The Paynters and the Glasiors Playe

Incipit pagina septima de pastoribus

Primus Pastor

One wouldes I have walked full wylde,

Under bushes my bower to builde,

From stiffe stormes my sheepe to sheilde,

My seemlye weithers to save;

From comelye Conwaye unto Clyde,

Under tyldes them to hyde,

A better sheaparde on no syde

No yeairthlye man maye have.

For with walkinge wearye I have me thoughte,

Besyde thee suche my sheefpe] I soughte,

My talefull tuppes are in my thoughte

Them to save and heale.

From the shrewde scabe it soughte,

Or the rotte, yf yt were wroughte,

Yf the caughe had them caughte,

Of yt I coulde them heale.

Loe, here be my erbes safe and sounde,

Wislye wrought for everye wounde,

The woulde a wholl man bringe to grounde

Within a littill while;

Of henbane and horehounde,

Bybbey raydishe and egremounde,

Which be my erbes saffe and sounde,

Medled on a rowe.

Here be more erbes, I tell it you,

I shall recken them on a rooe,

Fynter fanter, and ffetter foe,

And also penye wrytte.

This is all that I knowe,

For be it weither or be it yoo,

I shall them heale on a rooe,

Cleane from their hurte.

Heare is tarre in a potte,

To heale from the rotte;

Well I can and well I wotte

The caughe from them take.

But no fellowshippe heare have I,

Save my selfe alone in good faye;

Therfore after one faste will I crye,

But firste will I drinke, yf I maie.

Hic potet Primus Pastor

Howe, Harvye, howe!

Drive thy sheepe to the lowe;

Thou maye not heare excepte I blowe,

As ever have I heale.

Hic flabit Primus Pastor

Secundus Pastor

It is noe shame for to shewe

Howe I was sette to sowe,

With the feither of a croe,

A clowte upon my heele. sitte downe

Felowe, nowe we be well mete,

And thoughe me thinkes nedes,

Hade we Tudde heare by us sette,

Their mighte we sitte and feede us.

Primus Pastor

Yea, to feede us frendlye in faye,

Howe mighte we have our service aye,

Crye thou muste lowde, by this daie,

Tudde is deafe and [maye] not well heare us.

Secundus Pastor vocat submissa voce.

Howe, Tudde, come for thy father kyn.

Primus Pastor

Naye, faye, thy voyce is wounderous dynie;

Why, knowes thou not hym?

Fye, man, for shame!

Calle hym Tudde Tybbes sonne,

And then will the shrewe come,

For, in good faith, it is his wonne

To love well his dames name.

Secundus Pastor

Howe, Tudde, Tybbes sonne!

Tercius Pastor

Sir, in faith nowe I come,

For yette have I not all done

That I have to doe;

To seithe salve for our sheepe;

And leste my wife shoulde it weete,

With grete gravill and greete

I skoure an oulde pane.

Hemlocke and hereife take kepe,

With tarre boyste muste be tamde,

Penye gresse and butter for fatte sheepe,

For this saulfe am I not ashamed;

Ashamed am I not to shewe

No poynte that longes to my crafte,

No better that I well knowe

In lande is no where lefte.

For to good men this is not unknowne,

To husbandes that be heare aboutes,

That iche man muste to his wife bowne,

And commonlye for feare of a cloute.

This for clowtes nowe care I,

All is for feare of our dame Kenye,

Nowe will I caste my ware here by,

And hye faste that I were at Hancken.

Hancken, houlde up thy hande, and have me,

That I were on heighte their by thee.

Primus Pastor

Gladlye, sir, yf thou woulde be by me,

For lothe me is to denye thee.

Secundus Pastor

Nowe seinge God hath gaithred us togeither,

With good harte I thanke hym of his grace.

Wellckome be thou well fayer weither,

Tudde, will we shape us to some solace.

Tercius Pastor

Solace woulde beste be seene

That we shape us to our suppere;

For meate and drinke well, I wene,

To eiche deede is moste deare.

Primus Pastor

Laye fourth iche man aleiche

What he hath lefte of his livereye;

And I will put fourth my piche,

With my parte, firste of us all three.

Secundus Pastor

And suche store as my wife hade,

In your sighte sone shall you see,

At our begininge us for to glade.

For in good meate their is moche glee.

Heare is bread this daie was baken;

Onyans, garlicke, and leickes,

Butter that boughte was in Blackon,

And greene cheese that will greese your cheekes.

