The Raising of Lazarus

Lazarus
God, þat allthynge dede make of nowth
And puttyst eche creature to his fenaunce,
Saue thyn handwerke þat þu hast wrought,
As þu art Lord of hy3 substauns.
O gracyous God, at þi plesauns,
Of my dysese now comforte me,
Which þurowe syknes hath such penawnce
Onethys for heedache may I now se.

Martha
Lazarus, brother, be of good cher;
I hope 3oure syknes ryght wel xal slake.
Vpon þis bed rest 3ow rygh her,
And a good slep assay to take.

Magdalyn
Now, jentyl brothyr, for Goddys sake,
Lyfte up 3owre herte and be not feynt.
An hevy housholde with vs 3e make
If dedly syknes haue 3ow ateynt.

Lazarus
Forsothe, dere systeryn, I may not slepe;
My syknes so sore doth evyr encrese.
Of me I pray 3ow, take ryght good kepe
Tyll þat my peyne begynne relese.

Martha
God graunt grace þat it may sese.
Of syknes God make 3ow sownde,
Or ellys oure joy wyll sone dyscres,
In so grett peynes if 3e ly bownde.

Magdalyn
A, brothir, brothir, lyfte up 3oure herte!
3oure hevy cher doth us grevaunce.
If deth from us 3ow xulde departe,
Than were we brought in comberaunce.
3e be oure brothyr, syb of alyaunce;
If 3e wore deed þan had we none.
3e do us brynge in distemperaunce
Whan 3e us telle 3e xal hens gone.

Primus Consolator
Dame Martha and Magdalyne,
How faryth 3oure brothire? Lete us hym se.

Martha
He is ryght seke and hath grett pyne —
I am aferde deed he xal be.

Magdalyn
A man may haue ryght grett pete,
The fervent hete of hym to fele.

Secundus Consolator
Take 3e no thought in no degré;
I hope þat he xal fare ful wele.

Martha
He may nat leve, his colowre doth chaunge.
Com to his bed, 3e xal hym se.

Magdalyn
Iff he longe leve it wyl be straunge,
But as God wole, so mut it be.
Chere hym, gode frendys, for charyté.
Comforte of hym we kan non gete.
Alas, alas! What eylight me?
Myne herte for wo is wundyr grete!

Tercius Consolator
Al heyl, Syr Lazarus! How do 3e fare?
How do 3e fele 3ow in 3oure herte?

Lazarus
I am with syknes all woundyn in care
And loke whan deth me xulde departe.

Quartus Consolator et Nuncius
3e xal haue hele and leve in qwart
If 3e wol take to 3ow good chere.

Lazarus
Whan deth on me hath shet his dart,
I xal haue hele and ly on bere.

Primus Consolator
Be of good comforte and thynke not so,
Put out of herte þat idyl thought.
3oure owyn mysdemynge may werke 3ow wo
And cause 3ow sonere to deth be brought.

Secundus Consolator
With gret syknes þow 3e be sought,
Vpon 3ouresylf haue no mystruste.
If þat 3e haue, I wundyr ryght nought
þow 3e be deed and cast in duste.

Tercius Consolator
Many on hath had ryght grett syknesse
And aftyr hath had his hele agayn.
And many a man, þis is no lesse,
With his wantruste hymsylf hath slayn.
3e be a man of ryght sad brayn.
þow þat 3oure syknes greve 3ow ryght ill,
Pluk up 3oure herte with myght and mayn,
And chere 3ouresylf with all 3oure wyll!

Lazarus
Ageyn my syknes her is non ese
But Jesu Cryst, my maystyr dere.
If þat he wyst of my dyssese,
Ryght sone, I trust, he wolde ben here.

Quartus Consolator
I xal go to hym, withoutyn dwere,
And of 3oure syknes telle hym, serteyn.
Loke þat 3e be of ryght good chere
Whyll þat I go and com ageyn.

