The Proclamation of Banns Primus Vexillat[or] Now, gracyous God, groundyd of all goodnesse, As þi grete glorie nevyr begynnyng had, So þu socour and saue all þo þat sytt and sese, And lystenyth to oure talkyng with sylens stylle and sad. For we purpose us pertly stylle in þis prese þe pepyl to plese with pleys ful glad. Now lystenyth us louely, bothe more and lesse, Gentyllys and 3emanry of goodly lyff lad, þis tyde. We xal 3ou shewe as þat we kan How þat þis werd fyrst began, And how God made bothe molde and man, Iff þat 3e wyl abyde. Secundus Vexilla[tor] In þe fyrst pagent we þenke to play How God dede make þurowe his owyn myth Hevyn so clere upon þe fyrst day, And þerin he sett angell ful bryth. Than angell with songe, þis is no nay, Xal worchep God as it is ryth. But Lucyfer, þat angell so gay, In suche pompe þan is he pyth And set in so gret pride, þat Goddys sete he gynnyth to take, Hese Lordys pere hymself to make. But þan he fallyth a fend ful blake From hevyn, in helle to a[byde]. Tercius Vexilla[tor] In þe secunde pagent, by Godys myth, We þenke to shewe and pley bedene In þe other sex days, by opyn syth, What þenge was wrought þer 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 3ow plyth, Was woman wrougth, mannys make to bene, And put in paradyse. Ther were flourys bothe blew and blake; Of all frutys þei myth þer take, Saff frute of cunnyng þei xulde forsake And towche it in no wyse. The serpent toke Eve an appyl to byte, And Eve toke Adam a mursel of þe same. Whan þei had do þus a3ens þe rewle of ryte, Than was oure Lord wroth and grevyd al with grame. Oure Lord gan appose þem of þer gret delyte, Bothe to askuse hem of þat synful blame. And þan Almythy God for þat gret dyspite Assygned hem grevous peyn, as 3e xal se in game, Indede. Seraphyn, an angell gay, With brennyng swerd, þis is verray, From paradise bete hem away, In Bybyl as we rede. Primus Vexillator We purpose to shewe in þe thryd pagent The story of Caym and of hese brother Abelle. Of here tythyngys now be we bent In þis pagent þe trewth to telle. How be tythyng of Abel with feyr was brent And accept to God, yf 3e wyl dwelle, We purpose to shewe, as we haue ment, And how he was kyllyd of his brother so felle. And than How Caym was cursyd in al degré Of Godys owyn mowthe þer xal 3e se. Of trewe tythyng þis may wel be Exaw[m]ple to every man. Secundus Vexilator The ijjde pagent is now 3ow tolde. be fourte pagent of Noe xal be, How God was wroth with man on molde Because fro synne man dede not fle. He sent to Noe an angel bolde, A shyp for to makyn and swymmen on þe se, Vpon þe water both wood and coolde; And viij sowles þer savyd xulde be, And j peyre of everich bestys in brynge. Whan xlti days þe flode had flowe, þan sente Noe out a crowe, And after hym he sent a dowe þat brouth ryth good tydyng. Tercius Vexil[lator] Of Abraham is be fyfte pagent, And of Ysaac, his sone so fre, How þat he xulde with fere be brent And slayn with swerd, as 3e 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 þer offered xuld be Vpon an hyll 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 sauyd his chyldys lyff. Priimus Vexil[lator] The sexte pagent is of Moyses, And of tweyn tabelys þat God hym took, In þe which were wrete, without les, þe lawes of God to lerne and lok; And how God charged hym be wordys these þe lawes to lerne al of þat book. Moyses than doth nevyrmore sese, But prechyth duly bothe 3ere and woke The lawes, as I 3ow telle, þe Ten Comaundementys alle bedene — In oure play 3e xal hem sene — To alle þo þat þere wyl bene, If þat 3e thenke to duelle. Secundus Vexillator Off þe gentyl Jesse rote þe sefnt pagent, forsothe, xal ben, Out of þe which doth sprynge oure bote, As in prophecye we redyn and sen. Kyngys and prophetys with wordys ful sote Schull prophesye al of a qwen, þe which xal staunch oure stryff and moote, And wynnyn us welthe withoutyn wen, In hevyn to abyde. They