Tercius Pastor

And heare ale of Halton I have,

And whotte meate I hade to my hier;

A puddinge maye no man deprave,

And a jannacke of Lancaster shire.

Loe! heares a sheepes heade sawsed in ale,

And a grayne to laye on the greene,

And sower mylke my wife hade ordened,

A noble supper as well is seene.

Primus Pastor

Nowe will I caste of my cloke,

And put out parte of my liverye,

And put out that I have in my pocke,

And a gygges foote from puddinge purye.

Tercius Pastor

Abyde, fellowes, and you shall see here

This hotte meate serveid here,

Gammons and other good meate in feare,

A puddinge with a pricke in the ende.

Primus Pastor

My secchell to shake oute

To sheapardes am I not ashamed;

And this tonge pared rounde aboute,

With my tonge it shalbe atamed.

Tunc comedent, et dicat Primus Pastor:

Byd me doe gladly, and I thee,

For by god here is good grawsinge.

Come eate with vs, god of heaven hye,

But take noe heede though ther be noe howsinge.

Secundus Pastor

Howseinge enoffe have we heare,

While that we have heaven over our heades

Nowe to weete our mouthes tyme were,

This flagette will I tame, yf thou reade us.

Tercius Pastor

And of this bottill nowe will I bibbe,

For heare is but of the beste;

Suche liccore makes me to live,

This game maye nowher be leftc.

Primus Pastor

Fellowes, nowe our bellye be full,

Thinke we on hym that kepes our flockes.

Blowe thy home and [call] after Trowle,

And byde hym some of our bittlockes.

Secundus Pastor

Well sayde, Hancken, by my south,

For that shrewe I suppose seekes us.

My horne to blowe I will not lette,

Tell that ladde have some of our leekes.

Tercius Pastor

Leekes to his livereye is likinge,

Suche a lade nowher in lande is.

Blowe a mote for that mittinge,

Whyle that home nowe in thy hande is.

Primus Pastor

With this home I shall make a howe

That he and all heaven shall heare;

Yender ladde, that sittes on a lowe,

The lowde of this home shall heare.

Tunc cantabit, et dicat Trowle:

Good Lorde, loke one me!

And my flocke heare as the feed have;

On this woulde walke we woe,

Are no man heare that maye,

All is playne perdye;

Therfore, sheepe, we mone goe,

No better maye be

Of beastes that bloode and bone have.

Wotte I not daie nor nighte,

Necessaryes that to me ne done,

Tarre boyste and tarre boyle

Ye shall see heare,

Nettell, hemlocke, and butter abydinge,

And my good dogge Dottinoule,

That is nothinge choyse of his chydinge.

Yf any man come me bye,

And woulde witte which waie were beste,

My legge I leifte up as I lye,

And wishe hym the waie este or weste.

And I rose when I laye,

I woulde thinke that travill loste.

For kinge nor ducke by this daie

Rise I will not, but take my reste.

Nowe here sitte downe I will,

Harmles, as I hastelye hope;

No man heare shall drinke,

Save my selfe, the devill of the sope.

All this bottill I sette at littill,

Naye, ye lades, kepe I not to lye thee;

For ye have manye a fowle fitte,

Thou fowle fylth, though thou flitte, I defye thee.

Primus Pastor

Trowle, take teene to my talkinge,

For thy teeith heare is good touginge,

While thy weithers bene walkinge,

And on this loyne thou maie have good luginge.

Trowle

Fye on your loynes and on youer livereye!

Youer lyverastes, livers and lounges!

You sause, your saustes, your saverye,

Your sittinge without anye songes.

On this hill I houlde me heare,

No hape to your hotte meate have I;

But sitte with my fellowes in freye,

And your sheepe full securlye save I.

Secundus Pastor

For thou saves our sheepe,

Good knave, take kepe;

Seith thou maye not slepe,

Come eate of this sauce.

Trowle

Naye, the durte is so depe

Stopped theirin for to stepe,

And the grobbes theiron doe crepe

At whom at thy howse.

Therfore meate, yf I maie,

Of your dightinge to daie

Will I naughte, by no waie,

Tell I have my wages.

I wende to have been gaye:

Se so ragged is myne araye,

Aye pynckes is your paye

To everye poore page.

Tercius Pastor

Trowle, boye, for Godes fee!

Come eate a morscill with me,

And then wrastill will we

Here on this greene.

Trowle

That shall I never fleye,

Though yt be with all three,

To laye my livereye,

That wages will I houlde.

