddis name go doun than, and this body honure.
  _Primus Princeps._ Now mercy, God, and gromercy of this savacyon!
    In Jhesu and his moder to beleve ever I senere.
  _Petrus._ Than take youe holy palme, and go to thi nacyon,
    And bid hem beleve in God, yif they wyl be pure;
  And towche hem ther wyth, both hed, hand, and facyon,
    And of her sekenesse they schal have cure;
            And ellis in here peynys indure.
  _Primus Princeps._ Gromercy, holy fader Peter,
  I schal do as the me teche her,
  Thankyng God ever in my speche her,
            Wyth hye repentaunce and herte most mure.

_Hic portabunt feretrum ad locum sepulture._

  _Petrus._ Now, holy brether, this body let us take,
    And, wyth alle the worschepe we may, ley it in the grave,
  Kyssyng it alle at onys for here sonys sake:
    Now insence ye, and we schal put here in this cave.

_Hic ponent corpus in sepulcrum, insensantes et cantantes._

  _Johannes._ De terra plasmasti me et carne induisti me,
  Redemptor meus, Domine, resuscita me in novissimo die!
  Now God blysse this body and we oure synge make.

_Hic unanimiter benedicent corpus “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritûs
Sancti.”_

    The fruth that it bar oure soules schal save.
  Now rest we us, brother, upon this pleyn lake,
    Tyl from oure God and oure lord tydyngis we have,
            Here must we belave.
  _Paulus._ So muste we, John, as ye say;
  Thanne byde we here and pray,
  Besekyng hym of comfort that best may,
            Restyng here abowtyn this grave.

_Hic vadit Princeps ad Judæos cum palma._

  _Primus Princeps._ Ye Jewys that langour in this gret infyrmyté,
    Belevyth in Crist Jhesu, and ye schal have helthe,
  Throw vertu of this holy palme that com fro the Trinyté,
    Yowr sekenesse schal aswage and restore you to welthe.
  _Secundus Princeps._ I beleve in Crist Jhesu, Goddis sone in unyté,
    And forsake my maumentryes fals in here felthe.

_Hic tangat credentes cum palma, et sanati sunt._

  A! I thanke the, gracyous Lord, and thy moder of peté,
    Now are we hol of oure seknesse and of oure foule belthe!
  _Tercius Princeps._ What, harlotys, forsake oure lawe?
  _Secundus Princeps._ So hald I best the do.
  _Tercius Princeps._ Hens fro me in the develis name ye go!
  I deye, outh, outh, harro!
  The wylde develys mot me to drawe!

  _Primus Demon._ Herke, Belsabub and Belyal, sere Sathan in the herne,
    Us fettyn oure servauntis to this presone,
  Blow flamys of fer to make hem to brenne,
    Mak redy ageyn we com to this demon.
  _Secundus Demon._ ffaste for tho harlotis now let us renne,
    To cast hem in this pet here that depe is adon,
  They schul brenne and boyle and chille in oure denne;
    Gowe now, a dewelys name, as fast as we mone!
            Harrow! harrow! we com to town.
  _Primus demon._ Drag we these harlotis in hye,
  Into the pet of helle for to lye.
  _Secundus demon._ Gowe now, helle houndis, ye crye,
            Sere Sathan may heryn oure sone.

  _Dominus._ Now, aungyl and alle this court celestyalle,
    Into herthe now discendith with me,
  To reyse the body of my moder terestyalle,
    And bryng we it to the blysse of my deyt
  Assent ye here to now the unyté?
  _Angeli._ Ya, for yowre hye mercy, Lord, al hefne makyth melodé.

_Hic discendit et venit ad apostolos, dicens_,

  _Dominus._ Pes be to yow alle, my postelis so dere!
    Lo! me here, yowre Lord, and youre God now rythtis.
  _Petrus._ A! welcom, Criste, oure comfort, in thy manhed clere!
    Gret merveylous God, mekyl now thy myth is!
  _Dominus._ What worschepe and grace semyth you now here,
    That I do to this body, Mary that hythtis?
  _Johannes._ Lord, as thou rese from deth and requyst in thyn empere,
    So reyse thou this body to thy blysse that lyth is,
            Us semyth this ryth is.
  _Mychael._ Ya, gloryous God, lo! the sowle here prest, now,
  To this blissid body likyth you to fest, now,
  Hefne and erthe wold thynke this the best, now,
            In as myche as sche bare you, God, in youre mythtis.

_Hic vadit anima in corpus Mariæ._

  _Dominus._ Go thanne, blyssid soule, to that body ageyn:
    Arys now, my dowe, my nehebour, and my swete frende,
  Tabernacle of joye, vessel of lyf, hefnely temple, to reyn,
    Ye schal have the blysse wyth me moder that hath non ende;
  ffor as ye were clene in erthe of alle synnys greyn,
    So schal ye reyne in hefne clennest in mend.
  _Maria._ A! endles worchepe be to you, Jhesu, relesere of peyn!
    I and alle erthe may blisse the, com of owre kend:
            Lo! me redy with you for to wend.
  _Dominus._ Aboven hefnys, moder, assende than we,
  In endles blysse for to be.
  _Michael._ Hefne and erthe now injoye may ye,
            ffor God throw Mary is mad mannys frend.

_Et hic assendent in cœlum cantantibus organis, Assumpta es Maria in
cœlum!_

  _Dominus._ Yow to worchepe, moder, it likyth the hol Trinyté,
  Wherfore I crowne you here in this kyndam of glorye:
  Of alle my chosyn thus schul ye clepyd be,
  Qwen of Hefne and Moder of Mercy!
  _Michael._ Now blissid be youre namys we cry!
  ffor this holy assumpcyon alle hefne makyth melody.

_Deo gracias._




XLII. DOOMSDAY.


_Hic incipit dies Judicii, et Jhesu descendente cum Michaele et Gabriele
Archangeletis Michaelus dicet, etc._

  _Michael._ Surgite! alle men aryse,
    Venite ad judicium!
  ffor now is sett the hyȝ justyce,
    And hath assygnyd the day of dome.
  Rape ȝow redyly to this grett assyse,
    Bothe grett and smalle, alle an sum,
  And of ȝour answere ȝow now avyse,
    What ȝe xal sey whan that ȝe cum,
            ȝowre ansuere ffor to telle;
  ffor whan that God xal ȝow appose,
  Ther is non helpe of no glose,
  The trewthe fful trewlye he wyl tose,
            And send ȝow to hevyn or helle.

  _Gabryelle._ Bothe Pope, prynce, and prysste with crowne,
    Kynge and caysere, and knyhtes kene,
  Rapely ȝe renne ȝour resonys to rowne,
    ffor this xal be the day of tene.
  Nowther pore ne ryche of grett renowne,
    Ne alle the develys in helle that bene
  ffrom this day ȝow hyde not mowne,
    ffor alle ȝour dedys here xal be sene
            Opynly in syght.
  Who that is fowndyn in deedly gylte,
  He were bettyr to ben hylte,
  In endeles helle he xal be spylte,
            His dedys his deth xal dyght.

_Omnes resurgentes subtus terram clamavit “Ha! a! a! ha! a! a! ha! a! a!”
Deinde surgentes dicat, “ha! a! a!” etc._

  Ha! a! a! cleve asundyr ȝe clowdys of clay,
    Asundyr ȝe breke and lete us pas:
  Now may oure songe be, wele away,
    That evyr we synnyd in dedly trespas!

_Omnes demones clamant._

  Harrow and owt! what xal we say?
    Harraw we crye, owt and alas!
  Alas! harrow! is this that day,
    To endles peyne that us must pas?
            Alas! harrow and owt! we crye.

_Omnes animæ resurgentes dicant, etc._

  A! mercy, Lorde! ffor oure mysdede,
  And lett thi mercy sprynge and sprede!
  But, alas! we byden in drede,
            It is to late to aske mercye.

  _Deus._ Venite benedicti,
    My bretheryn alle,
  Patris mei
    ȝe childeryn dere;
  Come hedyr to me to myn hyȝ halle,
    Alle tho myn suterys and servauntes be;
  Alle tho ffowle wyrmys ffrom ȝow falle,
    With my ryght hand I blysse ȝow here.
  My blyssynge burnyschith ȝow as bryght as beralle,
  As crystalle clene it clensyth ȝow clere,
            Alle ffylth ffrom ȝow ffade.
  Petyr, to hevyn ȝatys thou wende and goo,
  The lokkys thou losyn and hem undo,
  My blyssyd childeryn thou brynge me to,
            Here hertys for to glade.
  _Petrus._ The ȝatys of hevyn I opyn this tyde:
    Now welcome, dere bretheryn, to hevyn i-wys;
  Com on, and sytt on Goddys ryght syde,
    Where myrthe and melody nevyr may mys.
  _Omnes Salvati._ On kne we crepe, we gon, we glyde,
    To wurchepp oure Lorde that mercyful is;
  ffor thorwe his woundys that be so wyde,
    He hath brought us to his blys.
            Holy Lorde, we wurcheppe the!
  _Deus._ Welcome ȝe be in hevyn to sitt,
  Welcum, fro me xul ȝe nevyr flitt,
  So sekyr of blys ȝe xul be ȝitt,
            To myrthe and joye welcum ȝe be!
  _Animæ dampnandum._ Ha! ha! mercy, mercy, we crye and crave,
    A! mercy, Lorde, for oure mysdede!
  A! mercy, mercy, we rubbe! we rave!
    A! help us, good Lord, in this nede!
  _Deus._ How wolde ȝe, wrecchis, any mercy have?
    Why aske ȝe mercy now in this nede?
  What have ȝe wrought ȝour sowle to save?
    To whom have ȝe don any mercyful dede,
            Mercy for to wynne?
  _Primus diabolus._ Mercy? nay, nay, they xul have wrake,
  And that on here fforehed wyttnes I take,
  ffor ther is wretyn with letteris blake,
            Opynly alle here synne.
  _Deus._ To hungry and thrusty that askyd in my name,
    Mete and drynke wolde ȝe ȝeve non;
  Of nakyd men had ȝe no shame,
    ȝe wold nott vesyte men in no preson;
  ȝe had no peté on seke nor lame,
    Dede of mercy wold ȝe nevyr don;
  Un herborwed men ȝe servyd the same,
    To bery the deed pore man wold ȝe not gon;
            These dedys doth ȝow spylle.
  ffor ȝoure love was I rent on rode,
  And for ȝour sake I shed my blode:
  Whan I was so mercyfulle and so gode,
            Why have ȝe wrought aȝens my wylle?
  _Secundus Diabolus._ I fynde here wretyn in thin fforheed,
    Thou were so stowte and sett in pryde,
  Thou woldyst nott ȝeve a pore man breed,
    But ffrom thi dore thou woldyst hym chyde.
  _Tertius diabolus._ And in thi face here do I rede,
    That if a thryfty man com any tyde,
  ffor thrust thow he xulde be deed,
    Drynk from hym thou woldyst evyr hyde;
            On covetyse was alle thy thought.
  _Primus diabolus._ In wratthe thi neybore to bakbyte,
  Them for to hangere was thi delyte,
  Thou were evyr redy them to endyte;
            On the seke man rewyst thou nought.
  _Secundus diabolus._ Evyr more on envye was alle thi mende,
    Thou woldyst nevyr vesyte no presoner;
  To alle thi neybores thou were unkende,
    Thou woldyst nevyr helpe man in daunger.
  _Tertius diabolus._ The synne of slauthe thi sowle xal shende,
    Masse nore mateynes woldyst thou non here,
  To bery the deed, man, thou woldyst not wende,
    Therfore thou xalt to endles ffere;
  To slowthe thou were ful prest.
  _Primus diabolus._ Thou haddyst rejoyse in glotonye,
  In dronkesheppe and in rebawdye,
  Unherborwyd with velonye
            Thou puttyst from here rest.

