The Woman Taken in Adultery

Hic de muliere in adulterio deprehensa.


Jesus
Nolo mortem peccatoris.
Man, for þi synne take repentaunce.
If þu amende þat is amys,
Than hevyn xal be þin herytaunce.
Thow þu haue don a3ens God grevauns,
3ett mercy to haske loke þu be bolde.
His mercy doth passe in trewe balauns
All cruel jugement be many folde.
Thow þat 3oure synnys be nevyr so grett,
For hem be sad and aske mercy.
Sone of my fadyr grace 3e may gett
With þe leste teer wepynge owte of 3oure ey.
My fadyr me sent the, man, to bye;
All þi raunsom mysylfe must pay;
For loue of þe mysylfe wyl dye.
Iff þu aske mercy, I sey nevyr nay.
Into þe erth from hevyn above
þi sorwe to sese and joy to restore,
Man, I cam down all for þi loue.
Loue me ageyn — I aske no more.
þow þu myshappe and synne ful sore,
3it turne a3en and mercy craue.
It is þi fawte and þu be lore;
Haske þu mercy and þu xalt haue.
Vppon þi neybore be not vengabyl,
Ageyn þe lawe if he offende.
Lyke as he is, þu art vnstabyl —
Thyn owyn frelté evyr þu attende.
Euyrmore þi neybore helpe to amende,
Evyn as þu woldyst he xulde þe.
Ageyn hym wrath if þu accende,
The same in happ wyll falle on the.
Eche man to othyr be mercyable,
And mercy he xal haue at nede.
What man of mercy is not tretable,
Whan he askyth mercy, he xal not spede.
Mercy to graunt I com, indede.
Whoso aske mercy, he xal haue 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, Jesu be name,
þat of a sheppherdis dowtyr was born,
Wyl breke oure lawe and make it lame!
He wyl us werke ryght mekyl shame,
His fals purpos if he upholde.
All oure lawys he doth defame —
þat stynkynge beggere is woundyr bolde!
Phariseus
Sere scrybe, in feyth þat ypocryte
Wyl turne his londe al to his lore.
þerfore I councell hym to indyte,
And chastyse hym ryght web þerfore.
Scriba
On hym beleve many a score,
In his prechynge he is so gay.
Ech man hym folwygh evyr more and more —
A3ens þat he seyth no man seyth nay.
Phariseus
A fals qwarel if we cowde feyne,
þat ypocrite to puttyn in blame,
All his prechynge xulde sone disteyne,
And than his wurchepp xuld turne to shame.
With sum falshede to spyllyn his name
Left us assay his lore to spylle.
þe pepyl with hym yff we cowde grame,
Than xulde we sone haue al oure wyll.
Accusator
Herke, Sere Pharysew and Sere Scrybe,
A ryght good sporte I kan 3ow telle.
I vndyrtake þat ryght a good brybe
We all xul haue to kepe councell.
A fayre 3onge qwene hereby doth dwelle,
Both fresch and gay upon to loke.
And a tall man with here doth melle;
The wey into hyre chawmere ryght evyn he toke.
Left us thre now go streyte thedyr,
The wey ful evyn I xall 3ow lede.
And we xul take them both togedyr
Whyll þat þei do þat synful dede.
Scriba
Art þu sekyr þat we xal spede?
Shall we hym fynde whan we cum there?
Accusator
Be my trowth, I haue no drede,
þe hare fro þe forme we xal arere!
Phariseus
We xal haue game and his be trewe!
Lete vs thre werke by on assent.
We wyl here brynge evyn beforn Jesu
And of here lyff þe truth present,
How in advowtrye hyre lyff is lent.
Than hym beforn whan she is browth,
We xul hym aske þe trew jugement,
What lawfull deth to here is wrouth.
Of grace and mercy hevyr he doth preche,
And þat no man xulde be vengeable.
Ageyn þe woman if he sey wrech,
Than of his prechynge he is vnstable.
And if we fynde hym varyable
Of his prechynge þat he hath tawth,
Than haue we cawse bothe juste and able
For a fals man þat he be cawth.
Scriba
Now be grete God, 3e sey ful well!
If we hym fyndyn in varyaunce,
We haue good reson, as 3e do tell,
Hym for to brynge to foule myschauns.
If he holde stylle his dalyauns,
And preche of mercy, hire for to saue,
Than haue we mater of gret substauns
Hym for to kylle and putt in graue.
Grett reson why I xal 3ow telle:
For Moyses doth bydde in oure lawe
That euery advowterere we xuld qwelle,
And 3itt with stonys thei xulde be slawe.
Ageyn Moyses if þat he drawe,
þat synful woman with grace to helpe,
He xal nevyr skape out of oure awe,
But he xal dye lyke a dogge whelpe!
Accusator
3e tary ovyrlonge, serys, I sey 3ow;
They wyl sone parte, as þat I gesse.
þerfore, if 3e wyl haue 3oure pray now,
Lete us go take them in here whantownnesse.
Phariseus
Goo þu beforn, be wey to dresse;
We xal be folwe within short whyle.
Iff þat we may þat quene dystresse,
I hope we xal Jesu begyle.
Scriba
Breke up be dore and go we inne!
Sett to be shuldyr with all þi myght.
We xal hem take evyn in here synne —
Here owyn trespas shal hem indite.