Tunc ibit ad magistros suos, et dicat Trowle:

Nowe comes Trowle the trewe,

A turne to take have I tighte

With my maistores, or I rewe,

Put hym fourth that moste is of mighte.

Primus Pastor

Trowle, better never thou knewe,

Eate of this meate for a knighte.

Trowle

Naye, spare I will, thoughe I spewe,

All upon thy heade shall lighte.

Secundus Pastor

Howe shoulde we suffer all this shame,

Of a shrewe this to be shente?

Tercius Pastor

This ladde luste to be lamde,

And lose a lyme or he wente.

Trowle

Have done, begyne we this game,

But ware leste your golions glette.

That were littill dole to our dame,

Though in meideste Dde the were drente.

Primus Pastor

False lade, fye on thy face,

On this grounde thou shalte have a falle.

Hente one and houlde that thou haste,

Yf thou hape have all goe to all.

Trowle

And these sires heare to solace,

Hancken, sheaparde, shame thee I shall;

Worth thou arte worse then thou was,

Ware leste thou walte here by the walle.

Tunc projiciat primum pastorem, et dicat Secundus Pastor:

Boye, leste I breake thy bones,

Kneele downe and aske me a bone,

Leste I destroye thee heare on thes stones:

Cease, leaste I shame thee to sone.

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Trowle

Gloe thee to greynes and groundes,

Good were thee thy oulde ragges to save sounde;

Littill doute of suche drownes,

Leither tycke, for thy deedes are done.

Tercius Pastor

Out, alas! he lyes on his loynes,

But let me goe nowe to that lade!

Sheapardes he shames and shyndes,

For laste nowe am I out shade.

Trowle

Bouth your backes heare to me bendes,

For all your boste I houlde you full bade;

Houlde your ersces and your hynder loynes,

Then hope I to have as I to-fore hade,

The better in the bore, as I hade before,

Of this boverte.

Yea, hope I more, kepe well thy store,

For feare of a farte.

Tunc projiciat tertium pastorem, et dicat Trowle:

Lye their, leither in the lacke,

My livereye nowe will [I] lache;

This curye, this cloute, and this cake,

For ye be caste nowe will I kache.

To the devill I all you betake,

And traytors ataynte of your tache,

One this woulde with this will I walke,

All the worlde wounder on the wache.

Et sic recedat Trowle, et dicat Primus Pastor:

Fellowes, this a fowle case is,

That we bene this caste out of a knave;

All againste our willes he hase his,

But I muste nedes houlde the harme that I have,

Secundus Pastor

That I have nedes muste I houlde,

Of thes unhappye harmes ofte here I:

Therfore will I wayte on this woulde

Upon the wedder, for I am wearye.

Tercius Pastor

Thoughe we be weayrie, no wounder,

What betwene wrastlin^e and walkinge!

Ofte we maye be in thoughte, we be nowe under,

God amende yt with his makinge!

Tunc sedebunt, et Stella apparebit, et dicant:

Primus Pastor

What is all this lighte here,

That blackes so brighte heare,

On my blacke beyrde?

For to see this lighte heare,

A man maye be afrighte heare,

For I am freayde.

Secundus Pastor

Freayde, for a fraye nowe,

Maye we be all nowe,

A! yet it is nighte,

Yet seemes yt daie nowe,

Se I suche a sighte!

Tercius Pastor

Suche a sighte seeminge,

And a lighte leminge,

Lettes me to loke;

All to my deeminge,

From a starre streminge

Hit to me strocke.

Trowle

That starre, yf yt stande,

To see will I founde,

Though mighte lighte fayle:

While I maye live in londe,

Why shoulde I founde,

Yf it will avayle?

Tunc respiciens firmamentum, et dicat Trowle:

A! God mighte is,

In vender starre lighte is,

Of the sonne this sighte is,

As yt nowe sheines.

Primus Pastor

It seemes as I nowe see

A brighte starre to be,

Their to abyde.

From it we maye not fleye,

But aye glye on the glee,

Tell yt downe glyde.

Secundus Pastor

Fellowes, will we

Knele downe on our knye,

After comfortes,

To the trewe Trenitie,

For to leade us to see

Our elderes Lorde.

Tercius Pastor

Our Lorde will us lere

In our prayer,

Wherto it will apente,

And why on highte here

The eayre is so cleare,

Nowe shall we be kente.