  _Secundus diabolus._ Sybile Sclutte, thou ssalte sewe,
    Alle ȝour lyff was leccherous lay;
  To alle ȝour neybores ȝe wore a shrewe,
    Alle ȝour plesauns was leccherous play.
  Goddys men ȝe lovyd but fewe;
    Nakyd men and ffebyl of array
  ȝe wolde nott socowre with a lytel drewe,
    Nott with a thred, the sothe to say,
            Whan they askyd in Godys name.
  _Omnes dampnandi._ A, mercy, Lord! mekyl of myght,
  We aske thi mercy and not thi ryght,
  Not after oure dede so us quyth,
            We have synnyd, we be to blame.

  _Deus._ . . . . . . . . . .
          . . . . . . . . . .
          . . . . . . . . . .




NOTES.


Page 1, line 6. With pleys ful glad.] In the _Promptorium Parvulorum_
is given the following curious analysis of the different kinds of plays
and players:—“Pley, ludus; pley, or somyr game, spectaculum; pley that
begynnythe with myrthe and endythe with sorowe, tragedia; pley that
begynnythe with sorow and endythe with myrthe, comedia; pleyare, lusor;
pleyare that alwey wyl pley, ludibundus; pleyar at the bal, pililudius;
pleyyng garment, ludix; pleyyng place, diludium.”—MS. Harl. 221, fol.
129. Chaucer gives us the same definition of tragedy in the prologue to
The Monkes Tale:—

  Tragedie is to sayn a certain storie,
  As olde bookes maken us memorie,
  Of him that stood in gret prosperitee,
  And is y-fallen out of high degree
  Into miserie, and endeth wretchedly.

P. 9, l. 17. Mevelyd.] So in the MS., but probably it ought to be
_mervelyd_.

P. 17, l. 10. Dele the comma after the word _dwere_.

P. 19. THE CREATION.] Bagford has preserved in MS. Harl. 5931, v. 13, a
printed bill of the latter end of the seventeenth century, wherein it
is stated that “at Crawley’s show at the Golden Lion, near St. George’s
Church, during the time of Southwark-fair, will be presented the whole
story of the old creation of the world, or Paradice Lost, yet newly
reviv’d, with the addition of Noah’s flood.” See Strutt’s _Sports and
Pastimes_, ed. Hone, p. 166. The specimen 272 in the same volume is still
more curious, and shows that the performances of mysteries, howbeit in
a very different state, were continued in England up to a much later
period than is usually believed: —

“_By Her Majestie’s permission._ At Heatly’s booth, over against
the Cross Daggers, next to Mr. Miller’s booth, during the time of
Bartholomew-Fair, will be presented a little opera, called _The old
creation of the world_, newly reviv’d, with the addition of the glorious
battle obtained over the French and Spaniards by his Grace the Duke of
Marlborough. The contents are these:—

1. The creation of Adam and Eve.

2. The intreagues of Lucifer in the garden of Eden.

3. Adam and Eve driven out of paradice.

4. Cain going to plow, Abel driving sheep.

5. Cain killeth his brother Abel.

6. Abraham offering his son Isaac.

7. Three wise men of the East guided by a star, who worship him.

8. Joseph and Mary flew away by night upon an ass.

9. King Herod’s cruelty; his men’s spears laden with children.

10. Rich Dives invites his friends, and orders his porter to keep the
beggars from his gate.

11. Poor Lazarus comes a begging at rich Dives’s gate, and the dogs lick
his sores.

12. The good angel and death contend for Lazarus’s life.

13. Rich Dives is taken sick and dieth. He is buried in great solemnity.

14. Rich Dives in hell, and Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom, seen in a most
glorious object, all in machines descending in a throne, guarded with
multitudes of angels, with the breaking of the clouds, discovering the
palace of the sun, in double and treble prospects, to the admiration of
all spectators. Likewise several rich and large figures, with dances,
jiggs, sarabrands, anticks, and country dances between every act:
compleated with the merry humours of Sir John Spendall and Punchanello,
with several other things never yet exposed. Perform’d by Mat. Heatly.
Vivat Regina!”

In Braithwayte’s “Strapado for the Devil,” 8vo. Lond. 1615, p. 161, there
is an allusion to the performance of Mysteries in London in ancient
times:—

  “Saint Bartlemews, where all the pagents showne,
  And all those acts from Adam unto Noe
  Us’d to be represent.”

P. 19, l. 1. Ω.] In MS., _oo_.

P. 22, l. 8. And make the man Adam.] A marginal note on the verso of fol.
74 informs us that Adam was created on the tenth of the calends of April.

P. 27, l. 24. For to hide.] Dr. Marriott, the editor of _A Collection of
English Miracle Plays_, 8vo. Basel, 1838, quotes a play entitled, _The
Travailes of the three English Brothers_, 4to. Lond. 1607, to show that
an exact representation of the primitive state of our forefathers in
the garden of Eden was exhibited on the English stage “as late as the
close of the sixteenth century.” This is an absurd misrepresentation,
and has been founded on an erroneous interpretation of a passage in
the play above-mentioned, which is spoken by Kemp, the actor, in a
conversation with Sir Anthony Sherley. According, however, to one of the
stage directions in the Chester Mysteries, Adam and Eve _stabunt nudi et
non verecundabuntur_; so that, joined with the present passage in the
Coventry Mysteries, there is at least some ground for believing that such
was actually the case at an earlier period.[11]

Dr. Marriott’s mistake has been already noticed by the Rev. A. Dyce, in
his interesting introduction to Kemp’s _Nine Daies Wonder_, reprinted
for the Camden Society, p. xv; and I take the opportunity of introducing
in this place some particulars relating to Kemp, which throw a new light
upon his history, more especially in relation with the above-mentioned
play, and proves that the introduction of the comic actor, and his
interview with Sherley, was strictly founded upon fact. The authors of
the play, indeed, assert in their prologue their intention of

  “Clothing our truth within an argument,
  Fitting the stage and your attention;
  Yet not so hid but that she may appeare
  To be herselfe, even truth.”

But dramatic critics have not given much credit to these professions of
honesty. Mr. Dyce even doubts the fact of Kemp having made a journey on
the continent, and considers the notice in _The Returne from Pernassus_
of his “dancing the morrice over the Alpes,” to be only a “sportive
allusion to his journey to Norwich.” In his _Nine Daies Wonder_, however,
he announces his intention of setting out shortly on a “great journey,”
and in his dedication he seems to allude to a projected journey to Rome.
I have recently discovered a passage in a contemporary diary, which
proves that Kemp actually met with Sir Anthony Shirley at Rome, and that
his “great journey” was not a very profitable speculation. It is as
follows:—“1601, Sept. 2. Kemp, mimus quidam, qui peregrinationem quandam
in Germaniam et Italiam instituerat, post multos errores et infortunia
sua reversus: multa refert de Anthonio Sherly equite aurato, quem Romæ
(legatum Persicum agentem) convenerat.”—MS. Sloan. 392, fol. 401. William
Parry, who was with Shirley in Russia, returned to England in the middle
of September, 1601, as we learn from the account published by Hackluyt;
and it is therefore very probable that Kemp was the first who brought the
news of his proceedings in Persia and Russia. An account of Shirley’s
adventures was published at London in 1613, and a very circumstantial
relation by Manwaring is in MS. Sloan. 110, but neither of these contain
the slightest notice of Kemp’s interview with the ambassador. What we
have given above is, however, quite sufficient to establish its truth,
and “the travell to Rome with the return in certain daies,” mentioned
in Rowley’s _Search for Money_, 1609, doubtlessly alludes to the same
circumstance: and would also seem to imply that he had accomplished his
homeward journey in a short time. Mr. Rimbault has also kindly favoured
me with a copy of the following song from an old MS. in his possession
by Thomas Weelkes, entitled, _Ayres or fantasticke spirites_, which was
printed with some variations in 1608:

  “Since Robin Hood, Maid Marian,
    And little John are gone-a,
  The hobby-horse was quite forgot,
    When Kempe did dance alone-a.
  He did labour after the tabor
  For to dance: then into France
  He tooke paines
    To skip it;
  In hope of gaines
    He will trip it,
        On the toe,
        Diddle, diddle, doe.”

[11] John of Salisbury thus complains of the indelicacy of
actors:—“Quorum adeo error invaluit, ut a præclaris domibus non
arceantur, etiam illi qui obscenis partibus corporis, oculis omnium eam
ingerunt turpitudinem, quam erubescat videre vel Cynicus.”—_De Nugis
Curialium_, lib. i. cap. 8, edit. 1639, p. 34.

P. 31, l. 8. Flammea.] Sic in MS. pro _flammeo_.

P. 37, l. 8. Showe.] So in MS., but perhaps _shove_, which would complete
the rhyme.

P. 38, l. 28. Never.] This word is added to the MS. in a more recent hand.

P. 46, l. 28. This schypp for to make.] A marginal note informs us that
“Noe schyp was in lenght ccc. cubytes, in brede ffyfty, and the heythe
thretty: the flode 15. above hyest montayne.”

P. 59, l. 16. Perhaps this line would be more properly printed thus:—

  “What is your wylle, Lord, fayn wold I wete.”

P. 59, l. 30. The comaundment of thi Lord God.] It is almost unnecessary
to remark that this and the following line are quite distinct from the
stanza, and are intended as a translation of the Latin given above.

P. 61, l. 1. Assumens.] Sic in MS. pro _assumes_.

P. 61, l. 19. Sanctificet.] Sic in MS. pro _sanctificetur_.

P. 62, l. 32. Makaberis.] Sic in MS. pro _mæchabaris_.

P. 64, l. 6. Bos.] Sic in MS. pro _bovem_.

P. 65, l. 13. For to dwelle.] Add a semicolon at the end of this line.

P. 70. THE BARRENNESS OF ANNA.] This pageant is founded on the
apochryphal gospel of the Birth of Mary. The same story is also found in
the Protevangelion of James.

