The Cookes Plaie

Hie incipit pagina decima septima, de decensu ad inferna el de his que ibidem fiebant, secundum evangelium Nicodemi: et primo fiat lux in inferno malerialis aliqua subtilitate machinata, et postea dicat Adam:


Adam
O Lorde and soveraigne Savyour,
Our comforte and our counsceloure,
Of this lighte thou arte auctour,
As I see well in sighte;
This is a signe thou will succoure
Thy folkes that lyne in great langoure,
And of the devil be conquerour,
As thou hase eyer beheighte.
Me thou madeste, Lorde, of claye,
And gave me Parradice in to plaie,
But through my synne, the south to saie,
Deprived I was therfroo;
And from that wayle put awaie,
And heare hath longed, south to saye,
In thesternes bouth nighte and daye,
And all my kinde also.
Nowe by this lighte that I nowe see,
Joye is comon, Lorde, through thee,
And of thy people thou hase pittye,
To put them out of paine;
Sicker it maye non other be,
But nowe thou hase mercye on me,
And my kinde, through thy postye,
Thou wylte restore againe.
Esayus
Yea, suerlye, this same lighte
Comes from Godes sonne allmight,
For so I prophescied arighte
While that I was livinge:
Then I to all men behighte,
As I ghostlye sawe in sighte,
Thes wordes that I shall to my mighte
Rehearse without tarryinge.
Populus qui ambulabat in tenebris vidit lucem magnam.
The people, I sayde that tyme exspresse,
That eylden about in theesternes,
Seithen a full greate lightlies,
As you do nowe icheone;
Nowe is fullfilled my propheseye,
That I, the prophett Esaye,
Wrote in my boke that will not lye,
Whoe so will loke therone.
Simeon Justus.
And I, Semion, south to saye,
For when Christe child was, in good faye,
In temple I hym toke,
And as the holye ghoste that daie
Taughte me or I wente awaie,
Thes wordes I sayde to Godes paye,
That men maie fynde in boke.
Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine,
secundum verbum tuum in pace.

Ther I prayed, withouten lesse,
That God will let me be in peace,
For he is Christe that comen was,
I hade bouth felde and seene,
That he had ordeyned for mans heale,
Joye to the people of Isarell,
Nowe as it wone that eke wayle,
To us withouten wene.
JOHANES BAPTISTA.
Yea, Lorde, I am that prophett John
That baptised thee in floude Jordan,
And preached to everye nacion,
To warne of thy cominge;
To bringe the people to saulvacion
By mirrette of thy bitter passion,
Through faith and pennance to have remission,
And with thee to have woninge.
Penetenciam agite, appropinquat enim regnum celormn: dicat.
And with my finger I shewe exspres
Mercye concluded rightwisenes,
Therfore thes wordes I doe rehearse,
With honour unto thee.
Ecce agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata mundi.
Seith.
And I, Seith, Adames sonne, am heare,
That livinge wente, withouten were,
To aske a Parradice a prayer
At God, as I shall saye;
That he woulde graunte an angell in live,
To geve to me oyle of his mercye,
To anoynte my father in his anoye,
In sicknes when he laye.
Then to me appeared Michell,
And bade me travayle never a deale,
And sayde for reminge nor praiers fell
That graunte me not to seeke;
Nor of that oyle mighte I have non,
Made I never so moche mone,
Tell five thousande yeaires were gone
And fyve hundreth eke.
Omnibus fectentibus dicot
David
A! highe God, and kinge of blesse,
Worshiped be thy name i-wisse;
I hope that tyme nowe comen is,
Delivered to be of langure.
Come, Lorde, come to hell anon,
And take out thy folke everye eichone,
For the yeaires al be comon and gone,
Since mankinds came firste here.

Tunc Sathan sedens in cathedra dicat demonibus.