xal prophecye of a mayde, All fendys of here xal be affrayde. Here sone xal saue us, be not dismayde, With hese woundys wyde. Tercius Vexillator Of þe grete bushop Abyacar þe tende pagent xal be, without lesyng, þe which comaundyth men to be war And brynge here douterys to dew weddyng; All þat ben xiiij 3ere and more, To maryage he byddyth hem bryng. Wherevyr þei be, he chargyth sore þat þei not fayle for no lettyng, þe lawe byddyth so than. Than Joachym and Anne so mylde, þei brynge forthe Mary, þat blyssyd chylde. But she wold not be defylyde With spot nor wem of man. In chastyté þat blysful mayde Avowyd there here lyff to lede. þan is be busshop sore dysmayde And wonderyth sore al of þis dede. He knelyd to God, as it is sayde, And prayth than for help and rede. þan seyth an angel, "Be not afrayde; Of þis dowte take þu no drede, But for be kynrede of Dauyd þu sende. Lete hem come with here offryng, And in here handys white 3erdys brynge. Loke whose 3erde doth floure and sprynge, And he xal wedde þat mayden hende." Primus Vexillator In þe xte pagent, sothe to say, A masangere forthe is sent. Dauydis kynrede without delay, They come ful sone with good entent. Whan Joseph offeryd his 3erde þat day, Anon-ryth forth in present, þe ded styk do floure ful gay, And þan Joseph to wedlok went, Ryth as be angel bad. Than he plyth to his wyff In chastyté to ledyn here lyff. þe busshop toke here iij maydonys ryff; Som comforte bere she had. Secundus Vexillator In þe xjde pagent goth Gabryell And doth salute oure Lady fre. Than grett with chylde, as I 3ow tell, þat blyssyd mayde, forsothe is she. þo iij maydenys þat with here dwelle Here gret spech, but noon þei se. Than they suppose þat sum angell, Goddys masangere þat it xuld be. And thus þe Holy Gost in here is lyth, And Goddys sone in here is pygth. þe aungell doth telle what he xal hyght And namyth þe chylde Jhesus. Tercius Vexillator In þe xij pagent, as I 3ow telle, Joseph comyth hom fro fer countré. Oure Ladyes wombe with chylde doth swelle, And þan Joseph, ful hevy is he. He doth forsake here with hert ful felle, Out of countré he gynnyth to fle; He nevyrmore thenkyth with here to dwelle, And than oure Lady, ryth sore wepyth she. An angell seyd hym ryf: "God is with þi wyff, sertayn, þerfore, Joseph, turne hom agayn." þan is Joseph in herte ful fayn, And goth ageyn onto his wyff. Primus Vexillator The xi[j]jjte pagent, I sey 3ow bedene, Xal be of Joseph and mylde Mary: How they were sclawndryd with trey and tene, And to here purgacyon þei must hem hy. Secundus Vexillator In þe xv pagent shewe we xal How Joseph went withoute varyauns For rnydwyuys to helpe oure Lady at all, Of childe that she had delyuerauns. Tercius Vexillator In þe xvj pagent Cryst xal be born. Of þat joy aungelys xul synge And telle be shepherdys in þat morn The blysseful byrth of þat kyng. The shepherdys xal come hym befforn With reuerens and with worchepyng, For he xal sauyn þat was forlorn And graunt us lyff evyrmore lestyng, Iwys. þis gle in gryth Is mater of myrth. Now Crystys byrth Bryng us to his blys. Primus Vexillator [In] the xvte pagent come kyngys iij With gold, myrre, and frankynsens. Kyng Herowdys styward hem doth se And bryngyth all to his presens. The kyngys of Coleyn with hert ful fre Tolde Kyng Herownde here dylygens, That þei south in þat countré A kyng of kyngys from fere thens; A sterre led hem þe way. "The chylde is 3oung and lyth in stall; He xal be kyng of kyngys all. Beffore hym we thynk on kne to fall And worchep hym þis day." Secundus Vexillator In þe xvj pagent as wroth as wynde Is Kyng Herownde, þe soth to say, And cruel knytys and vnkende To sle male chylderyn he sendyth þat day. But Cryst Jesu þei may not fynde, For Joseph hath led þat childe away Vnto Egypth, as we haue mende, As angel to Joseph dyd byd and say, In hy3ht. þo chylderyn þat syt in here moderys lap To sowkyn ful swetly here moderys pap, þe knythtys