P. 73, l. 27. Catando.] Sic in MS. pro _cantando_.

P. 75, l. 10. Offens.] Place a colon after this word.

P. 79. MARY IN THE TEMPLE.] This pageant is also founded on the
apochryphal gospel of the Birth of Mary.

P. 81, l. 22. Explexendo.] Sic in MS. pro _amplexendo_.

P. 83, l. 28. For.] Perhaps _fere_.

P. 84, l. 29. Dele the comma after the word “bretheryn.”

P. 88, l. 13. In your name Maria.] Lydgate, in MS. Harl. 2255, fol. 141,
has given three similar acrostics of the name of the blessed Virgin.

P. 90, l. 1. Ab Ysakar.] Sic in MS. pro _Abysakar_. This pageant was
privately printed by Mr. Collier, 12mo. Lond. 1836. The argument is taken
from the apochryphal gospel of the Birth of Mary. Lydgate, in the fifth
chapter of his Life of the Virgin, introduces the chief incidents here
employed.

P. 94, l. 29. So.] Perhaps _yow_.

P. 94, l. 31 to p. 95, l. 22. This is added to the MS. in a more recent
handwriting.

P. 97, l. 20. Episcopus comyth, thens Joseph.] Owing to this line being
inserted in the MS. as a stage direction, and the deficiency of the
metre, it has been arranged erroneously. It should be as follows:—

  _Episcopus._ Comyth thens.
  _Joseph._ Sere, he may evyl go, &c.

P. 99, l. 13. Foreschyth.] So in MS. for _floreschyth_.

P. 101, l. 8. Sere, xalle ffulffyl.] The pronoun _I_ is probably omitted
before the word _xalle_.

P. 105. THE SALUTATION AND CONCEPTION.] Part of the argument of this
pageant may be found in the apocryphal gospel of the Birth of Mary. The
incident of the council of the Trinity is given in the _Speculum Vitæ
Christi_, and in Lydgate’s Life of the Virgin.

P. 105, l. 22. Babys.] Probably _balys_.

P. 112, l. 16. This name Eva is turnyd Ave.] Compare MS. Harl. 2255, fol.
140, a poem in praise of the Virgin:

  Heyl sterre of Jacob, glorie of Israelle!
  Eva transfformyd the lettrys wel out sought;
  Into thy closet whan that Gabryelle
  With this wourd Ave hath the tydynges brought.

P. 113, l. 17. But I aske it xal be do.] The word _how_ has probably been
omitted after _aske_.

P. 114, l. 31. Bemys.] Mr. Collier, Hist. Dram. Poet. ii. 176, writes
_bennys_, and considers that the word means _benedicites_. I confess I do
not see the necessity of such an explanation, for it appears simply to
signify _beams_, and there was doubtlessly some contrivance to represent
them on the stage.

P. 117. JOSEPH’S RETURN.] This pageant is founded upon the apochryphal
gospel of the Birth of Mary.

P. 124. THE VISIT TO ELIZABETH.] This pageant is founded upon the
Protevangelion of James.

P. 130, l. 12. Leve.] Dele the semicolon after this word.

P. 131. THE TRIAL OF JOSEPH AND MARY.] This pageant is likewise founded
upon the narrative in the Protevangelion of James.

P. 131, l. 6. Alle the rowte.] The subsequent enumeration of names was
obviously inserted, observes Mr. Collier, “for the sake of producing
merriment among the spectators.” A somewhat similar list of names occurs
in _Cocke Lorelles Bote_, among which I find two, viz., Pers Potter
and Phyllyp Fletcher, that are also in this list. Hone, Marriott, and
Collier, who have quoted this very singular part of these mysteries,
place it at the end of the preceding pageant, but the reason for the
change I have made will be sufficiently obvious on perusal.

P. 131, l. 25. And loke ye rynge wele in your purs.] This is important,
as showing that money was collected for the performances. The author
of a very curious sermon against miracle-plays generally, in a MS. of
the fourteenth century, preserved in the parish library of St. Martin’s
in the Fields, expressly complains of the money that was spent in this
manner:—“So this myraclis pleyinge is verré witnesse of mennus averice
and coveytise byfore, that is maumetrie, as seith the apostele, for that
that thei shulden spendyn upon the nedis of ther neyeboris, thei spenden
upon the pleyis, and to peyen ther rente and ther dette thei wolen
grucche, and to spende two so myche upon ther pley thei wolen nothinge
grucche. Also to gideren men togidere to bien the derre ther vetailis,
and to stiren men to glotonye, and to pride and boost, thei pleyn thes
myraclis, and also to han wherof to spenden on these myraclis, and to
holde felawschipe of glotonye and lecherie in sich dayes of myraclis
pleyinge, thei bisien hem beforn to more gredily bygilen ther neybors,
in byinge and in sellyng; and so this pleyinge of myraclis now on dayes
is werré witnesse of hideous coveytise, that is maumetrie.”—_Reliquiæ
Antiquæ_, vol. ii., p. 54.

P. 135, l. 13. To set a cokewolde on the hye benche.] This appears to
be an allusion to the old ballad of _The Cokwoldes Daunce_, or similar
production. King Arthur was represent as giving the first place at table,
or a seat on the high bench on the daïs, to men of this order—

  “Than seyd thei all at a word,
  That cokwoldes schuld begynne the bord,
          And sytt hyest in the halle.”

The _Cokwoldes Daunce_ is printed in Von Karajan’s Frühlingsgabe, 12mo.
Vienna, 1839.

P. 137, l. 15. “Fayr chylde, lullay,” sone must she syng.] Lullay is a
very common burden to the old nursery songs, one of the oldest of which
is preserved in MS. Harl. 913, and has been printed by Ritson. Sharp has
printed the following, which, as belonging to a Coventry pageant, will be
appropriately introduced in this place:—

  Lully, lulla, thow littell tiné child;
  By, by, lully, lullay, thow littell tyné child:
        By, by, lully, lullay.
  O, sisters too,
  How may we do
        For to preserve this day
  This pore yongling,
  For whom we do singe
        By, by, lully, lullay.

  Herod the king,
  In his raging
        Chargith he hath this day
  His men of might,
  In his owne sight,
        All yonge children to slay.

  That wo is me,
  Pore child for thee,
        And ever morne and say.
  For thi parting,
  Nether say nor singe
        By, by, lully, lullay.

P. 139, l. 16. Now, sere.] This line ought to be pointed thus,

  “Now, sere, evyl thedom com to thi snowte!”

The ignorant transcriber of the MS. has written “Thedom” as a proper
name, which is an evident absurdity.

P. 140, l. 30. Whylle that it dede snow.] The story of the child of
snow was very popular in the middle ages, and is often alluded to. It
is briefly told in Latin verse by Geoffrey de Vinsauf, Nov. Poetr. ap.
Leyser, Hist. Poet. Med. Æv. pp. 901, 903; and at greater length in a
French fabliau of the thirteenth century, printed in the collection of
Méon, tom. iii. p. 215, analysed in Legrand d’Aussy, tom. iii. p. 84. It
occurs at a later period in the celebrated collection, entitled _Les Cent
Nouvelles Nouvelles_ (ed. Le Roux de Lincy, Paris, 1841, tom. i. p. 153),
and in many other similar works composed in Italy and France.

P. 145. THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.] The Protevangelion of James is the
authority for this pageant.

P. 146, l. 1. It is clepyd a chery tre.] This fable of the cherry tree
is the subject of a well known Christmas carol, which has been printed
by Hone, _Ancient Mysteries Described_, p. 90. See also Collier’s Hist.
Dram. Poet. vol. ii. p. 179.

P. 153, l. 2. Ulverando.] Sic in codice MS., sed forte _ululando_.

P. 158, l. 29. This songe begynne.] In old miniatures the shepherds are
often represented playing on bagpipes.

P. 168, l. 13, to p. 170, l. 31. This is added to the original manuscript
in a more recent hand.

P. 192, l. 9. Lyke as the sunne doth pers the glas.] “He lyted within her
as the sonne-shyne thurgh the glas.”—MS. Sloan. 3160, fol. 38.

P. 199, l. 1, to p. 200, l. 30. This is added to the manuscript in a more
recent hand.

P. 199, l. 8. He.] Probably _ye_.

P. 199, l. 24. Ys.] Probably _your_.

P. 210, l. 5. I xal the shewe many a ceté.] It will be observed that, in
the enumeration of countries which follows, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales
are mentioned, with the omission of England, a proof, perhaps, that the
writer had transferred the scene of action into his own country.

P. 217, l. 9. Indeploydo.] So in MS. for _in diploide_, a Latinized form
from the Greek word διπλοις, a double robe; see Glos.

P. 222, l. 17. Jhesus.] This is erased in the MS., and the word “doctor”
substituted in a more recent hand.

P. 235, l. 28. Ther he doth lyve in cave.] For _lyve_ read _lyne_. The
same expression occurs at p. 227, l. ult.

P. 239, l. 16. Berere of lyth.] _i. e._, Lucifer.

P. 242, l. 7. With syde lokkys.] “Over thin eyn and thin here” is here
inserted in the MS.

P. 245, l. 16. Prose.] So in MS., but perhaps it ought to be _profe_.

P. 262, l. 17. With wyld hors lete hym be drawe.] This mode of punishment
was very common in the middle ages. It is again alluded to at p. 290.

P. 275, l. 28. Xad.] So in MS., but probably _shad_, as I do not find _x_
for _sh_ in any similar case.

P. 289, l. 20. Takyn his schaffalde.] We have an early notice of these
vehicles in Chaucer, in the Milleres Tale, where he speaks of the “joly”
clerk Absolon—

  “Somtime to shew his lightnesse and maistrie
  He plaieth Herode on a skaffold hie.”

The parish-clerks, says Tyrwhit, had always a principal share in the
representation of mysteries. See notes to Canterbury Tales, v. 3384,
Sharp’s Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries, p. 17, and Reliquiæ
Antiquæ, vol. i. p. 322.

P. 297, l. 13. Et cantabit gallus.] This was accomplished by one of the
company, and a proficiency in the imitation was probably aimed at and
accomplished. Among the accounts published by Mr. Sharp is the following
entry:—“Paid to Fawston for coc croyng, iiij. d.”—Dissertation, p. 36.

P. 313, l. 4. Whi spekest not me to.] A great deal of this is merely
paraphrased from the vulgate. Pilate “seide to Jhesu, of whenis art thou?
but Jhesus gaf noon answere to him. Pilat seith to him, spekist thou not
to me, wost thou not that I have power to crucifie thee, and I have power
to delivere thee.”—John, chap. xix, Wickliffe’s version.

P. 329. THE DESCENT INTO HELL.] The oldest mystery in the English
language is founded on this subject, a very popular theme, the principal
authority for which is the gospel of Nicodemus. It is related in Piers
Ploughman, ed. Wright, p. 385-393.

The print of Christ harrowing hell, published by Hearne, and the unique
illustration which it affords to two passages in Shakespeare, are too
well known to require a more particular notice.