Hic juuenis quidam extra currit in deploydo, calligis non ligatis et braccas in manu tenens; et dicit accusator:


Accusator
Stow þat harlot, sum erthely wyght,
That in advowtrye here is fownde!
Juuenis
3iff any man stow me þis nyth,
I xal hym 3eve a dedly wownde!
I[f] any man my wey doth stoppe,
Or we departe, ded xal [he] be.
I xal his daggare put in his croppe —
I xal hem kylle or he xal me.
Phariseus
Grett Goddys curse mut go with the!
With suche a shrewe wyll I not melle.
Juuen[i]s
That same blyssynge I 3yff 3ow thre
And qwheth 3ow alle to þe devyl of helle!
In feyth, I was so sore affrayd
Of 3one thre shrewys, þe sothe to say,
My breche be nott 3ett well upteyd,
I had such hast to renne away.
Thei xal nevyr cacche me in such affray.
I am full glad þat I am gon!
Adewe, adewe, a xxti devyl way,
And Goddys curse haue 3e everychon!
Scriba
Come forth, þu stotte, com forth, þu scowte!
Com forth, þu bysmare and brothel bolde!
Com forth, þu hore and stynkynge bych clowte!
How longe hast þu such harlotry holde?
Phariseus
Com forth, þu quene, com forth, þu scolde!
Com forth, þu sloveyn, com forth, þu slutte!
We xal the teche with carys colde
A lytyl bettyr to kepe þi kutte.
Mulyer
A, mercy, mercy, serys, I 3ow pray!
For Goddys love haue mercy on me.
Of my myslevynge me not bewray;
Haue mercy on me, for charyté!
Accusator
Aske us no mercy; it xal not be.
We xul so ordeyn for þi lott
þat þu xalt dye for þin advowtrye!
þerfore, com forth, þu stynkynge stott!
Mulier
Serys, my wurchepp if 3e wyl saue
And helpe I haue non opyn shame,
Bothe gold and sylvyr 3e xul haue,
So þat in clennes 3e kepe my name.
Scriba
Mede for to take, we were to blame
To save suche stottys. It xal not be!
We xal brynge the to suche a game
þat all advowtererys xul lern be the.
Mulier
Stondynge 3e wyl not graunt me grace,
But for my synne þat I xal dye,
I pray 3ow kylle me here in his place
And lete not be pepyl upon me crye.
If I be sclaundryd opynly,
To all my frendys it xul be shame.
I pray 3ow, kylle me here in his place
Lete not þe pepyl know my defame.
Phariseus
Fy on þe, scowte, be devyl þe qwelle!
Ageyn þe lawe xul we þe kyll?
Fyrst xal hange þe þe devyl of helle
Or we such folyes xulde fulfyll.
Thow it lyke þe nevyr so ill,
Befforn be prophete þu xalt haue lawe.
Lyke as Moyses doth charge u[s] tyll,
With grett stonys þu xalt be slawe.
Accusator
Com forth apase, þu stynkynge scowte,
Before þe prophete þu were þis day,
Or I xal 3eve þe such a clowte
þat þu xalt fall down evyn in þe way.
Scriba
Now, be grett God, and I þe pay,
Such a buffett I xal þe take
þat all be teth, I dare wel say,
Withinne þin heed for who xul shake.
Phariseus
Herke, sere prophete, we all 3ow pray
To gyff trewe dom and just sentence
Vpon his woman, which þis same day
In synfull advowtery hath don offense.

Hic Jesus, dum isti accusant mulierem, continue debet digito suo scribere in terra.