Martha
Now, jentyl frend, telle hym ryght thus:
He þat he lovyth hath grett syknes.
Hedyr to come and comforte us,
Say þat we prayd hym of his goodnes.

Magdalyn
Recomende us onto his hy3nes,
And telle hym all oure hertys wo.
But he comforte oure hevynes,
Oure werdly joy awey wyl go.

Quartus Consolator et Nuncius
The trewth, forsoth, all every dele
As 3e haue told, so xal I say.
Go to 3oure brothyr and cheryse hym wele,
For I walke forth streyte in my way.

Martha
What chere, good brothyr? Telle me I pray,
What wele 3e ete? What wele 3e drynk?
Loke what is plesynge to 3oure pay;
3e xal haue what 3e wole thynke.

Lazarus
My wynde is stoppyd! Gon is my breth,
And deth is come to make myn ende.
To God in hevyn my sowle I qweth.
Farwell, systeryn, for hens I wende.
azarus moritur, et cetera..

Magdalyn
Alas, for wo myn here I rende!
Myn owyn dere brothyr lyth here now ded!
Now haue we lost a trusty frende,
þe sybbest blood of oure kynreed.

Martha
Alas, alas, and weleway!
Now be we tweyn bothe brotherles.
For who my hert is colde as clay!
A, hoo xal comforte oure carefulnes?
Ther had nevyr woman more doolfulnes.
A, systyr Magdalyn, what is 3oure reed?
What whith may helpe oure hevynes
Now þat oure brother is gon and deed?

Magdalyn
Alas, dere systyr, I cannot telle.
þe best comforte þat 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 all turnyd to pley
Ther now all joye is turnyd to woo.

Primus Consolator
Be of good comforte and thank God of al,
For deth is dew to every man.
What tyme þat deth on us xal fal
Non erthely wyght þe oure telle can.

Martha
We all xul dye, þat is sertan.
But 3it be blood of kynde nature,
Whan deth be brothyr awey hath tan,
Must nedys murne þat sepulture.

Secundus Consolator
Good frendys, I pray 3ow, holde 3oure pes.
All 3oure wepynge may not amende itt.
Of 3oure sorwynge, þerfore, now ses,
And helpe he were buryed in a cley pitt.

Magdalyn
Alas, þat wurde myn herte doth slytt,
þat he must now in cley be graue.
I wolde sum man my throte wulde kytt
þat I with hym myght lyne in caue.

Tercius Consolator
Bothe heed and foot now he is wounde
In a chete bothe fayr and clene.
Lete us bere hym streyte to þat grounde
Where þat 3e thynke his graue xal bene.

Martha
We be full lothe þat pytt to sen.
But stondynge it may no bettyr be,
The coors take up 3ow thre betwen.
With carefull herte 3ow folwe xal we.

Magdaleyn
Alas, comforte, I se non othyr,
But all of sorwe, and care, and woo!
We dulfull women must hurry oure brothir —
Alas, þat deth me wyl not slo!
If I to pitt with hym myght go,
þerin evyrmore with hym to abyde,
Than were my care all went me fro,
þer now grett sorwe doth wounde me wyde.

Primus Consolator
This coors we burry here in his pytte;
Allmyghty God þe sowle mut haue.
And with his ston his graue we shytte,
Fro ravenous bestys þe body to saue.

Magdalyn
He is now brought into his cave.
Myn hert for wo his syght doth kylle!
Lete us sytt down here by þe grave,
Or we go hens wepe all oure fylle.

Martha
Vs for to wepe no man may left,
Beforn oure face to se his syght.
Alas, qwy doth deth us not fett,
Vs for to brynge to his same plyght?

Secundus Consolator
Arys! For shame, 3e do not ryght!
Streyth from his grave 3e xul go hens.
þus for to grugge ageyns Godys myght,
A3ens hy3 God 3e do offens.

Magdalen
Syth I must nedys with 3ow hens gon,
My brotherys graue lete me fyrst kys.
Alas, no whith may helpe my mon.
Farewel, my brothyr. Farewel, my blys.