P. 338. THE RESURRECTION.] The writer of the sermon against mysteries
before quoted is very severe on the performance of so sacred a subject as
the present. “In the dayes of ceremonial religion,” says Lambarde, “they
used at Wytney to set foorthe yearly in manner of a shew or interlude,
the Resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Chryste, partly of purpose to
draw thyther some concourse of people that might spend their money in the
towne, but chiefly to allure by pleasant spectacle the comon sort to the
likinge of Popish maumetrie; for the which purpose, and the more lyvely
thearby to exhibite to the eye the hole action of the Resurrection,
the pristes garnished out certein smalle puppets, representinge the
persons of Christe, the watchmen, Marie, and others, amongest the which
one bare the parte of a wakinge watcheman, who, espiinge Christ to
arise, made a continual noyce, like to the sound that is caused by the
metinge of two styckes, and was thereof comonly called Jack Snacker of
Wytney.”—_Dictionarium Angliæ Topographicum et Historicum_, Lond. 1730,
p. 459.

P. 346, l. 11, 12.

  Harde gatys have I gon,
  And peynes sofryd many on.

These lines bear a very remarkable resemblance to two others in the early
mystery of the Harrowing of Hell, recently printed, and would lead us
to think that the author of the Coventry play had had the other in his
recollection:—

  “Hard gates havy gon,
  Sorewen soffred mony on.”—p. 15.

P. 361, l. 27. To stey to my fadyr.] “Touche me not yet, for I have not
yet stied up to my fadir; but go to my brethren and seie to them, I stie
to my fadir and to youre fadir, to my God and to youre God.”—John, xx.
Wickliffe’s translation.

P. 362, l. 21. But now in herte.] This and the following twenty-one lines
are repeated in the MS. in a different hand.

P. 383. THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN. The whole of this pageant is
written in a more recent hand, of the time, I should think, of Henry
VIII. It will be observed that this composition differs considerably from
the other plays.

P. 402, l. 1. Clamavit.] The Latinity throughout the MS. is very bad, but
I have suffered it generally to remain as a criterion of the reliance to
be placed upon the MS. text.




CORRECTIONS OF THE MS. AND ERRATA.


Transcriber’s Note: The errata have been corrected, except for the one
about repeated lines. (The lines are indeed repeated. It’s just not clear
what the author thinks you should do about it.)

P. 10, l. 21. After _adultrye_ add semicolon.—P. 18, l. 5. For _therin_
read _ther in_.—P. 35, l. 22. For _deynful_ read _deyn ful_.—P. 65, l.
13. Add a full stop after _dwelle_.—P. 68, l. 27. For _shepeof_ read
_shepe of_.—P. 75, l. 10. Add a semicolon after _offens_.—P. 84, l. 6.
Dele _with_.—P. 91, l. 31. For _grannt_ read _graunt_.—P. 96, l. 6.
_Our_, forte _your_.—P. 101, l. 16. For _infere_ read _in fere_.—P. 101,
l. 30. For _allemanere_ read _alle manere_.—P. 103, l. 13. For _besteryd_
read _be steryd_.—P. 108, l. 19. Seyth be, _forte_ subtyl.—P. 131, l. 25.
For _ryngewele_ read _rynge wele_.—P. 145, l. 4. For _trybutehym_ read
_trybute hym_.—P. 154, l. 29. For _yourspede_ read _your spede_.—P. 156,
l. 17. For _asyne_ read _a syne_.—P. 238, l. 1. For _allewith_ read _alle
with_. P. 256, l. 16-19. These lines are repeated from p. 252.—P. 263, l.
8. For _behis_ read _be his_.—P. 283, l. 15. As, _forte_ and.—P. 385, l.
30. After _ded_ add a comma.




GLOSSARY.


The Arabic numerals refer to the pages of the volume. Words of frequent
occurrence have a limited number of references, and those which are
exceedingly common have none. Many of the words in this Glossary may be
found in Chaucer and contemporary writers.


A, sometimes signifies with, and before a verb is sometimes used for to.

A, sometimes have, as “a ffayled,” 45, have failed, and in several other
places.

A, sometimes a corruption of on or in, and occasionally at.

A, ah! an interjection of very frequent occurrence.

Abyde, stay, remain.

Accende, 214, animate, Lat.

Acorde, accord, agree.

Adawe, _vide_ dawe.

Adown, down.

Adred, afraid.

Advowtrye, 216, adultery.

Ageyn, again.

Aglottes, 241. This word is used to denote the tags or metal sheathings
of the points which were formerly so much in fashion. _See_ Palsgrave’s
Esclarcissement, “agglet of a lace or poynt, fer.”

Agresyth, 331, Agrise, _i. e._, to shudder, or to make to shudder; so
“agresyth me,” makes me shudder. See also p. 41.

Agryse, 159, see agresyth.

Aȝens, against.

Alye, 145, kindred.

Alle-be-dene, 4, by and by, forthwith. See Sir Fred. Madden’s Havelok,
730, 2841, and glos. in voc.

Allether, 14, 230, gen. pl. of all.

Alleredy, all ready.

Altheris, 202, of you all.

Althing, 57, every thing.

Amat, 294, dismayed. Chaucer and Shakespeare use the verb mate, which is
doubtlessly the same. _See_ The Knightes Tale, l. 957, and second part of
Henry VI., act. iii. sc. i.

Amonge, at intervals. Answers to the Latin word “mixtim.”

Amoure, 50, love.

An, and.

And, if.

Anow, enough.

Anvempnyd, 75, envenom.

Apayed, 67, pleased, contented.

Apert, open.

Apertly, openly.

Aqwyte, 335, requite.

Are, 44, hare.

Aren, _vide_ arn.

Arere, 132, 215, stir up. P. 240, raise up.

Aresyn, arisen.

Areste, 91, arrest.

Arn, are.

Arnde, errand, message.

Arneys, 283, harness.

Arryn, 316, seize.

Arwe, arrow.

Asayn, assay.

Askuse, 2, excuse.

Asmatryk, 189, arithmetic. This word is used by Chaucer and Lydgate,
and occurs as late as the year 1594 in John Davis’s “Seaman’s Secrets,”
epist. ded. See also Chaucer’s Cant. Tal. v. 1900, ed. Tyrwhitt, and
note, where he quotes a passage from the Cottonian manuscript of “the
Sevyn Sages of Rome,” in which the same word occurs.

Asoyle, 38, resolve. Mr. Hunter, in the additions to Boucher, points
out the two meanings of this word from Palsgrave, _viz_., absolve, and
resolve. It is here used in the latter sense.

Aspye, 249, espy.

Astat, 12, estate.

Asyse, 60, assize. Hence, judgment; as in a passage quoted by Stevenson
from an Edinburgh MS. in the additions to Boucher.

At, that.

Atent, 4, intention.

Atreyd, 350, frightened. This may be a mistake for “afreyd.” I find the
same word, however, in The Kyng of Tars, 604—

  “He sturte him up in a breyd,
  In his herte sore atrayyed.”

In which place it probably means vexed, angered, as in The Seven Sages,
1867, from “tray.” Ritson absurdly explains it poison’d, from the Saxon
attred.

Atwin, in two, asunder.

Augrym, 189, algorism, arithmetic. This is a corruption from the Arabic,
and is often found in works on arithmetic after the Boetian system of
contractions was superseded by the eastern notation. See the curious
etymologies of this word in Rara Mathematica, pp. 1, 72, and 94.

Autecer, 88, ancestor. It here alludes to the first parent. This word
is not yet obsolete in the North-West Riding of Yorkshire. See Hunter’s
Hallamshire Glossary.

Autere, altar.

Avantorsly, peradventure, by chance. “Awnterowsly, forte, fortasse,
forsan, forsitan,” Prompt. Parv.

Aved, had.

Averte, 88, averter, turner away.

Avyse, advice.

Avyse, to consider. “Avise yow wele,” _i. e._, look well to yourselves.

Avoyd, 131, move away.

Avoutrie, _vide_ Advowtrye.

Avowe, a vow. “Avowe, votum,” Prompt. Parv.

Awey, away.

Awtere, altar.

Ay, ever, aye, always.


Bad, 164, bold.

Baftys, 180.

Baye, 180, set at bay. See Sir F. Madden’s Glos. to William and the
Werwolf.

Bayle, 292, custody, government. Cant. Tales, v. 7574.

Bayn, 173, 178, ready.

Bale, 30, sorrow, misery.

Balys, 105, plural of “bale.”

Balys, 210, bales.

Balke, 343, a ridge of land between two burrowes, Cotgrave. “Balke of a
londe eryd, porca,” Prompt. Parv. See Boucher’s Glossary, in voc.

Bane, bone.

Bairn, child.

Barne, 160, 168, 180, 182, &c. _Vide_ bairn.

Baron, 182, _vide_ bairn.

Barrany, barren.

Bat, 12, debate.

Bath, both.

Batte, 296, stroke. So it may be interpreted in this place, but
see Stevenson’s additions to Boucher, in voc. bat. “Batte-staffe,
perticulus,” Prompt. Parv.

Be-dene, 2, 4, 7, 62, 161, immediately, moreover, collectively.

Beetes, 22, beets. “Betys herbe, beta,” Prompt. Parv.

Befforn, before.

Begchis, 384, bitches.

Behest, promised. “I have beheste, voto nuncupavi,” Hormanni Vulgaria,
fol. 3.

Behestes, promises.

Be-lyff, 181, quickly, instantly.

Belle, 189. To bere the belle, _i. e._, to carry the prize; a proverbial
expression, which occurs also in Chaucer’s Troilus and Cresseide, 199.

Belle, 18, clock.

Bemys, beams.

Benethe, 145, begin.

Benyson, 86, benediction, blessing.

Bent, subject.

Bent, a bending or declivity.

Berde, 300, lady, damsel. A word often applied to a young female in old
English poetry. By metathesis it is brid, and hence the modern term
“bride.” See Sir F. Madden’s Glos. to Havelok, in voc. Chaucer, however,
in the Romaunt of the Rose, 1014, uses the word “birde” for “bride” in
its present signification.

Beryelys, 18, tombs. See the last edition of Dugdale’s Monast. vi. 1537,
where the first portion of these mysteries has been inserted.

Berynt, 316, bear.

Berys, 352, bears.

Be-seyn, 249, appear.

Best, beast.

Be-stad, 77, 329, placed, circumstanced. I am not quite certain of its
meaning in the first of these instances, but the word “accomplished” will
suit the context. _Vide_ Boucher’s Glossary in voc., who remarks that “no
precise, constant meaning seems ever to have been attached to this word.”
In the Prompt. Parv. is the following valuable notice of this word,
“Be-stad, or withholdyn yn wele or wo.”

Besy, busy.

Besynes, business.

Betake, 72, deliver, commit. See Boucher’s Glossary, in voc. _Vide_
be-teche, which appears to be exactly the same word, differing only in
the spelling.

Bete, 180.

Bete, bit.

Be-teche, 70, commit, recommend. To commit to the charge or protection of
another.

Betyde, 47, happen.

Bett, better.

Bewray, 218, betray.

Bewté, beauty.

By, sometimes used for “in.”