do sle hem evyn at a swap. þis is a rewly syth. Tercius Vexillator In þe xvij pagent be knythtys bedene Shull brynge dede childeryn befor be kyng. Whan Kyng Herownde þat syth hath sene, Ful 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 3e 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 knyttys þat with hym byde; þe devyl þer soulys xal take. Primus Vexillator In þe xviij pagent we must purpose To shewe whan Cryst was xij 3er of age, How in þe temple he dede appose And answerd doctoris ryth wyse and sage. The blyssyd babe, withowte glose, Ouercam olde clerkys with suych langage þat þei merveylyd, 3e xal suppose, How þat he cam to suche knowlage, And in þis whyle. Thre days he was oute Fro his modyr, without doute. Wepyng she sowth hym rownde aboute Jheruselem many a myle. Secundus Vexillator In þe xix pagent xal Seynt Jhon Baptyse Cryst, as I 3ow say, In þe watyr of Flom Jordon. With which devys as we best may, The Holy Gost xal ouyr hym on. þe Faderys voys xal be herd þat day Out of hevyn, þat blisful tron; þe Fadyr xal be herd, þis is no nay. And forthwith pleyn þe Holy Gost xal be his gyde Into desert, þerin to abyde xlti days, a terme ful wyde, And xlti nygthtys to faste, sarteyn. Tercius Vexillator In þe xxti pagent all be deuelys of helle, They gadere a parlement, as 3e xal se. They haue gret doute, be trewth to telle, Of Cryst Jesu, whath he xulde be. They sende Ssathan, þat fynde so felle, Cryst for to tempte in fele degré. We xal 3ow shewe, if 3e wyl dwelle, How Cryst was temptyd in synnys thre Of þe devyl Sathan. And how Cryst answeryd onto alle, And made be fende awey to falle, As we best may, þis shewe we xalle Thorwe grace of God and man. Primus Vexillator The xxiti pagent of a woman xal be, þe which was take in adultrye. The Pharysewys falsed þer 3e xal se, Cryst to convycte how they were slye. They conseyvyd þis sotylté: Yf Cryst þis woman dede dampne, trewly, Ageyn his prechyng than dede he, Which was of pete and of mercy; And yf he dede here save, þan were he a3ens Moyses lawe, þat byddyth with stonys she xulde be slawe. þus they thowth vndyr þer awe Cryst Jesu for to haue. Secundus Vexillator The grettest meracle þat evyr Jesus In erthe wrouth beforn his Passyon In [þe] xxijti pagent we purpose vs To shewe indede be declaracyon. þat pagent xal be of Lazarus, In whos place and habytacyon Cryst was logyd — þe gospel seyth thus — And ofte-tyme toke þer consolacyon. But 3yt Lazarus, as I 3ow say, Was iiij days ded and beryed in clay. From deth to lyve þe iiijte day Cryst reysed hym from þat pyt. Tercius Vexillator In þe xxiijti pagent Palme Sunday In pley we purpose for to shewe, How chylderyn of Ebrew with flourys ful gay, þe wey þat Cryst went þei gun to shewe. Primus Vexillator In þe xxiiijti pagent, as þat we may, Cryst and his apostelys alle on rewe, The Mawndé of God þer xal they play, And sone declare it with wordys fewe. And than Judas, þat fals traytour, For xxxti platys of werdly tresour Xal betray oure Savyour To þe Jewys, certan. Secundus Vexillator For grevous peyn, þis is no les, In þe xxvti p agent Cryst xal pray To be Fadyr of Hevyn þat peyn for to ses, His shamful deth to put away. Judas, þat traytour, befor gret pres Xal kys his mouth and hym betray. All his dyscyples than do dyscres And forsake Cryst, be soth to say; For doute þei do hem hede. Hese dyscyplys all, everychon, Do renne awey and leve hym alon; They lete hym stondyn amonge his fon And renne away for drede. Tercius Veexi[lator]than in þe xxvjti pagent To Cayphas Cryst xal be brouth. þo Jewys ful redy þer 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. For Crystys 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, For he his Lord þus dede forsake. But God to grace hym sone doth take Whan he doth aske mercye. Primus Vexillator In þe 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, þat louyd nevyr stryff nor þat, But trewth and goodnesse