Accusator
Se, we haue brought here to 3oure presens
Becawse 3e ben a wyse prophete,
þat 3e xal telle be consyens
What deth to hyre 3e thynke most mete.
Scriba
In Moyses lawe ryght þus we fynde,
þat such fals louers xul be slayn;
Streyte to a stake we xul hem bynde
And with grett stonys brest out þer brayn.
Of 3oure concyens telle us þe playn,
With þis woman what xal be wrought?
Shall we lete here go qwyte agayn,
Or to hire deth xal she be brought?

Jesus nichil respondit, sed semper scrybyt in terra.


[Mulier]
Now, holy prophete, be mercyable!
Vpon me, wrecch, take no vengeaunce.
For my synnys abhomynable
In hert I haue grett repentaunce.
I am wel wurthy to haue myschaunce,
Both bodyly deth and werdly shame.
But, gracyous prophete, of socurraunce
þis tyme pray 3ow, for Goddys name.
Phariseus
Ageyn be lawe þu dedyst offens;
þerfore of grace speke þu no more.
As Moyses gevyth in lawe sentens,
þu xalt be stonyd to deth þerfore.
Accusator
Ha don, sere prophete, telle us 3oure lore.
Xul we his woman with stonys kyll,
Or to hire hous hire home restore?
In þis mater tell us 3oure wyll.
Scriba
In a colde stodye methynkyth 3e sytt.
Good sere, awake! Telle us 3oure thought.
Xal she be stonyd — telle us 3oure wytt —
Or in what rewle xal sche be brought?
Jesus
Loke which of 3ow þat nevyr synne wrought,
But is of lyff clennere þan she,
Cast at here stonys and spare here nowght,
Clene out of synne if þat 3e be.

Hic Jesus, iterum se inclinans, scribet in terra; et omnes accusatores, quasi confusi, separatim in tribus locis se desiungent.


Phariseus
Alas, alas, I am ashamyd!
I am afferde þat I xal deye!
All myn synnys evyn propyrly namyd
3on prophyte dede wryte befor myn eye.
Iff þat my felawys þat dude aspye,
They wyll telle it bothe fer and wyde.
My synfull levynge if þei outcrye,
I wot nevyr wher myn heed to hyde.
Accusator
Alas, for sorwe myn herte doth blede!
All my synnys 3on man dude wryte.
If þat my felawys to them toke hede,
I kannot me from deth acquyte.
I wolde I wore hyd sumwhere out of syght
þat men xuld me nowhere se ne knowe.
Iff I be take, I am afflyght
In mekyl shame I xal be throwe.
Scriba
Alas þe tyme þat his betyd!
Ryght byttyr care doth me enbrace.
All my synnys be now vnhyd,
3on man befor me hem all doth trace.
If I were onys out of his place,
To suffyr deth gret and vengeauns able,
I wyl nevyr come befor his face,
þow I xuld dye in a stable.
Mulier
Thow I be wurthy for my trespas
To suffyr deth abhomynable,
3itt, holy prophete, of 3oure hy3 grace,
In 3oure jugement be mercyable!
I wyl nevyrmore be so vnstable.
O holy prophete, graunt me mercy.
Of myn synnys vnresonable
With all myn hert I am sory.
Jesus
Where be þi fomen þat dude þe accuse?
Why haue thei lefte us to alone?
Mulier
Bycawse they cowde flat hemself excuse,
With shame they fled hens euyrychone.
But, gracyous prophete, lyst to my mone;
Of my sorwe take compassyon.
Now all myn enmyes hens be gone,
Sey me sum wurde of consolacyon.
Jesus
For þe synnys þat þu hast wrought
Hath any man condempnyd the?
Mulier
Nay, forsoth, þat hath þer nought,
But in 3oure grace I putt me.
Jesus
For me þu xalt nat condempnyd be;
Go hom ageyn and walk at large.
Loke þat þu leve in honesté,
And wyl no more to synne, I þe charge.
Mulier
I thanke 3ow hy3ly, holy prophete,
Of his grett grace 3e haue me graunt.
All my lewde lyff I xal doun lete
And fonde to be Goddys trewe servaunt.
Jesus
What man of synne be repentaunt,
Of God if he wyl mercy craue,
God of mercy is so habundawnt,
þat, what man haske it, he xal it haue.
Whan man is contrite and hath wonne grace,
God wele not kepe olde wreth in mynde;
But bettyr loue to hem he has,
Very contryte whan he them fynde.
Now God þat dyed for all mankende
Saue all þese pepyl both nyght and day.
And of oure synnys he us vnbynde,
Hy3e Lorde of Hevyn þat best may.
Amen


2024 Mar 19  14:56:36