Byche, bitch. Byche-clowte, 218, baggage. It is not easy to gloss this
old slang.

Bydyng, 22, dwelling.

Bylde, 20, make.

Bylle, 41, book.

Birthene, burden.

Bysmare, 140, 217, shameless person. Generally used as an adjective, as
by Chaucer in Canterbury Tales.

Byth, bite.

Blaberyn, 164, 384, talk idly. “Blaberyn or speke withowte resoun,
blatero,” Prompt. Parv.

Ble, 20, generally means complexion. “Bryth as ble,” should probably be
“bryth of ble,” _i. e._, bright of complexion. See Kyng of Tars, l. 368,
“Heo that was so bryht of ble.”

Blenke, blink, a wink of the eye in derision.

Blere, 98, dim.

Blyff, 13, _vide_ be-lyff.

Blyn, 338, cease.

Blythe, 24, 167, gay.

Blome, 65, bloom, blossom.

Blosme, blossom.

Blosme, to blossom.

Bobbyd, 332, struck.

Boyst, 356, box. Fr.

Bonden, bound.

Bondmen, husbandmen.

Bone, boon, prayer, request.

Bone, 28, order.

Boot, 30, _vide_ Bote.

Boot, 29, bit.

Borys, 319, boars.

Borwe, borrow.

Bot, but.

Bote, 4, 162, salvation, safety, help.

Boure, bower, chamber.

Bord, table, board.

Bow, bough.

Bowne, 264, ready.

Brayde, 231, start. “Within a brayde,” is a proverbial expression for
rapidity, and occurs in Chaucer’s Romaunt of the Rose, v. 1336. See also
above in the note on the word “atreyd.”

Brake, 22, fern. “Filix, ferne or brekans,” Ortus Vocabulorum. “Brake
herbe or ferne, filix,” Prompt. Parv.

Brast, burst.

Bredys, 270, breads.

Breganders, brigandiers.

Breke, break.

Brennyng, burning.

Brent, burnt.

Brere, 355, briar. “Bowndyn in brere” alludes of course to the crown of
thorns.

Brethellys, 308, wretches, worthless people of either sex.

Brybour, 183, beggar.

Brydde, bird.

Brynnys, 162, streams.

Bryst, breast.

Bronde, 52, brand.

Brothel, 217, _vide_ brethellys.

Buske, 158, go.

But, without. “By” and “with” are often synonymous with this preposition.

But, except, unless.

Buxum, 22, 52, obedient, courteous.


Cadace, 241, Cadiz.

Cadens, 189, cadence.

Caisar, _vide_ Kayser.

Calabere, 242, cloth of Calabria.

Calde, called.

Cammaka, 163, a kind of cloth. See Spelmanni Glossarium, pp. 88, 97. In
the time of Edward III. they made the church vestments of this material.

Careyn, 48, carrion.

Carys, 218, cares.

Carnalle, 194, earthly.

Carpynge, 166, talking, speech, narration.

Cast, 129, plan.

Caton, 189, the Disticha Catonis, a book greatly read in the middle ages.

Cessacion, 107, ceasing.

Ceteceyn, citizen.

Chaffare, 266, barter, generally used a substantive, meaning
“merchandize.”

Chalys, 276, chalice.

Chare, 325, 359, frighten, scare.

Charle, 139, churl, slave, villain.

Chase, 23, enchase.

Chawmere, 115, chamber.

Chavyl bone, 37, cheek bone. Prompt. Parv. Mandibula, _i. e._, maxilla.

Cheke, 306, check.

Cheselys, 56, gravel, sand. Wickliffe uses the word “gravel” for “sand,”
in Gen. xx. “Chysel or gravel,” Prompt. Parv.

Cheve, 160, succeed.

Cheverelle, 241, kid leather, leather made of goat’s skin. “Cheverell
lether, cheverotin,” Palsgrave. “Cuir chevreul,” Cotgrave. “Cheverelle
leddare,” Prompt. Parv. Used by Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act iii. sc.
1, and frequently in an allegorical sense.

Chevesauns, 242, provision. Explained in the Promptorium Parvulorum by
the word “providentia,” _i. e._, studium.

Chevetyn, chieftain.

Chyse, 180, choice.

Claryfieth, 103, lighteneth.

Clenche, 385, cling together.

Clepyd, 113, called.

Clergye, 193, erudition.

Clyne, 114, incline.

Clowdys, 402, clods.

Clowte, 98, 139, knock.

Clowte, 218, a term of reproach, _vide_ Byche.

Comeryd, cumbered.

Comperycion, comparison.

Conceyte, 70, conception.

Conseyl, counsel.

Conserve, 70, preserve.

Contrye, country.

Cordewan, 241, Cordovan, a Spanish leather, so called from Corduba.
“His shoon of Cordewane,” Sire Thopas. Shoes made of this leather were
articles of luxury.

Cors, 342, corpse.

Cost, coast, region.

Costyous, 241, costly.

Cote, 96, cot, cottage.

Countyrfe, 241, contrive.

Coverte, 140, covering.

Covnawnt, 299, covenant.

Cowdel, 139, caudle.

Cownce, 313, counsel.

Cowthe, 103, kind.

Craftys, 180.

Crenseyn, 241, crimson.

Cressetys, 270, 283, cressets. “Crucibulum, a lanterne or a cresset,” MS.
Harl. 1000. An open lamp, exhibited on a beacon, carried upon a pole,
or otherwise suspended. “Falor, a cressit light (such as they use in
play-houses) made of ropes wreathed, pitched, and put into small and open
cages of iron”—Cotgrave.

Crofte, 36, yard.

Crook, 209, _vide_ Kyng Alysaunder, 6193.

Cunnyng, 2, knowledge.

Curyng, covering. “Curyne or hyllynge,” Prompt. Parv. _Vide_ Hylle.

Cursyd, accursed.

Curteys, 161, courteous.

Cus, 88, kiss.


Dalyawnce, 135, 369.

Damisele, damsel.

Dawe, 291, 294, down.

Dawe, 298, dawn.

Dawncyn, 319, dance.

Dede, dead.

Defawth, fault.

Defendyd, 322, offended.

Delacion, delay.

Dele, part.

Deliberacion, 130, consideration. “Good deliberacion” here means “kind
consideration.”

Delve, 32, dig.

Delvyng, 32, digging.

Delyre, 204, delay.

Delyte, delight.

Dem, 250, condemn.

Demyd, 29, judged, condemned.

Dempt, damned.

Dene, den.

Dentys, blows, strokes.

Dere, dear.

Dere, 61, 63, injure.

Derrere, dearer.

Dette, due.

Deve, 166, deafen.

Develys, devils.

Devyd, 348, deafened.

Devys, device.

Devoyde, 243, absent.

Dew, due.

Dyght, 94, prepared.

Dymysellys, 100, damsels.

Dyng, 31, strike down.

Dyngne, 164, worthy.

Dyntys, blows, strokes.

Diplois, 217. See notes, p. 414. “Lynynge of clothe, deploys-dys,”
Prompt. Parv. “Surtout double,” Gall. _Vide_ Ducange, in voc.

Dyrthe, 186, dearth.

Dyscres, decrease.

Dyscryve, 190, descry.

Dispite, 2, contempt.

Dysprave, 285, 350, disprove.

Dysspice, despise.

Dysteyn, 61, 215, disdain.

Dyswary, 383, doubt.

Dyth, 18, prepare, make ready.

Do, don. The various uses of this verb in English and Scotch, in an
auxiliary, active, and passive sense, have been pointed out by Tyrwhitt,
in his Essay on the Versification of Chaucer. See also Sir Fred. Madden’s
Glossaries to Havelok, and William and the Werwolf.

Doctrynal, 189, a popular book of the middle ages.

Doyl, 47, dole, sorrow.

Dolfoly, 35, sorrowfully.

Dolowre, grief.

Dome, 349, judgement.

Domys, 189, judgments, opinions. “Dome, judicium,” Prompt. Parv.

Dompnesse, dumbness.

Donjoone, 21, dungeon.

Doungenys, 308, dungeons.

Douteres, daughters.

Dowcet, 24, dulcet, sweet.

Dowe, dove.

Dowse, 90, _vide_ Dowcet.

Dowte, 5, 10, fear.

Dowtere, daughter.

Dowty, 163, mighty.

Dowtynes, 161, mightyness.

Dreynt, 43, drowned.

Drepe, 170, drop. I believe this to be the right interpretation, although
it may possibly be a singular instance of the primitive meaning of
the verb “drepe,” which frequently occurs in early English writers,
meaning “to kill.” If the writer of this passage means to say that the
three kings were drowned in oblivion, it would almost realize Lye’s
interpretation of the Saxon “dresse,” which he explains by “lethi causa.”
In Cædmon we read “on gemynd-drepend” applied to Noah in his drunkenness.
See Thorpe’s edition, p. 94.

Dresse, 217, prepare.

Drewe, 36, 405, love, friendship.

Drowe, 239, drew.

Dulfulle, 228, doleful.

Dwelle, 3, dwell, give attention. So in the Sevyn Sages, 1,

  “Lordynges that here likes to dwell,
  Leves yowr speche and heres this spell.”

Dwere, doubt.


Echone, each one.

Edyfy, 252, 256, edify.

Efne, 278, heaven.

Efte, again.

Eyd, 325, heed.

Eyen, eyn, eyne, eyes.

Eylsum, 93, wholesome, sound.

Eyte, 129, eight.

Eyted, 83, eighth.

Eyzil, 325, vinegar.

Empere, 201, emperor.

Enchesone, _vide_ incheson.

Ende, _vide_ Hende.

Ensens, 162, incense.

Enspyre, inspire.

Erbys, herbs.

Erdon, 282, errand.

Erst, 105, else.

Ertheleche, earthly.

Earthepwave, 331, earthquake.

Everyche, every.

Everychone, every one.

Evy, heavy.

Exys, 270, axes.


Fad, 24, fed.

Fader, father.

Fay, faith, truth.

Fayer, fair.

Fayn, glad, joyful.

Falfage, 39, a mistake in the MS. for “falsage.”

Fals, false.

Falsed, 10, baffled.

Fame, 139, defame.

Famyt, 105, famished.

Fare, 162, go. This word is very common in early English.

Faryn, 89, fare.

Faryn, 163, gone.

Fawe, 293, glad. _Vide_ fayn. The same form of the word occurs in Kyng of
Tars, 1058.

Fawte, fault.

Fawth, want.

Fe, 183, money. Tyrwhitt says that this word is sometimes used to signify
inheritable possessions, in contradistinction to money or moveables. See
Lydgate’s Minor Poems, p. 117.

Feble, feeble.

Feetly, 135, fitly, properly.

Fey, faith.

Feynnesse, feebleness.

Feythful, 375, believing.

Feythnnesse, 44, feebleness.

Felachep, fellowship.

Felawes, fellows, companions.

Fele, many, often.

Fele, very.

Felle, 188, skin.

Felle, fierce.

Felle, 65, overcome.