Tercius Consolator
Hom to 3oure place we xal 3ow wysse.
For Goddys loue, be of good chere.
Indede, 3e do ryght sore amys,
So sore to wepe as 3e do here.

Martha
Lete us go hom than to oure place.
We pray 3ow all with us to abyde,
Vs to comforte with sum solace
Tyl þat oure sorwe doth slake and sclyde.

Primus Consolator
3ow for to comforte at every tyde
We xall dwelle here bothe nyght and day.
And God, þat made his werd so wyde,
Be 3owre comforte, þat best may.

Quartus Consolator
Heyl, holy prophete, Jesu be name!
Martha and Mawdelyn, þo systeryn too,
Recomende hem to 3oure hy3 fame,
And bad me sey to 3ow þus, loo:
How þat Lazare, qwhich þat 3e lovyd so,
With grett syknes is sore dyssesyd.
To hym they prayd 3ow þat 3e wolde goo,
If þat 3oure hy3nes þerwith were plesyd.

Jesus
Dedly syknes Lazare hath non,
But for to shewe Goddys grete glorye,
For þat syknes is ordeynyd alon
þe Sone of God to gloryfie.

Nuncius
They be in dowte þat he xal deye —
Grett syknes hym sore doth holde.
For veruent hete his blood doth dreye;
His colore chaungyth, as they me tolde.

Jesus
Goo hom ageyn and telle hem thus:
I xal come to hem whan þat I may.

Nunc[iu]s
At 3oure comaundement, O prophete Jesus,
I xal hem telle as 3e do say.

Jesus
Come forth, bretheryn, walke we oure way,
Into Jurye go we anon.
I cam not there ful many a day;
þerfore thedyr now wyl I gon.

Omnes Discipuli
The Jewys ageyn the were grym and grylle.
Whan þu wore there they wolde be a slayn!
With stonys they sowte þe for to kyll,
And wylt þu now go thedyr ageyn?

Jesus
Xij owrys þe day hath, in certeyn,
In them to walke bothe clere and bryght.
He xal not stomble ageyn hyll nor pleyn
þat goth be wey whyl it is daylyght.

Omnes Discipuli
Of his syknes he xal be save.
If þat he slepe, good sygne it is.

Jesus
Lazare is deed and leyd in grave;
Of his slepynge 3e deme amys.
I was not there, 3e knew weyl this.
To strengthe 3oure feyth I am ful glad.
þerfore I telle 3ow þe trewthe, iwys:
Oure frende is deed and vndyr erth clad.

Thomas
Than goo we all ryght evyn streyth thedyr,
Thereas oure frende Lazare is deed,
And lete us deye with hym togedyr,
þeras he lyth, in be same stede.

Jesus
The for to deye haue þu no drede.
The wey streyth thedyr in hast we take.
Be þe grett myght of myn Godhede,
Oute of his slepe he xal awake.

Nuncius
All heyl, Martha and Mawdelyn eke,
To Jesu I haue 3oure massage seyd.
I tolde hym how þat 3oure brothyr was seke
And with grett peyn in his bed leyd.
He bad 3e xulde not be dysmayde:
All his syknes he xal askape.
He wyll 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 [ston] stoppyth þe pyttys gate
Thereas oure brothere beryde is.

Nuncius
Is Lazare deed? Now God his sowle blys.
3it loke 3e take non hevynes.
So longe to wepe 3e don amys;
It may not helpe 3oure sorynes.

Martha
Out of myn herte all care to lete,
All sorwe and wo to caste away,
I xal go forth in be strete
To mete with Jesu if þat I may.

Secundus Consolator
God be 3oure spede bothe evyr and ay,
For with 3oure sustyr we wyl abyde.
Here to comforte we xal asay,
And all here care to caste asyde.