on every wyse, As for a thef with ryth gret hat Is browth to stondyn at þat same syse. And þan, as I 3ow say, The wyff of Pylat goth to rest Coveryd with clothis al of þe best; Than for to slepe she is ful prest. All þis we thenke to play. Secundus Vexillator In þe xxviijti pagent xal Judas, þat was to Cryst a fals traytour, With wepyng sore evyr crye, Alas! þat evyr he solde oure Savyour. He xal be sory for his trespas And brynge a3en all his tresour, All xxx pens, to Sere Cayphas — He xal them brynge with gret dolowre — For þe which Cryst was bowth. For gret whanhope, as 3e xal se, He hangyth hymself vpon a tre, For he noth trostyth in Godys peté. To helle his sowle is browth. Tercius Vexillator In þe xxix pagent to Pylatus wyff In slepe aperyth be devyl of helle. For to savyn Crystys lyff The devyl here temptyth, as I 3ow telle. Sche sendyth to Pylat anon ful ryff And prayth þat Cryst he xuld not qwelle. þan Pylat is besy, and ryth blyff Cryst for to savyn he 3evyth councelle, For he dede neuyr trespas. The Jewys do crye fast for to kylle, The rythful man þei aske to spylle; A thef þei saue with herty wylle þat callyd is Barrabas. Primus Vexillator In þe xxxti pagent þei bete out Crystys blood And nayle hym al nakyd upon a rode-tre; Betwen ij thevys — iwys, they were to wood — They hyng Cryst Jesu, gret shame it is to se. Vij wurdys Cryst spekyth hangyng upon þe rode, þe weche 3e xal here, all þo þat wyl þer be; þan doth he dye for oure allther good. His modyr doth se þat syth, gret mornyng makyth she; For sorwe she gynnyth to swowne. Seynt Johan evyn er, as I 3ow plyth, Doth chere oure Lady with al his myth, And to be temple anon forthryth He ledyth here in þat stownde. Secundus Vexillator We purpose to shewe in oure pleyn place In þe xxxiti pagent borwe Godys myth How to Crystys herte a spere gan pace And rent oure Lordys bryst in ruly plyth. For Longeus, þat old knyth, blynd as he was, A ryth sharpe spere to Crystys herte xal pyth. þe blod of his wounde to his eyn xal tras, And borwe gret meracle þer hath he syth. Than in þat morn, Crystys soule goth down to helle, And þer ovyrcomyth be fend so felle, Comfortyth be soulys þat þerin dwelle, And savyth þat was forlorn. Tercius Vexillator Joseph and Nycodemus, to Cryst trew servaunt, xxxii be xxxii page[ntj be body þei aske to haue. Pylat ful redyly be body doth hem graunt, þan þei with reverens do put it in grave. þe Jewys, more wyckyd þan ony geawnt, For Crystys ded body kepers do þei craue; Pylat sendyth iiij knytys þat be ryth hardaunt To kepe be blody body in his dede conclaue. And 3it, be his owyn myth, The body, þat was hevy as led, Be þe jewys nevyr so qwed, Aryseth from grave þat þer lay ded, And frayth than every knyth. Primus Vexillator In þe [x]xxiij pagent þe soule of Cryst Jesu Xal brynge all his frendys from helle to paradyse. þe soule goth than to be grave and, be ryth gret vertu, þat body þat longe ded hath loyn to lyf a3en doth ryse. Than doth Cryst Jesu onto his modyr sew, And comfortyth all here care in temple þer she lyse. With suche cher and comforth his modyr he doth indew þat joy it is to here þer spech for to devyse. And than Oure Lady of Hefne so cler, In herte sche hath ryth glad chere. Whan here sone þus doth apere, Here care awey is tan. Secundus Vexil[lator] In þe xxxiiijti pagent xal Maryes thre Seke Cryst Jesu in his grave so coolde. An aungel hem tellyth þat aresyn is he. And whan þat þis tale to them is tolde, To Crystys dyscyplis with wurdys ful fre They telle these tydyngys with brest ful bolde. Than Petyr and Johan, as 3e xal se, Down rennyn in hast ouyr lond and wolde, The trewth of þis to haue. Whan þei þer comyn, as I 3ow say, He is gon from vndyr clay. þan þei wytnesse anoon þat day He lyth not in his grave. Tercius Vexillator Onto Mary Mawdelyn, as we haue bent, Cryst Jesu xal than apere In þe xxxvti pagent, And she wenyth he be a gardenere. Mary be name, verament, Whan