Fellere, 159, destroyer.

Fenaunce, 223, end.

Fend, fiend.

Fenne, 166, 264, fen. “Fenne, labina,” Prompt. Parv.

Fer, far.

Ferd, feared.

Ferde, 117, fared.

Fere, 91, companion.

Fere, fire.

Fere, fear.

Fere, far.

Ferforthe, 126, henceforth.

Feryng, fearing.

Ferly, 17, wonderful.

Feste, feast.

Fett, fetch.

Fygwryth, figureth.

Fylt, 112, filled.

Fise, 385.

Fyth, fight.

Fytt, 186, a division or part in music. See Percy’s Reliques, Tyrwhitt’s
Chaucer, gloss. in voc. fit., Sir F. Madden’s gloss. to Sir Gawayne, in
voc., and the old ballad of King Estmere.

Flem, 280, banish. _Vide_ Chaucer’s Manciples Tale, “and appetit flemeth
discretion.”

Flyth, flight.

Flom, river.

Florens, 167, florins, francs. Ancient French coins.

Floure, flower.

Flowe, 3, flowed.

Foyson, 66, 89, abundance.

Folys, fools.

Folwe, follow.

Folwyth, followeth.

Fomen, 56, foes.

Fon, 12, foes.

Fond, 25, try.

Fonge, 41, 243, undertake.

Fonnyng, 304, temptation.

Fonnys, 367, foolish.

Food, 149, offspring.

Fop, 295, fool. “Foppe, folet, fatuellus, stolidus, follus,” Prompt. Parv.

For, notwithstanding.

Fordere, 240, further.

Fordone, ruined, destroyed.

For-fare, 47, perish.

Forgeten, forgot.

Forlorn, 7, utterly lost.

Former, 159, creator.

For-than, 64, therefore.

For-thy, 120, therefore, on this account.

Foulyng, 306, wretch.

Frayth, 15, affrayeth, caused fear to.

Fre, 3, 8, noble.

Freke, 30, fellow. This word generally occurs in a bad sense.

Frelnes, 108, frailty.

Frenchep, friendship.

Fryth, 264, an inclosed wood. See Sir F. Madden’s gloss. to Sir Gawayne,
in voc.

Fryhthis, 167, 183, possessions, as distinguished from money.

Fro, from.

Fruyssyon, fruition.

Fulfyllyd, 125, 127, filled full.

Fullyche, fully.


Gadere, gather.

Game, 133, sport.

Gan, began.

Gate, 51, way.

Gatys, 346, ways.

Geawunt, 15, giant.

Gebettys, 290, gibbets.

Gendyr, 61, engender.

Gent, 135, gentle.

Gerlys, 181, children (of either sex). Knave gerlys, male children.

Gerthe, 186, girth.

Gesyne, 150, parturition, childbirth. “Gesine, a lying in childbed, a
lying in,” Cotgrave.

Geste, guest.

Gett, gotten.

Gyde, guide.

Gyldyn, golden.

Gynne, 44, trap.

Gynne, begin.

Gynnyng, beginning.

Gyse, 118, fashion.

Glade, 168, fine.

Glathe, 171, welcome.

Glete, 165.

Glevys, 270, glaives, swords.

Glose, 9, gloss.

Godys, 34, goods.

Gomys, 384, gums.

Gonge, 345, little house.

Gost, spirit.

Governawns, 135, conduct.

Gowys, 179, _vide_ Golkys.

Grame, 2, 27, anger.

Gramercy, 56, thanks.

Grave, 227, buried.

Gre, great.

Grede, 181, cry.

Grees, 82, 85, steps. “Siste gradum, abide thor at grees,” Reliquiæ
Antiquæ, vol. i. p. 8.

Greff, grief.

Gres, grass.

Gyrlle, 230, angry.

Grym, 69, cruel. “Gryme, gryl, and horrable, horridus,” Prompt. Parv. “He
loked grymly or angerly,” Hormanni Vulgaria.

Gryscysme, 189, an educational book of the time.

Gryse, _vide_ agryse.

Grythe, 7, peace. Perhaps it ought to be spelt gyrthe, which would
complete the rhyme; and yet it occurs similarly in the Townley Mysteries,
p. 140.

Gronyn, 95, groan.

Groundyd, 1, foundation.

Grugge, 228, grumble. _See_ “The Voiage and Travaile of Sir John
Maundevile,” ed. 1839, p. 57. “Grucchyd, murmuratus,” Prompt. Parv.

Grw, 179, Greek.

Gun, 11, began.


Ha, 163, hedge.

Halle, 303, all.

Hals, 342, neck.

Halse, 323, embrace. From the Saxon hals, _i. e._, the neck, but used
generally.

Halwe, 61, hallow, sanctify.

Happys, 182, fortunes.

Haras, 147, a stud of horses. A “hous of haras” merely means a “stable.”
The following definition of this word is given in a poem of the reign
of Edward II., MS. Trin. Coll. Cantab. B. 14, 40:—“Haras seyth man of
coltys.”

Hardaunt, 15, courageous.

Harlot, 217. This word is applied to either sex. “Scurra, a harlotte,”
Reliquiæ Antiquæ, vol. i. p. 7.

Harpe, 181.

Harwere, 160, harrower.

Hastow, hast thou.

Hat, 13, hast.

Hatede, hated.

Hede, hide.

Hedyr, hither.

Hefly, 255, heavenly.

Hefne, heaven.

Heyde, hide.

Heylyght, 139, aileth.

Heyn, 237, heaven.

Heyn, 179.

Hele, health.

Helme, helmet. “Galea, a helme,” Reliquiæ Antiquæ, vol. i. p. 7.

Helmes, alms.

Hem, 30, home.

Hem, them.

Hende, 5, 174, fair.

Hendyng, ending.

Hendyr, 89, more gentle.

Hens, hence.

Hent, 12, 94, taken, take.

Herborwe, 147, habitation, lodging. Used by Chaucer. See Cant. Tales, ed.
Tyrwhitt, glos. in voc.

Herdys, 159, shepherds.

Here, their.

Here, 6, hear.

Here, her.

Here, 226, hair.

Hest, 17, command.

Hete, 185, hit.

Hevy, sorrowful.

Hevyly, sad.

Hevyn, heaven.

Hey, high.

Hy, hie.

Hy, high.

Hyȝer, higher.

Hyght, 6, be called.

Hylle, 38, 253, cover, conceal. A Somersetshire word.

Hylte, 401, concealed.

Hoberd, 179, 325, a satirical term. It is used also in the curious old
poem on the Man in the Moon, printed in my Introduction to Shakespeare’s
Mids. Night’s Dream, p. 54.

Hol, 284, whole.

Hoo, who.

Hool, whole.

Host, 282.

Howe, 99, ought.

Howyth, 97, ought.

Howlott, 179, owl. See Hunter’s Hallamshire Glossary, p. 52.

Howte, 182, howl.

Howtyn, 179, hoot.


I or Y, at the beginning of a word, represents the Saxon prepositive
“ge,” and, when it occurs, is most frequently prefixed to the participle
past. See Sir F. Madden’s Glos. to William and the Werwolf.

I-crake, 342, probably a mistake in the manuscript for “to crake,” which
will make better sense.

I-fownde, 158, 179, found.

I-knowe, 141, known.

Inbasset, 77, embassy.

Incheson, 116, cause. “Enchesone or cause,” Prompt. Parv.

Indute, 204, clothed, indued (indutus, Lat.)

I-now, 385, enough.

Inportable, 291, unbearable.

Intille, into.

I-prest, 384, pressed. Perhaps this is an error in the manuscript for
“and prest.”

I-wys, truly, certainly. The Saxon adjective gewis, used adverbially. Sir
Frederick Madden “doubts whether it was not regarded as a pronoun and
verb by the writers of the fifteenth century.” V. Gloss. to Sir Gawayne,
in voc.


Jape, jest. Sometimes, as at p. 118, used in an obscene sense. “Mokkyn,
or japyn, or tryfelyn, ludifico,” Prompt. Parv.

Jebet, gibbet.

Jematrye, 189, geometry. A curious document, which affords a very good
illustration of geometry in England at this period, is printed in Rara
Mathematica, p. 56-71.

Jentylle, gentle, of noble birth, or breeding.

Juré, Jewry.

Jurediccyon, 302, jurisdiction.


Kage, 162, 166, cage, stall.

Kayser, 183, emperor.

Keude, kind.

Kendely, 34, natural.

Kerchere, 54, kerchief.

Kerchy, 318, kerchief.

Kydde, 49, known.

Kyknytes, 180, knights.

Kynrede, kindred.

Kyrke, 178, church.

Kyrtyl, 163, 310. “Kyrtyl, tunica,” Prompt. Parv. See Gifford’s Jonson,
vol. ii. p. 260.

Kyth, 159, native country.

Kythe, 180, make known.

Knad, 384, knife.

Knaggyd, 384, hanged.

Knave, 151, servant.

Knelende, 74, kneeling.

Knyt, 19, joined.

Knytes, knights.

Knop, 245, knob.

Know, 169, acknowledge.

Knowlage, 123, acknowledge.

Kold, 168, slain.

Kok, cock.

Kow, 299, cow.

Krepe, creep.

Kure, 54, cover.

Kusse, 78, kiss.

Kutte, 218, cut.


Lacche, 29, catch, take.

Lay, 161, law.

Lake, 387, den.

Langage, language. Hence, 40, dispute.

Lappyd, 125, were enfolded. “Lappyn or whappyn in clothys, involvo;
lappyn as howndys, lambo,” Prompt. Parv.

Las, 29, lace.

Lave, 98, washed.

Leche, physician.

Ledys, 183, people.

Lef, leave.

Leff, 267, well.

Leysere, 321, leisurely.

Lende, 169, tarry. See Sir F. Madden’s Glos. to Sir Gawayne, in voc.

Lenyalle, lineal.

Lent, 190, given.

Lere, learn.

Lernyst, 103, teachest.

Les, falsehood.

Lesyng, lying.

Lesse, 223, be lessened.

Lest, 333, list, desire.

Lestyght, lasteth.

Lestyng, lasting.

Lete, 25, lose.

Lett, 121, 369, hinder.

Lettyng, 5, 33, hindrance.

Leve, 31, dear.

Levyn, 156, sky.

Levyng, living.

Levyr, 120, rather.

Levys, leaves.

Lyberary, 88, bible.

Lycorys, 22, liquorice.

Lyff, life.

Lyme, 170, limb.

Lymyd, 63, ensnared, caught as with bird-lime. Chaucer, Cant. Tales,
6516, uses the word in the same manner.

Lympe, lump.

Lynage, lineage.

Lyne, lie.

Lynyacion, 189, measuring.

Lyste, 154, listen.

Lyste, 171, pleasure.

Lythe, 166, lies.

Lofflyere, 161, more lovely.

Lofsumere, 161, more worthy.

Logge, 29, lodge.

Logyd, 11, lodged.

Lokyn, 19, 29, &c., locked.