Tercius Consolator
Mary Mawdelyn, be of good herte,
And wel bethynke 3ow in 3oure mynde,
Eche creature hens must depart:
þer is no man but hens must wende.
Deth to no wyht can be a frende.
Allþinge to erth he wyl down cast.
Whan þat God wol, allthynge hath ende;
Lengere than hym lyst, nothynge may last.

Maudalyn
I thanke 3ow, frendys, for 3oure good chere.
Myn hed doth ake as it xulde brest.
I pray 3ow, therfore, while 3e ben here,
A lytil whyle þat I may rest.

Quartus Consolator Nunc[ius]þat
Lord þat made bothe est and west
Graunt 3ow good grace suche rest to take
þat onto hym xulde plese most best,
As he his worlde of nought dyd make.

Martha
A, gracyous Lord, had 3e ben here,
My brother Lazare his tyme had lyved.
But iiij days gon upon a bere
We dede hym berye whan he was ded.
3itt now I knowe, withowtyn drede,
What thynge of God þat þu do craue,
þu xalt spede of þe hy3 Godhede:
Whatso þu aske, þu xalt it haue.

Jesus
Thy brothyr Lazare a3en xal ryse,
A levynge man a3en to be.

Martha
I woot wel þat at þe grett last syse
He xal aryse, and also we.

Jesus
Resurreccyon þu mast me se,
And hendeles lyff I am also.
What man þat deyth and levyth in me,
From. deth to lyve he xal ageyn go.

Martha
I hope in the, O Cryst, ful sore.
þu art þe Sone of God in blys.

Jesus
Of hevynly myght ryght grett solas
To all þis world me xul sone se.
Go calle þi systyr into his plas:
Byd Mary Mawdelyn come hedyr to me.

Martha
At þi byddyng I xal here calle,
In hast we were here 3ow beforn.

Mawdelyn
Alas, my mowth is bytter as galle.
Grett sorwyn my herte on tweyn hath scorn!
Now þat my brothyr from syth is lorn,
þer may no myrth my care releve.
Alas þe tyme þat I was born!
þe swerde of sorwe myn hert doth cleve.

Primus Consolator
For his dere loue þat all hath wrought,
Ses sum tyme of 3oure wepynge;
And put allthynge out of thought
Into þis care þat 3ow doth brynge.

Secundus Consolator
3e do 3oureself ryght grett hyndrynge,
And short 3oure lyff or 3e be ware.
For Goddys loue, ses of 3oure sorwynge,
And with good wysdam refreyn 3oure care.

Martha
Sustyr Magdalen, com out of halle.
Oure maystyr is com, as I 3ow say.
He sent me hedyr 3ow for to calle.
Come forth in hast, as I 3ow pray.

Magdalen
Ha! Where hath he ben many a longe day?
Alas, why cam he no sonere hedyr?
In hast I folwe 3ow anon þe way.
Methynkyth longe or I come thedyr.

Tercius Consolator
Herke, gode frendys, I 3ow pray,
Aftyr þis woman in hast we wende!
I am aferde, ryght in good fay,
Hereself for sorwe þat she wyl shende.

Nuncius
Here brothyr so sore is in hire mende
She may not ete, drynke, nor slepe.
Streyte to his graue she goth on ende,
As a mad woman her for to wepe.

Magdalen
A, souereyn Lord and maystyr dere,
Had 3e with us ben in presens,
Than had my brother on lyue ben here,
Nat ded but qwyk, þat now is hens.
Ageyn deth is no resystens.
Alas, myn hert is woundyrly wo
Whan þat I thynke of his absens
þat 3e 3oureself in herte lovyd so.

Primus Consolator
Whan we haue mynde of his sore deth,
He was to us so jentyl and good,
þat mend of hym oure hertys sleth.
þe losse of hym doth marre oure mood.

Secundus Consolator
Be bettyr neybore nevyr man stood,
To euery man he was ryght hende.
Vs he dede refresch with drynk and food,
Now he is gon, gon is oure frende.