Trowle

Lorde, of this lighte

Guyde us some sighte,

Why that it is sente.

Before this nighte,

Was I never so afrighte

Of the fermamente.

Primus Pastor

Wyste I, by my faye!

Nowe is yt nighe daie,

So was it never;

Therfore I praye

The south us to saie,

Or that we desevere.

Tunc cantet angelus, Gloria in eoccelsis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bone voluntatis

Primus Pastor

Fellowes in feare,

Maye you not heare

This muttinge on heighte?

Secundus Pastor

A glore and in glere,

Yet no man was nere

Within our sighte.

Tercius Pastor

Naye, it was a glorye!

Nowe am I sorye,

But more songe.

Trowle

Of this strange storye

Such mirth more I

Woulde have amonge.

Primus Pastor

As I them demed,

Scellsis it seemed

That he sange.

Secundus Pastor

While the lighte lemed,

Awreckinge me wened,

I wiste never woo.

Tercius Pastor

What songe was this, saye ye,

That the sange to us all three!

Expounded shall yt be,

Or we hense passe;

For I am eldeste of degree,

And also beste, as seemes me:

Hit was glore glare with a glee,

Hit was nether more nor lesse.

Trowle

Nay, it was glori, glory, glorious!

Me thoughte that note ronne over the howse:

A semlye man he was and curyous,

But sone awaie he was.

Primus Pastor

Naye, it was glory, glory, with a glo!

And moche of cellsis was therto:

As ever have I reste or roo,

Moche he spake of glasse.

Secundus Pastor

Naye, yt was nether glasse nor glye;

Therfore, fellowe, nowe stande by.

Tercius Pastor

By my faith! he was some spie,

Our sheepe for to steale;

Or elles he was a man of our crafte,

For semlye he was and wounder dafte.

Trowle

Naye, he came by nighte, all thinge lefte,

Our tuppes with tarre to tell.

Primus Pastor

Nay, on a glore, on a glory, on a glye!

Gurde Gabrill, when he so gloryed;

When he sange I mighte not be sorye,

Througe my breste bone bletinge he borned.

Secundus Pastor

Nay, be God! it was a gloria,

Sayde Gabrill when he beganne so,

He hade a moche better voyce then I have,

As in heaven all other have so.

Tercius Pastor

Will ye heare howe he sange selsis?

For on that sadlye he sete hym,

Neither singes Sir, nor so well Sis,

Ney paxe merye Maude when she so met hym.

Trowle

One tyme he touched on terre,

And therto I toke good intente;

All heaven mighte not a gone harre,

That noote on heighte when he up hente.

Primus Pastor

And after of paxe or of peace,

Up as pye he piped,

Suche a loden that is no lesse,

Never in my life me so liked.

Secundus Pastor

Upon omnibus he mutted,

That moch marville to me was,

And ever I quocke when the so shouted,

I durst not heade wher that it was.

Tercius Pastor

Yet he sange more then all this;

Froo my mynde it shall not starte,

For he sange Bene voluntatis,

That is a crape that passeth all other.

Trowle

Yet [and] yet, he sange more to,

Froo my harte it shall not starte;

He sange also of a Deo,

Me thoughte healed my harte.

And that worde Terre he tamed,

Therto I toke good intente,

And paxe also maye not be blamed,

For that to this songe I assente.

Primus Pastor

Nowe praye we to hym with good intente,

And singe I will and me imbrace,

That he will let us to be kente,

And to sende us of his grace.

Secundus Pastor

Nowe seith I have all my will,

For never in this worlde so well hase,

Singe we nowe I redde us shrille,

A merye songe us to solace.

Trowle

Singe we nowe, lettes see,

Some songe will I assaye:

All men nowe singe after me,

For musicke of me learne you maie.

Singe troly loly troly loe.

Tunc cantabunt, et postea dicat Tercius Pastor:

Nowe wende we fourth to Beathlem,

That ys beste our songe to be,

To see the starre cleane maye,

The frute of that mayden freye.

Primus Pastor

Nowe folowe we the starre that shyneth,

Tell we come to that hollye stable;

To Bethelem bonne the lymes,

Folowe we it without anye fable.

Secundus Pastor

Folowe we it, and hies full faste,

Suche a frende loth us to fayle;

Lanche on, I will not be the laste,

Upon Marye for to marvayle.

Hic vadunt versus Bethlem.

Tercius Pastor

Stynte nowe, goe no more steppes,

For nowe the starre begineth to stonde;

Harvye, that bene our good happes,

We seene by our Savyour founde.