Cryst here callyth with spech 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 þat sche not kys Tyl he haue styed to hefne blys. To Crystys dyscyplys Mary, iwys, Than goth, be trewth to say. Primus Vexillator In þe xxxvjti pagent xal Cleophas And Sent Luke to a castel go. Of Crystys deth as þei forth pas They make gret mornyng and be ful wo. Than Cryst þem ovyrtok, as his wyl was, And walkyd in felachep forth with hem too. To them he doth expowne bothe more and las, All þat prophetys spak, a[n]d of hymself also. That nyth, in fay, Whan þei be set within þe castell, In brekyng of bred þei know Cryst well. Than sodeynly, as I 3ow tell, Cryste is gon his way. Secundus Vexillator In þe xxxvijti pagent þan purpos we, To Thomas of Ynde Cryst xal apere; And Thomas euyn þer, as 3e xal se, Xal put his hand in his woundys dere. Tercius Vexillator In þe xxxviijti pagent up stye xal he Into hefne, þat is so clere. All hese apostel þer xul be And woundere sore and haue gret dwere Of þat ferly syth. þer xal come aungell tweyn And comfforte hem, þis is certeyn, And tellyn þat he xal comyn ageyn, Evyn by his owyn myth. Primus Vexillator Than folwyth next, sekyrly, Of Wyttsunday, þat solempne fest, Whych pagent xal be ix and thretty. þe apostelys to apere be Crystys best In Hierusalem were gaderyd xij opynly, To be cenacle comyng from west and est. þe Holy Gost apperyd ful veruently, With brennyng fere thyrlyng here brest, Procedyng from hevyn trone. All maner langage hem spak with tung, Latyn, Grek, and Ebrew among; And affter þei departyd and taryed not long, Here deth to take ful sone. Secundus Vexillator The xlti pagent xal be þe last, And Domysday þat pagent xal hyth. Who se þat pagent may be agast To grevyn his Lord God eyther day or nyth. The erth xal qwake, bothe breke and brest, Beryelys and gravys xul ope ful tyth; Ded men xul rysyn, and þat þer in hast, And fast to here ansuere þei xul hem dyth Beffore Godys face. But prente wyl þis in 3oure mende: Whoso to God hath be vnkende, Frenchep þer xal he non fynde, Ne þer get he no grace. Tercius Now haue we told 3ow all bedene Vexillator The hool mater þat we thynke to play. Whan þat 3e come þer xal 3e sene This game wel pleyd in good aray. Of Holy Wrytte þis game xal bene, And of no fablys be no way. Now God þem save from trey and tene For us þat prayth upon þat day, And qwyte them wel þer mede. A Sunday next, yf þat we may, At vj of þe belle we gynne oure play In N-town; wherfore we pray That God now be 3oure spede. Amen. The Creation of Heaven and the Fall of the Rebel Angels Ego sum alpha et oo, principium et finis. Deus 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 all þat evyr xal haue 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, Allthyng xal be wrowth be me. I am oo God in personys thre, Knyt in oo substawns. I am þe trewe Trenyté Here walkyng in þis wone. Thre personys myself I se Lokyn in me, God alone: I am þe Fadyr of Powsté; My Sone with me gynnyth gon; My Gostis grace in magesté Weldyth welthe up in hevyn tron. O God thre I calle: I am Fadyr of Myth, My Sone kepyth ryth, My Gost hath lyth And grace withalle. Myself begynnyng nevyr dyd take, And endeles I am thorw myn owyn myth. Now wole I begynne my werke to make. Fyrst I make hevyn with sterrys of lyth, In myrth and joy euyrmore to wake. In hevyn I bylde angell ful bryth My servauntys to be; and for my sake, With merth and melody [to] worchepe my myth, I belde them in my blysse. Aungell in hevyn evyrmore xal be In lyth ful clere, bryth [of] ble, With myrth and song to worchip me; Of joye þei may not mys. Hic cantent angeli in celo: "Tibi omnes angeli, tibi celi et vniuerse potestates, tibi cherubyn et seraphyn incessabili voce proclamant: Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth." Lucifere To whos wurchipe synge 3e þis songe, To wurchip God or reverens me? But 3e me wurchipe 3e do me wronge, For I am þe wurthyest