Lombe, lamb.

Longe, belong.

Lore, 37, doctrine.

Lorn, 55, destroyed.

Losel, 37, wretch. The word occurs as late as the year 1627 in the old
play of Apollo Shroving, p. 80, and once in Shakespeare, Winter’s Tale,
act ii. sc. 3.

Loth, loath.

Lothfolest, 75, most loathsome.

Loveday, 111. A day appointed for the amicable arrangement of
differences. See Tyrwhitt’s Notes to Chaucer, v. 260. “Loveday, dies
sequestra,” Prompt. Parv.

Lovely, 1, good people. The latter word is understood.

Lovelyest, 183, most dear, precious.

Loverd, lord.

Lowh, 24, smiles.

Lowlyté, 355, loyalty.

Lowte, 59, 206, bow, bow down.

Lowth, 137, 166, obey, worship.

Lullyd, 182, lolled.

Lullynge, 182, lolling.

Lurdeyn, 45, clown. Generally used as an expression of contempt, as at p.
184.

Lusty, 74, pleasant.


Maculacion, 138, spot, stain, Lat.

Mahownde, Mahomet. _Vide_ Ducange, in voc.

Mayn, might, strength.

Maystryes, 211, skill.

Make, mate, companion.

Males, 106, evils.

Manace, 41, danger.

Manas, 21, _vide_ manace.

Mansclawth, 312, manslaughter.

Maryn, 99, marry.

Marryn, 163, hurt.

Masangere, messenger.

Matere, matter.

Matere, 383, womb.

Mawndé, 11, 259, Maunday.

May, maid.

Mede, 55, 352, merit, reward.

Medys, 183, rewards, merits.

Medyl-erth, 30, world.

Meef, 243, move.

Mekyl, much.

Melle, 21, mix, join.

Mende, mind.

Mendys, 240, remembrances.

Meny, 270, company, followers. “Meny of howsholde, familia,” Prompt.
Parv. This word, says Sir F. Madden, is to be found in every English
writer from the time of Layamon to Shakespeare.

Menyht, meaneth.

Mere, 171, 355, place, boundary. “Meer-marke betwene ij. londys, meta,”
Prompt. Parv.

Meryer, merrier.

Merthis, mirths.

Merveylyd, marvelled.

Mete, 101, measure.

Methe, 157, mouth.

Myre, 169, myrrh.

Myrkenes, 230, darkness. “Myrkenesse, or derkenesse, tenebrositas,”
Prompt. Parv.

Myschevyd, 107, wicked.

Mysse, 43, wrong.

Myth, might.

Mokador, 190, a bib. “Baverette, a bib, mocket, or mocketer, to put
before the bosome of a (slavering) child,” Cotgrave.

Molde, earth.

Mone, moon.

Moote, 4, contention.

Morny, 104, mourning.

Mornyng, mourning.

Morwy, morning.

Mot, must.

Mot-halle, 298, court, judgement-hall. “Moote halle, prætorium,” Prompt.
Parv.

Mowe, 325, mouth.

Mullynge, 160, pretty boy.

Muste, 382, new wine. See Wickliffe, Acts ii. 13, ap. Collier’s Hist.
Dram. Poet. vol. ii. p. 221.


Nale, 61, ale-house. See Tyrwhitt’s Gloss. to Cant. Tales, in voc.
This author supposes “at the nale,” in the few passages in which it is
found, to be a corruption which has arisen from the mispronunciation and
consequent miswriting of atte nale for atten ale.

Negremauncye, 189, necromancy. This does not exactly imply the modern
term. “He is all sette to nygrymancy and conjurynge, addictus est
mathematicæ,” Hormanni Vulgaria.

Neyhand, 172, approach, nigh at hand.

Nempe, 53, name.

Nesche, 32, tender.

Nevene, 173, name.

Ny, nigh.

Nome, 96, taken.

Norche, 208, nourish.

Norchych, nourisheth.

Noth, nought.

Nowthty, naughty.

Num, 158, took. See Nome.


O, one.

Oblocucyon, 70, interruption, Lat.

Oyn, 14, eyes.

Olyff, 196, in life, alive.

On, in, as “on sondyr,” 45, and other places.

Onbokylle, 200, unbuckle.

Onethys, 147, &c., scarcely, with difficulty.

Onhangyd, 305, unhanged.

Ony, 103, honey.

Onys, once.

Onyth, 242, in night, at night time.

Oo, one.

Or, before.

Ordenaryes, 87, ordinances.

Ore, 78, mercy, grace, favour. “Thyn ore,” a common expression,
signifying “with thy favour.” See Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, ed.
Tyrwhitt, v. 3724, and notes.

Ortografye, 189, orthography.

Ostage, 147, hostage, lodging.

Over, 385, too.

Overest, 307, uppermost.

Over-throwyht, 74, overthrows.

Ovyr-lede, 262, over-reach, overbear. “Do not the people oppresse, nor
overlede,” Lydgate’s translation of Boccace, v. 104.

Ovyrsen, oversee.

Ovyth, 52, behoveth.

Owe, 28, own.

Owyn, own.

Owtrage, 62, outrageous.

Oyn, eyn, eyes.


Pace, 14, 120, pass.

Pad, 164, toad.

Padde, 185, _vide_ pad.

Paddok, 164, a large toad. A distinction is here drawn between the
“paddok” and the “pad,” the meaning of which is obvious. “Vana, paddoke,”
Reliquiæ Antiquæ, vol. i. p. 8.

Paphawkes, 179, parrots. I give this interpretation on the conjecture of
a gentleman well skilled in the language, but I cannot find any authority
for it.

Parayl, 246, 269, apparel.

Par-dé, 122, by God! verily. A common French oath.

Paramowre, love. See Reliquiæ Antiquæ, vol. i. p. 27.

Parfyte, 115, perfect.

Parochoners, 71, parishioners.

Partabyl, 275, partaker.

Pay, 49, pleasure.

Pawsacion, 89, pause.

Peyr, pair.

Peys, 236, weight.

Pelle, 167, fur. “Wurth pelle” is a tautology.

Pellys, 246, furs. The notice in this place of “pellys after the old
gyse” is curious.

Perchyn, 238, pierce.

Perdure, 254, endure.

Pere, equal.

Pere, 131, appear.

Pertly, 1, openly, promptly.

Peté, pity.

Pete, 29, 165, query to pitch or throw.

Peusawns, 261, power.

Phasmacion, 191, formation.

Pyan, 22, “Pyony herbe, pionia,” Prompt. Parv. “Pionia, pentorobinam,
pioyné,” MS. Sloan. 2478, fol. 210.

Pychyn, 179, pick.

Pygth, _vide_ Pyth.

Pylle, 297, rob. “Pyll, or make bare,” Palsgrave.

Pillid, 384, bald. So Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, v. 3933, says “As pilled
as an ape was his skull.”

Pyne, 151, pain.

Pynne, 28, pine.

Pyth, 2, 6, pight, arrayed, fixed.

Pleand, 70, playing.

Pleyn, 14, playing.

Pleyn place, 14, playing place, theatre. “Pleyyng place, diludium,”
Prompt. Parv.

Pleyn, plain.

Plesawns, pleasing.

Plesynge, 73, pleasure.

Plete, 185, plead.

Plyth, 2, plight, pledge.

Popetys, 179, puppets.

Portature, 34, likeness.

Possede, 56, possess.

Pousté, power.

Prate, talk.

Pray, 216, prey.

Prendyd, 185, pricked.

Prent, 18, 60, imprint.

Prese, 1, crowd, throng.

Presonde, 312, confined.

Prest, 13, ready.

Pretende, 82, put forward.

Preyn, 320, pray.

Prevyn, 179, prove.

Pryk, sting.

Prynspal, 377, principal.

Prise, 41, price, value.

Promyssyon, promise.

Prophete, 261, profit.

Prow, 119, 333, profit.

Prune, 164, cut.

Punchyth, 75, punish.

Purpure, purple.

Purveyd, 123, provided.


Qwalle, 67, whale.

Qwarte, qwerte, 202, 225, 372, good spirits, joy. Sometimes, as at p.
372, used as an adjective.

Qwed, 15, wicked.

Qwedyr, 122, shiver.

Qweke, quake.

Qwelle, 13, destroy.

Qwelp, 51, whelp.

Qwen, 80, queen.

Qweme, 109, please.

Qwerte, _vide_ Qwarte.

Qwethe, bequeath.

Qwyght, 44, reward, pay off.

Qwyl, while.

Qwypps, 315, whips.

Qwyte, 22, white.

Qwyte, 18, requite.


Race, 136, break.

Raftys, 180, rafts.

Rake, 183, rack (?) This word is here dragged in to preserve the
alliteration, a practice very common with the writer of these mysteries.

Rakyl, 24, rash.

Rakynge, 180, violent. “Rasco, rakny,” Ortus Vocabulorum.

Rape, 179, 231, haste.

Reast, 124, rest.

Rebate, 76, abate.

Rebawdys, 183, ribalds.

Recke, 182, care. I ne recke, _i. e._, I don’t care.

Reclyne, 141, return.

Recorde, witness.

Recure, 93, recover, obtain.

Rede, counsel.

Redrure, 254.

Regne, 161, kingdom.

Reynenge, reigning.

Reynes, 241, 273.

Releves, 89, remnants.

Rem, 156, realm.

Rennyn, 16, ran.

Renogat, 384, renegade.

Repreff, reproof.

Resche, 170, rush.

Restyth, remaineth.

Reve, 175, bereave.

Revyfe, revive.

Rewe, 11, row.

Rewly, 8, rueful.

Rewlyd, ruled.

Ryal, 161, royal.

Ryalté, 161, royalty.

Ryff, 4, 6, 7, 13, speedily. _Vide_ Ihre, and Sir F. Madden’s gloss. to
William and the Werwolf, in voc.

Rynggyng, 308, noisy.

Rys, 22, twig, bough. See Lydgate’s Minor Poems, pp. 105, 269.

Ryte, right.

Ryth, right.

Rythful, 13, righteous.

Roberych, 277, rubric. This of course refers to the directions given
immediately previously.

Rochand, 308, ruler.

Rosche, 32, rush.

Rote, root.

Rought, 183, rout.

Rowel, 179, point of a spur. “Rowel of a spere, stimulus,” Prompt. Parv.

Rowncys, 180, steeds.

Rowte, 40, assembly.

Rowth, 177, suffer.

Ruly, 14, 67, _vide_ Rewly.

Rustynes, 47, long continuance.


Sadelys, 353, saddles.

Sadly, 145, gravely.

Saff, save.

Say, 356, saw.

Saylle, 45, assail.

Same, 22, together.

Savyn, save.

Sawe, 301, 352, speech, discourse. It is employed by more recent writers
in the sense of a proverb.

Sawys, 88, sights.

Sawtere, Psalter.

Schadu, shadow.

Schafftys, 180, shafts.

Schape, 141, escape.

Schapman, 268, merchant.

Scharlys, 181, _vide_ Cherlys.