Hic apparet et dicat angelus:

Sheapardes, of this sighte

Be ye not afrighte,

For this is Grodes mighte,

Take this in mynde:

To Bethelem nowe righte,

Ther you shall se in sighte,

That Christe is borne to nighte,

To ken all mankinde.

Trowle

To Bethlem take we the waye,

For with you I thinke to wende,

That Prince of peace for to praye,

Heaven to have at our ende.

And singe we all, I rede,

Some mirth to his magistie;

For certen nowe sheewe it in deed,

The kinges sonne of heaven is he.

Primus Pastor

Sym, Sym, sickerlye

Heare I see Marye,

And Jesus Christe faste by,

Lapped in haye.

Secundus Pastor

Kneyle we downe in hye,

And praye we hym of mercye,

And welckome hym worthelye,

That wo dose awaie.

Tercius Pastor

Awaye all our wo is,

And many mans moe is!

Christe Lorde, let us kysse

The crache or the clothes.

Trowle

Solace nowe, to see this,

Buildes in my breste blesse,

Never after to doe amysse

Thinges that hym looth is.

Primus Pastor

Whatever this oulde man that heare is,

Take heede howe his head is whore,

His beirde is like a buske of breyers,

With a pound of heaire about his mouth and more.

Secundus Pastor

More is this marvayle to me nowe,

For to nape greatlye hym nedes;

Hartles is he nowe

For aye to his heales he heedes.

Tercius Pastor

Why, with his beirde, though it hydes,

Righte well to her he heedes;

Worthy wighte, witte woulde,

Will we warne us worthye.

Maria

Sheapardes, southlye I see

That my sonne you heither sente,

Through Godes mighte in magistie,

That in me lighte and heare is lente.

This man maried was to me,

For no syne ner suche assente,

But to kepe my virginitie,

And trewlye for no other intente.

Josephe

Good men, Moyses takes in mynde,

As he was made through God allmighte,

Ordeyned lawes us to byncle,

Which that we shoulde kepe of righte,

Man and woman for to bynde,

Lawfullye them bouth to lighte,

To frutifye, as men maye fynde,

That tyme was wedded everye wighte.

Therfore wedded to her I was,

As lawe woulde, her for to lere,

For noyse, nor sclaunder, nor treasspas,

And through that deed the devill to dare;

As toulde me Gabrill full of grace,

When I hade trussed all my geyer,

To have flede and never to have seene her face,

By hym was I areaisted their.

For he sayde to me sleapinge

That shee lackles was of synne;

And when I harde that tockeninge,

From her durste I not tweyne.

Therfore goes fourth, preach this thinge,

All togeither and not in twene,

That you have seene youer heavenlye kinge

Comen, and all mankinde to myne.

Primus Pastor

Greate God, sittinge in thy throne,

That made all thinges of naughte,

Nowe we maie thanke thee icheone,

This is he that we have soughte.

Secundus Pastor

Goe we nere anon,

With suche as we have broughte,

Ringe, bruche, ner precious stonne,

Lett us se yf we have oughte to proffer.

Tercius Pastor

Let us doe hym homage.

Primus Pastor

Who shall goe firste! the page?

Secundus Pastor

Naye, ye be father of age,

Therfore ye muste offer.

Primus Pastor

Heale, kinge of heaven so hie!

Borne in a crebe,

Mankinde unto thee

Thou haste made fullye.

Heale, kinge! borne in a maydens bower,

Proffittes did tell thou shouldest be our succore,

Thus clarkes doth saye.

Loe, I bringe thee a bell:

I praie thee save me from hell,

So that I maye with thee dwell,

And serve thee for [aye].

Secundus Pastor

Heale the, emperower of hell,

And of heaven allsoe!

The feynde shall thee fell,

That ever hath bene false.

Heale the, maker of the starre,

That stode us beforne;

Heale the, blessed full barne,

Loe, sonne, I bringe thee a flaggette,

Theirby heinges a sponne,

To eate thy pottage with all at nonne,

As I my selfe full ofte tymes have done,

With harte I praie thee to take.

Tercius Pastor

Heale, prince without anye peare,

That mankinde shall releeve!

Heale thee, froo unto Luciffier,

The which begyled Eve!

Heale the, granter of happe,

For in yeairth no we thou dwelleste.