þat evyr may be! Angell Boni We wurchipe God of myth most stronge, Whiche hath formyd bothe vs and the. We may nevyr wurchyp hym to longe, For he is most worthy of magesté. On knes to God we falle. Oure Lorde God wurchyp we, And in no wyse honowre we the! A gretter lord may nevyr non be Than he þat made us alle. Lucifere A wurthyer lorde, forsothe, am I! And worthyer than he euyr wyl I be. In evydens þat I am more wurthy, I wyl go syttyn in Goddys se. Above sunne, and mone, and sterrys on sky I am now set, as 3e may se. Now wurchyp me for most mythty, And for 3oure lord honowre now me Syttyng in my sete. Angell Mali Goddys myth we forsake, And for more wurthy we be take. þe to wurchep honowre we make And falle down at þi fete. Deus Thu, Lucyfere, for þi mekyl pryde I bydde be falle from hefne to helle, And all þo þat holdyn on þi syde, In my blysse nevyrmore to dwelle! At my comawndement anoon down þu slyde, With merth and joye nevyrmore to melle. In myschyf and manas evyr xalt þu abyde, In byttyr brennyng and fyer so felle, In peyn evyr to be pyht! Lucyfere At thy byddyng þi wyl I werke, And pas fro joy to peyne smerte. Now I am a devyl ful derke, þat was an aungell bryht. Now to helle be wey I take, In endeles peyn þer to be pyht. For fere of fyre a fart I crake! In helle donjoon myn dene is dyth. The Creation of the World and the Fall of Adam and Eve Deus Now hevyn is made for aungell sake þe fyrst day and þe fyrst nyth. The secunde day watyr I make, The walkyn also, ful fayr and [br]yth. The iijde day I parte watyr from erthe; Tre and every growyng thyng, Bothe erbe and floure of suete smellyng, The jijde day is made be my werkyng. Now make I þe day þat xal be þe ferthe. Sunne, and mone, and sterrys also þe forthe day I make in-same. þe vte day werm and fysch þat swymme and go, Byrdys and bestys, bothe wylde and tame. The sexte day my werk I do And make þe, man, Adam be name. In erthelech paradys withowtyn wo I graunt þe bydyng, lasse þu do blame. Flesch of þi flesch and bon of þi bon, Adam, here is þi wyf and make. Bothe fysche and foulys þat swymmyn and gon, To everych of hem a name þu take; Bothe tre, and frute, and bestys echon, Red and qwyte, bothe blew and blake, þu 3eve hem name be þiself alon, Erbys and gresse, both beetys and brake; þi wyff þu 3eve name also. Loke þat 3e not ses 3owre frute to encres, þat þer may be pres, Me worchipe for to do. Now come forth, Adam, to paradys; Ther xalt þu haue all maner thynge: Bothe flesch, and fysch, and frute of prys, All xal be buxum at þi byddyng. Here is pepyr, pyan, and swete lycorys; Take hem all at þi lykyng, Bothe appel, and pere, and gentyl rys — But towche nowth þis tre þat is of cunnyng. Allthynge saff þis for þe is wrought. Here is allþinge þat þe xulde plese All redy made onto þin ese. Ete not þis frute ne me dysplese, For than þu deyst, þu skapyst nowth! Now haue I made all thynge of nowth, Hevyn and erth, foull and best. To allthynge þat myn hand hath wrowth I graunt myn blyssyng þat evyr xal lest. My wey to hefne is redy sowth, Of werkyng I wole be vijte day rest. And all my creaturys þat be abowth, My blyssyng 3e haue both est and west. Of werkyng þe vijte day 3e sees. And all þo þat sees of laboryng here þe vijte day, withowtyn dwere, And wurchyp me in good manere, þei xal in hefne haue endles pes. Adam, go forth and be prynce in place, For to hefne I sped my way. þi wyttys wel loke þu chase, And gostly gouerne þe as I say. Adam Holy Fadyr, blyssyd þu be, For I may walke in welthe anow. I fynde datys gret plenté And many fele frutys ful every bow. All þis wele is 3ovyn to me And to my wyf þat on me lowh. I haue no nede to towche 3on tre, A3ens my Lordys wyl to werke now. I am a good gardenere. Euery frute of ryche name I may gaderyn with gle and game. To breke þat bond I were to blame þat my Lord bad me kepyn here. Eua We may both be blythe and glad Oure Lordys comaundement to fulfyll. With