Scharpe, sharp.

Schelchowthys, 180, wonders.

Schep, 148.

Schep, sheep.

Schet, shut.

Schon, 59, shoes.

Schonde, 342, destruction, ruin.

Schryve, 86, confess.

Schrowde, 28, shroud.

Sclawndryd, slandered.

Scle, 52, slay.

Sclepyr, 100, slippery.

Scleppe, sleep.

Sclow, slew.

Scowte, 136, 217, 218, 219, scout. A term of reproach and contempt.

Se, 20, throne.

Se, 3, 57, sea.

Sefne, seven.

Sefnt, seventh.

Seyd, said.

Seyd, 133, seed.

Sekyrly, securely.

Sel, 284, 295, time. “Seel, tyme, tempus,” Prompt. Parv.

Semely, comely.

Semlant, 163, similar.

Sene, 4, see.

Senstere, 385, sempster.

Senues, 319, sinews.

Serge, 292, search.

Seryattly, 273, separately, one by one, in order.

Serteyn, certain.

Sertys, 91, &c., certainly.

Ses, cease.

Sesare, Cæsar.

Sese, 1, seeth.

Sesyd, 121, received.

Sett, 242, abide.

Sew, 15, 244, follow.

Sewyng, following.

Sewre, sure.

Sewte, 193, suit.

Shende, 19, 38, &c., ruin, destroy.

Shenshipp, 50, 104, ruin.

Shent, 26, ruined.

Shert, 310, shift.

Shynand, 177, shining.

Shyrlyng, 180.

Shytt, shut.

Sho, 28, shoe.

Short, 234, shorten.

Shray, 180.

Shrewe, 206, curse.

Shrewyd, 309, cursed.

Sybb, 54, relation.

Sybbest, 226, nearest in relationship.

Syeng, sighing.

Signifure, 367, signification.

Syndony, 336, cloth.

Synfolest, 75, most sinful.

Syse, 13, 233, assises.

Syte, sight.

Syth, sight.

Sythe, since.

Sythe, 249, sayeth.

Syttenge, 209, seemly, becoming.

Skafhald, skaffold.

Skaypst, escapest.

Skylle, 36, 55, &c., reason.

Skore, 128, scour.

Slawe, slain.

Sle, _vide_ scle.

Sleytys, 211, sleights, deceits. “Sleythe, astucia,” Prompt. Parv.

Smertly, 51, quickly.

Smyght, smite.

Smyth, 269, deliver. “Smyth up” would here be equivalent to “pay up.”

Smytyht, 81, smiteth, pierceth.

Snelle, 121, quickly, suddenly.

Socowre, succour.

Socurraunce, 220, salvation.

Soferauns, sufferance.

Sokyn, 28, sucked.

Solas, 87, solace.

Somowne, summon.

Sond, 95, messenger.

Sonde, 32, 52, providence.

Sonde, 42, sand, _i. e._, earth.

Sondys, 170, messengers.

Sone, soon.

Sone, son.

Sorwatorie, 333, place of sorrow.

Sorwe, sorrow.

Soserye, 304, sorcery.

Sote, sweet.

Sothe, truth.

Sotylly, 270, slily.

Sotylté, subtilly.

Sotyl, subtle.

Sottys, 163, fools.

South, sought.

Sowe, 269, saw.

Sowyht, 74, soweth.

Sownd, sound.

Spedful, 93, expeditious.

Sperd, 66, 309, bolted.

Spylle, 13, destroy.

Sprad, spread.

Sprytt, 68, spirit.

Starkly, 124, stoutly.

Stavys, 271, staves. The old form is still retained in the English
version of the gospels.

Sted, 27, moment.

Stey, 361, rise up.

Stelyn, 179, steal. Stelyn awey, _i. e._ “go away privily,” as in our
translation of the Bible.

Steracle, 208, sight. A poem in the Appendix to Walter Mapes, ed. Wright,
p. 297, says of women,

  “They hem rejoise to see and to be sayne,
    And to seke sondry pilgremages;
  At grete gaderynges to walken upon the playne,
    And at _staracles_ to sitte on high stages.”

Sterre, star.

Stevene, noise. A time of performing any action, previously fixed by
message, order, or summons. See Tyrwhitt’s Chaucer.

Stye, 17, mount.

Styed, 16, mounted.

Styk, stick.

Styward, 8, steward.

Stomele, stumble.

Stondynge, 190, notwithstanding.

Stotte, 217, stop.

Stow, 217, stop.

Stownde, 14, 36, time.

Sudary, 358, napkin. “The sudarie that was on his heed not leid with the
shetis, but by itself wrappid into a place,” Joh. cap. xx. Wickliffe’s
translation.

Suerd, sword.

Sumdele, 149, somewhat.

Supportacion, 130, support.

Sustentacion, 87, support.

Suture, 201, suitor.

Swap, 8, blow.

Swappynge, 182, striking.

Swem, 72, sorrow.

Swemful, 72, sorrowful.

Swemynge, 81, sorrowing.

Swetyng, 160, 196, darling.

Swiche, such.

Swynk, 30, 36, labour.

Swythe, 43, immediately.

Swonge, 321, swoon.

Swoot, sweat.

Swowne, 14, swoon.


Tabbard, 244, coat. “Tabbard, collobium,” Prompt. Parv.

Take, 22, give.

Talkyn, 69, conversation.

Tan, taken.

Tast, 152, try, feel.

Tee, 33, go, draw towards. Sax.

Tekyl, 134.

Teyl, 30, reckon.

Tene, 7, 9, 18, injury.

Tent, 93, heed.

Teryeng, 80, tarrying.

Testyficacion, 69, testimony.

Tharalle, 209, thrall, slave.

The, thrive. The phrase “so mot I the,” meaning “so may I thrive,” an
expression of confidence, is of very frequent occurrence.

The, 152, that.

Thedom, 139, prosperity. So also in the Sevyn Sages, 587, “That hit mai
have no thedom.” See my note on this line, p. 415.

Therkenesse, darkness.

Therlys, 181.

Thyrknes, darkness.

Thyrlyd, 287, pierced.

Thyrlyng, 17, piercing.

Tho, those.

Tholyd, 183, suffered.

Thore, there.

Thorw, through.

Thralle, 351, space of time. Used generally as “thrawe.”

Thrawe, 247, thrust.

Threste, 190, thirst.

Thretty, thirty.

Throwys, throes.

Thrust, 325, thirst.

Tyde, 1, 50, 201, time.

Tyl, to.

Tylle, to.

Tyth, 18, quickly.

Tythynges, 3, tithes.

To, too.

To-breke, 157, break to pieces.

Tolle, 180, toll.

To-pynde, 32, 179, pined away, tormented to death.

Tormentry, 195, tormenting.

To-torn, 30, torn to pieces.

To-tundyr, 45.

Towaly, 277, towel (bis).

Trace, 56, trace.

Tray, 345, betray.

Trayn, 350, artifice.

Trey, 7, 18, trouble.

Trepett, 185, stroke. “Trypet, tripula,” Prompt. Parv.

Tretable, 214, tractable.

Tretowre, 241, traitor.

Trone, throne.

Trowyste, 385, thinkest.

Turtelys, 72, turtle doves.

Tway, 373, two.

Tweyn, two.

Tweyners, 125, gen. pl. of tweyn, q.v.

Twynne, 208, twayne.


Un-ete, 272, eaten.

Undyrlyng, 30, servant, dependant.

Unhede, 27, 195, unfold, bring to light.

Unkende, 8, 27, unnatural.

Unknowlage, 121, ignorance.

Unqwyt, 308, unrequited, unrevenged.

Unterest, 176, uttermost.

Unthende, 36.

Upryth, 293, straight. This word does not here imply a perpendicular
position, it being applied indifferently to persons lying as well as
standing. See Tyrwhitt’s glos. to Chaucer. “Yf thou be wyse, slepe nat
bolte upright,” Hormanni Vulgaria, fol. 39.


Vath, 321, a word of exclamation.

Veyn, vain.

Velony, villany.

Vengeable, revengeful.

Verament, truly.

Verray, true.

Vervent, fervent.

Vervently, fervently.

Vesytation, visitation.

Vest, 114, covered.

Voydnes, 127, emptiness.

Vowchesaff, vouchsafe.


Wace, 284, was.

Wayle, 257, bewail.

Wayten, 340, watch.

Walkyn, 21, sky. This word is used by Shakespeare and a few later writers.

Wantruste, 225, want of confidence.

War, 5, aware.

Ware, 197, work, business.

Warly, 334, slily. “Warely or slyly,” Prompt. Parv.

Wast, 31, wasted.

Watt, 294, fellow.

Wawys, waves.

Weche, which.

Weche, 338, watch.

Wede, 28, clothing.

Wele, 24, wealth.

Weleaway. Probably the burden of an old song: see The Geste of Kyng Horn,
1499,

  “He made Rymenild a lay,
  Ant hue seide Weylaway.”

Welsom, 31, sorrowful.

Wem, 5, blot, blemish.

Wen, wene, 5, doubt.

Wenche, a young woman. It is sometimes used in an opprobrious sense.

Wende, go.

Wene, 1, ween, think.

Wenyth, thinketh.

Werche, work.

Werd, world.

Werdly, worldly.

Weré, 147, weary.

Werme, worm.

Wete, know.

Wethys, ways.

Weylle, well.

Whanhope, 13, despair.

Whele, wheel.

Why, 46, cause.

Whight, _vide_ wight.

Whylys, wiles.

Whyll, whilst.

Whylsum, 203, doubtful. “Wylsome or dowtefulle,” Prompt. Parv.

Whyt, 298, quick. “As whyt as thought,” a proverb common at the present
day.

Whoys, whose.

Whonde, 123.

Whoo, woe.

Wight, person.

Wyghtly, 161.

Wyk, wicked.

Wylys, wiles.

Wynde, 50.

Wyst, known.

With-sett, 212, withstand.

Wytys, creatures.

Woke, 4.

Wolde, 16, dominion.

Wone, dwelling.

Wood, 3, wide.

Wood, mad.

Wost, knowest.

Woundyn, wound.

Woundyr, 214, wonderful.

Wrake, 94, 137, 200, mischief.

Wrecche, wretch.

Wreke, 163, 181, revenged.

Wrokyn, 29, avenged.

Wrowth, wrought.

Wundyrfoille, wonderful.

Wurchepyd, worshipped.

Wurchepp, 218, good reputation.

Wurdys, words.


Xad, 275, shed. See notes, p. 416.

Xal, shall.

Xulde, should.


ȝatys, gates.

ȝemanry, 1, yeomanry. See Tyrwhitt’s note on v. 101 of the Canterbury
Tales, for an account of this class of persons.

ȝerdys, rods, wands.

ȝeven, given.

ȝeven, even.

ȝevyth, givith.

ȝitt, yet.

ȝonge, youth.


THE END.

                                 LONDON:
             F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
                     PRINTER TO H.R.H. PRINCE ALBERT.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70646 ***