Jesus
3owre grett wepynge doth me constreyne
For my good frend to wepe also.
I cannot me for wo restreyn,
But I must wepe lyke as 3e do.

Tercius Consolator
Beholde his prophete, how he doth wepe, lo!
He louyd Lazare ryght woundyrly sore.
He wolde not ellys for hym þus wepe so,
But if þat his loue on hym were be more.

Nuncius
A straw for þi tale! What nedyth hym to wepe?
A man born blynde dede he nat 3eue syght?
Myght he nat thanne his frende on lyve kepe
Be the uertu of þat same hy3 myght?

Jesus
Where is he put? Telle me anon-ryght.
Brynge me þe weye streyth to his grave.

Martha
Lord, at 3oure wylle we xal brynge 3ow tyght,
Evyn to þat place þer he doth lyne in caue.

Magdalyn
Whan þat we had þe massangere sent,
Or he had fullych half a myle gon,
Deyd my brother and up we hym hent;
Here in his graue we beryed hym anon.

Jesus
be myght of þe Godhed xal glathe 3ow everychon,
Suche syght xal 3e se hens or 3e wende.
Sett to 3oure handys, take of þe ston.
A syght lete me haue of Lazare my frende.

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.
þe stynke of his careyn myght hurte us, I drede.

Jesus
As I haue þe tolde, syght of þe Godhede
Thyself xuldyst haue, feythful if þu be.
Take of þe ston, do aftyr my rede.
þe glorye of þe Godhede anon 3exal se.

Primus Consolator
3oure byddynge xal be don anon ful swyfte.
Sett to 3oure handys and helpe, echon.
I pray 3ow, serys, help me to lyfte;
I may not reyse it myself alon.

Secundus Consolator
In feyth, it is an hevy ston,
Ryth sad of weyth and hevy of peys.

Tercius
Thow it were twyes so evy as on,
Vndyr vs foure we xal it reyse.

Nuncius
Now is þe ston take from be caue.
Here may men se a rewly sygth
Of his ded body þat lyth here graue,
Wrappyd in a petéfful plyght.

Jesus
I thanke þe, fadyr, of þin hy3 myght,
þat þu hast herd my prayour his day.
I know ful wel bothe day and nyght
Euyr þu dost graunt þat I do say,

Lazarus
At 3oure comaundement I ryse up ful ryght.
Hevyn, helle, and erth 3oure byddyng must obeye.
For 3e be God and man, and Lord of most myght.
Of lyff and of deth 3e haue both lok and keye.

Jesus
Goo forthe, bretheryn, and Lazare 3e vntey,
And all his bondys, losyth hem asundyr.
Late hym walke hom with 3ow in þe wey.
Ageyn Godys myght þis meracle is no wundyr.

Petrus
At 3oure byddynge his bondys we vnbynde.
Allthynge muste lowte 3oure magesté.
Be his grett meracle opynly we fynde
Very God and man in trewth þat 3e be.

Johannes
þat þu art very God, every man may se
Be this meracle so grett and so meruayll!
Allthynge vndyr hevyn must nedys obeye þe.
Whan a3ens be þowh Deth be, he may not preuayll.

Omnes Consolatores
We all with o voys for God do þe knowe,
And for oure Sauyour we do þe reverens.
All oure hool loue now in þe doth growe,
O sovereyn Lord of most excellens.
Helpe vs of 3oure grace whan þat we go hens,
For a3ens deth us helpyht not to stryve.
But a3en 3oure myght is no resistens:
Oure deth 3e may aslake and kepe vs stylle on lyve.

Jesus
Now I haue shewyd in opyn syght
Of my Godhed be gret glorye.
Toward my Passyon I wyl me dyght:
The tyme is nere þat I must deye,
For all mankynde his sowle to bye.
A crowne of thorn xal perchyn myn brayn,
And on þe Mont of Caluarye,
Vpon a cros I xal be slayn.