Hell houndes all that bene heare,
Make you bowne with boste and beare,
For to this fellowshipe in feare
Their hyes a fearlye freacke:
A noble morscell you have mou,
Jesus, that is Godes sonne,
Comes he neither with us to wonne,
On hym nowe ye you wrecke.
A man he is fullye in faye,
For greatlye death he dread to daie,
And thes wordes I harde hym saye,
My soule is thirste to death.
Suche as I made haulte and blynde,
He hase them healed to their kinde,
Therfore this bolster loke that you bynde
In balle of hell breath.
Secundus demon
Sir Sathanas, what man is he,
That shoulde thee prive of thy postie I
Howe dare he doe againste thee,
And dread his death to daye!
Greater then thou hym seemes to be,
For degrated of thy degree
Thou muste be sone, well I see,
And prived of thy praye.
Tercius demon.
Who is he so stiffe and stronge
That so maisterlike comes us amonge,
Our felowshipe as he would fonge I
But theirof he shall fayle.
Witte he us with anye wronge,
He shall singe a sorye songe,
But on thee, Sathan, that it belonge,
And his will oughte avayle.
Sathanas.
Againste this shrewe that sittes here
I tempted the folke in fowle manere,
Ascill and gall to his dynere
I made them for to dighte;
And since to hange hym on rood tree,
Nowe is he dead righte so through me,
And to hell, as you shall se,
He comes anon in heighte.
Secundus demon
Sir Sathanas, is not this that syer,
That raysed Lazarre out of the fier I
Sathanas.
Yea, this is he that would conspier
Anon to reve us all.
Tercius demon.
Out, out! alas! alas!
Heare I counger thee, Sathanas,
Thou suffer hym not come in this place,
For oughte that maye befall.
Secundus demon
Yea, seckerlye, and he come heare,
Passed is cleane our power,
For all this felowshipe in feare,
Have whom awaie he woulde;
For at his comaundmente,
Lazarre, that with us was lente,
Mawgere our teeth he wente,
And hym mighte we not houlde.

Tunc venit Jesus, et fiat clamor vel soniius magnus materialis, et dicat Jesus,


Jesus
Attolite portas, principes, vestras, et elevamini porte eternales, et introibit rex glorie.
Open up hell gates anon,
You princes of pyne everye eichone,
That Godes sonne maie in gone,
And the kimje of blesse.
Secundus demon
Goe hensc, popilarde, out from this place,
Or thou shalt have a sorye grace,
For all thy boste and thy manace
Thes men thou shalt mysse.
Sathanas.
Out, alas! what is this?
Seinge I never so moche blesse,
Towardes hell come, i-wisse,
Seithen I was warden here.
My maisterdome fares amisse,
For yencler a stobarne fellowe ys,
Righte as hollye hell were his,
To reve me of my power.
Tercius demon.
Yea, Sathanas, thy soveraigntie
Failes cleane, therfore thou fleye,
For no longer in this see.
Here shalte thou not sitte:
Goe fourth, feighte for thy degree,
Or elles our prince thou shall not be,
For nowe passes thy postye,
And hense thou muste flytte.

Tunc surgens Satlianas de sede, ei dicat


Sathanas.
Out, alas! I am shente,
My mighte fayles veramente,
This prince that is nowe presente
Will powle from me my praie.
Adam, by my intisemente,
And all his blood through me were shente;
Nowe hense the shall al be hente,
And I in hell for [aye].
David rex
I, kinge David, nowe well maye saye
My propliescye fulfilled is in faye,
As nowe shewes in sighte verreye,
And southlye here is seene;
I tauffhte men this here in my life daie
To worshipe God by all waie,
That hell gates he shall affraye,
And wone that his hath bene.
Conjitentur domino misericordie ejus et mirabilia ejus et litis hominis contrivit portas preas et victes ferreas confreget.

Tunc item dicat.


Jesus
Open up hell gates, yet I saye,
You princes of pine that be presente,
And let the kinge of blisse this waie,
That he maie fulfill his intente.
Sathanas.
Staye! what is he, that kinge of blesse?
David rex
That Lorde the whiche allmightie is,
In warre no power like to his,
Of all blesse is greateste kinge,
And to hym is non like, i-wysse,
As is southlye seene by this,
For men that some tyme did amisse,
To his blesse he will us bringe.
Hie extrahit patriarchas.
Here God doth take out Addam.
Jesus
Peace to thee, Adam, my darlinge,
THE HARROWING OF HELL. 7!
And eke to all thy ofspringe,
That rightious were in eirth livinge,
From me you shall not sever;
To blesse nowe I will you bringe,
Their you shalbe without endinge,
Michell, leade thes men singinge
To blesse that lasteth ever.
MlCHEALL.
Lorde, your will done shalbe;
Come fourth, Adam, come with me:
My Lorde uppon the roode tree
Your synnes hath for-boughte;
Nowe shall you have likinge and lee,
And be restored to your degree,
That Sathan with his suttiltie
From blesse to balle hade broughte.