Loe, sonne, I bringe thee a cape,

For I have nothinge elles:

This gueifte, sonne, I bringe thee is but small,

And though I come the hyndmoste of all,

When thou shall them to thy blesse call,

Good Lorde, yet thinke on me.

Trowle

My dere, with dutye unto thee I me dresse,

My state and felloshippe that I doe not lose,

For to save me from all yle sicknes,

I offer unto thee a payer of my wifes oulde hose;

For other dremes, my sonne,

Have I non for to geve,

That is worth anye thinge at all,

But my good harte, while I live,

And my prayers tell death doe me call.

The First Boye

Nowe to my fellowes this will I saye,

For in this place or that I wende awaie,

Unto yender childe let us goe and praye,

As our maisters hath done us beforne.

The Seconde Boye

And of suche goodes as we have heare

Let us offer to this prince so deare,

And to his mother that mayden cleare,

That of her bodye hade bene borne.

The Fyrste Boye

Abyde, syres, I will goe firste to yender kinge.

The Secound Boye

And I will goe nexte to that lordinge.

The Thirde Boye

Then wilbe I the laste of this offeringe,

This can I saie no more.

The Firste [Boye]

Nowe, Lorde, for to geve thee have I nothinge,

Nether goulde, silver, bruche, ner ringe,

Nor no riche robes mete for a kinge,

That I have heare in store:

But that yt lackes a stoppell,

Take thee heare my well [fayer] bottill,

For it will houlde a good pottill,

In faith, I can geve thee no more.

The Secounde Boye

Lorde, thou arte of this virgine borne,

In full poore araye sittinge on her arme,

For to offer to thee I have no skorne,

Allthough thou be but a childe;

For jewell have I non to geve thee,

For to mantayne thy royall dignitie,

But my hude, then take it thee,

As thou arte god and man.

The Thirde Boye

O, noble childe of thee!

Alas! what have I for thee,

Save onlye my pipe?

Elles trewlye nothinge,

Were I in the rockes or in,

I coulde make this pippe,

That all this woode shoulde ringe,

And quiver, as yt were.

The Fourth Boye

Nowe, childe, allthough thou be comon from God,

And be God thy selfe in thy manhoode,

Yet I knowe that in thy childehoode

Thou wylte for sweete meate loke,

To pull downe aples, peares, and plumes,

Oulde Joseph shall not nede to hurte his thombes,

Because thou hast not pleintie of crombes,

I geve thee heare my nutthocke.

Primus Pastor

Nowe fare well, mother and maye,

For of synne naughte thou wotteste,

Thou haste brought fourth this daie

Godes sonne of mighteste moste.

Wherfore men shall saye,

Blessed in everye coste and place

Be thou memoriall for me and for us all.

And that we maie from syne fall,

And stande ever in thy grace,

Our Lorde God be with thee.

Secundus Pastor

Brethren, let us all three

Singinge walke whomwardes;

Unkinde will I in no case be,

But preache ever that I can and crye,

As Gabryll taughte by his grace me,

Singinge awaye hense will I.

Tercius Pastor

Over the sea, and I maye have grace,

I will henge and aboute goe nowe,

To preache this in everye place,

And sheepe will I kepe non nowe.

Trowle

I redde we us agree

For our misdeedes amendes to make;

For so nowe I will,

And to that childe whollye me betake;

For ever sickerlie

Sheaphardes crafte heare I forsake,

And to an ancker heare by,

I will in my prayers wache and wake.

Primus Pastor

And I am heare meke

To praise God to paie,

To walke by style and streete,

In wyldernes to walke ever;

And I will no man meete,

But for my livinge I shall them praie,

Barefoote on my feete,

And this will I live ever and aye.

For aye ever ones,

This worlde I fullye refuce,

My misse to amende with mones.

Torne to thy felowes and kisse,

I eylde, for in youth

We have bene felowes, i-wysse,

Therfore lende us your mouthe,

And frendlye let us kisse.

Secundus Pastor

From London to Louth

Suche another sheaparde I not were.

Bouth framed and couth,

God grante you, amen.

Tercius Pastor

To that blesse bringe you,

Greate God, if thy wilbe.

Amen all singe you:

Good men, fares well!

Trowle

Well for to fare iche frende,

God of his mighte grante you;

For heare nowe we make an ende,

Fare well, for we goe from you nowe.

Finis. Deo gracias! per me, Georgi Bellin. 1592.

Come, Lorde Jesu, come quicklye.



2018 Nov 08  14:38:26