[Tunc Michael adducet Adam et sanctos ad Paradisum, et in obviam venient Henoc et Helias, et latro alvatus; et. Sathan dicat:]


Sathanas.
Out, alas! nowe goes awaie
All my prisoneres and my praie,
And I my selfe maie not starte awaie,
I am so straitlye tyed!
Nowe comes Christe, sorowe I maie,
For me and my meanye for aye,
Never seith God made the firste daie
Were we soe sore afreayde.

Heare muste Adam speake to Enocke and Ely.


Adam
Sires, what manner of men be ye,
That bodelye meete us as I see,
That dead came not to hell as well as wee,
Seinge all men dampned were?
When I treasspasetli God, heighte
That this place clossed shoulde be
From eirthlye men to have enterye,
And yet I fynde you here.
Enocke
Sir, I am Enocke, the south to saye,
Put in this place to Goods paye,
And heare have lived ever since aye
At likinge all my fill;
And my felowe heare, in good faye,
Is Hely the prophette, se you maie,
That ravished was in this araye,
As it was G-odes will.
Hely prophette
Yea, bodelye death, leeve thou me,
Yet never suffred we,
But heare ordayned we are to be,
Tell Antechriste come;
To feighte againste us shall he,
And sleay us in this holye cittie,
But suerlye in daies three
And an halfe we shall rise.
Adam
And who is this that comes here,
[With crosse on shoulder in suche] manere I
Latro.
I am that theiffe, my father deare,
That honge one roode tree.
For I beleved without were
That Christe might save us bouth in feare:
To hym I made my praier,
The which was graunted me,
When I se signes vereye
That he was Grodes sonne, south to saye,
To hyrn devoutlye did I praye,
In his region when I came,
That he woulde thinke on me all waye;
And he answered and sayde, this daie
In Paradice thou shalte with me plaie
Heitherwarde anon.
Then he betaughte me this tockeninge,
This crosse upon my backe hanginge,
To Michell angell for to bringe,
That I mighte have enterye.
Adam
Nowe goe we to blesse bouth oulde and yonge,
And worshipe God allwillinge;
And theiderwarde I rede we singe
With greate solempenitie.

Tunc eunt omnes, et incipiat Michell, Te Deum laudamus; dicat


MULIER.
Wo be to the tyme that I came heare,
I saye to thee nowe, Lucifier,
With all thy felowshipe in feare
That presente be in place;
Wofull am I with thee to dwell,
Sir Sathanas, sergante of hell;
Endles paines and sorowe cruell
I suffer in this place.
Some tyme I was a tavernere,
A gentill gossipe and a tapstere,
Of wyne and ale a trustie brewer,
Which wo hath me wroughte;
Of cannes I kepte no trewe measuer,
My cuppes I soulde at my pleasuer,
Deceavinge manye a creature,
Tho my ale were naughte.
And when I was a brewer longe,
With hoopes I made my ale stronge,
Ashes and erbes I blende amonge,
And marred so good maulte;
Therfore I maye my handes wringe,
Shake my cannes, and cuppes ringe,
Sorowfull maie I sicke and singe
That ever I so dealed.
Taverners, tapsters of this cittie,
Shalbe promoted heare by me,
For breakinge statutes of this cuntrey,
Hurtinge the commonwelth;
With all tiplinge tapsters that are cuninge,
Mysspendinge moche maulte, brewinge so theyne,
Sellinge small cuppes moneye to wyn,
Againste all truth to deale.
Therfore this place ordeyned is
For suche ylle doeres so moche amisse;
Here shall the have ther joye and blesse,
Exsaulted by the necke,
With my mayster, mightye Mahounde,
For castinge maulte besyddes the combe,
Moche watter takinge for to compounde,
And littill of the secke;
With all mashers minglers of wyne in the nighte,
Brewinge so blendinge againste daye lighte,
Suche newe made clarrytte is cause full righte
Of sicknes and desease.
This I betake you, more and lesse,
To my sweete mayster, sir Sathanas,
To dwell with hym in his place,
When it shall you please.
Sathanas.
Welckome, deare darlinge, to us all three,
Though Jesus be gone with our meanye,
Yet shall thou abyde heare still with me,
In paine withoute ende.
Secundus demon
Welckome, dere ladye, I shall thee wedd,
For manye a heavye and droncken head,
Cause of thy ale, were broughte to bed
Farre worse then anye beaste.
Tercius demon.
Welckome, deare daughter, to endles balle,
Usinge cardes, dice, and cupes smalle,
With manye false outhes to sell thy ale.
No we thou shall have a feaste.

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




2023 Sep 26  11:45:55