fele frutys be we fayr fad, Woundyr dowcet and nevyr on ill. Euery tre with frute is sprad, Of them to take as plesyth us tyll. Oure wytte were rakyl and ovyrdon bad To forfete ageyns oure Lordys wyll In ony wyse. In þis gardeyn I wyl go se All þe flourys of fayr bewté, And tastyn þe frutys of gret plenté þat be in paradyse. Serpens Heyl, fayr wyff and comely dame, þis frute to ete I þe cownselle. Take þis appyl and ete þis same; þis frute is best, as I þe telle. Eua That appyl to ete I were to blame! From joy oure Lorde wolde us expelle. We xuld dye and be put out with schame, In joye of paradyse nevyrmore to duelle. God hymself þus sayde. What day of þat frute we ete, With þese wurdys God dyd us threte, þat we xuld dye, oure lyff to lete. þerffore I am affrayde. Serpens Of þis appyl yf 3e wyl byte, Evyn as God is, so xal 3e be: Wys of connyng, as I 3ow plyte, Lyke onto God in al degré. Sunne, and mone, and sterrys bryth, Fysch and foule, boþe sond and se, At 3oure byddyng bothe day and nyth, Allthynge xal be in 3owre powsté: 3e xal be Goddys pere! Take þis appyl in þin hond And to byte þerof þu fond. Take another to þin husbond; þerof haue þu no dwere. Eua So wys as God is in his gret mayn And felaw in kunnyng, fayn wold I be. Serpens Ete þis appyl and in certeyn, þat I am trewe sone xalt þu se. Eva To myn husbond with herte ful fayn þis appyl I bere, as þu byddyst me. þis 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 þis appyl I xal asay To make hym to ete, yf þat I may, And of þis frewte to byth. Hic Eua reueniet Ade viro suo a dicet ei: My semely spowse and good husbond, Lystenyth to me, sere, I 3ow pray: Take þis fayr appyl all in 3oure hond, þerof a mursel byte and asay. To ete þis appyl loke þat 3e fonde, Goddys felaw to be alway, All his wysdam to vndyrstonde, And Goddys pere to be for ay, Allthyng for to make: Both fysch and foule, se and sond, Byrd and best, watyr and lond. þis appyl þu take out of myn bond; A bete þerof þu take. Adam I dare not towch þin hand for dred Of oure Lord God omnypotent! If I xuld werke aftyr þi reed, Of God oure Makere I xuld be shent. If þat we do þis synful dede, We xal be ded by Goddys jugement! Out of þin hand with hasty spede Cast out þat appyl anon present For fer of Goddys threte! Eva Of þis appyl yfþu wylt byte, Goddys pere þu xalt be pyht, So wys of kunnyng, I þe plyht, þis frute yf þu wylt ete. Adam If we it ete ouresclf we kylle. As God us tolde, we xuld be ded. To ete þat frute and my lyf to spylle, I dar not do aftyr þi reed. Eua A fayr aungell þus seyd me tylle: 'To ete þat appyl take nevyr no dred. So kunnyng as God in hevyn hille þu xalt sone be withinne a sted'. þerfore þis frute þu 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 þis mete. Adam dicit sic: Alas, alas for þis fals dede! My flesly frend my fo I fynde. Schameful synne doth us vnhede: I se vs nakyd before and behynde. Oure Lordys wurd wold we not drede, þerfore we be now caytyvys vnkynde. Oure pore pryuytés for to hede Summe fygge levys fayn wolde I fynde, For to hyde oure schame. Womman, ley þis leff on þi pryvyté, And with þis leff I xal hyde me. Gret schame it is vs nakyd to se, Oure Lord God þus to grame. Eva Alas, þat evyr þat speche was spokyn þat be fals aungel seyd onto me! Alas, oure Makers byddyng is brokyn, For I haue towchyd his owyn dere tre! Oure flescly eyn byn al vnlokyn; Nakyd for synne ouresylf we se. þat sory appyl þat we han sokyn To deth hath brouth my spouse and me. Ryth grevous is oure synne. Of mekyl shame now do we knowe, Alas, þat evyr þis appyl was growe! To dredful deth now be we throwe, In peyne vs evyr to pynne. Deus Adam, þat with myn handys I made, Where art þu now? What hast þu wrought? Adam A, Lord, for synne oure flourys do fade. I here þi voys but I se þe nought. Deus Adam, why hast þu synnyd so sone, þus hastyly to breke my bone? And I made þe maystyr vndyr mone, Trewly of euery tre. O tre I kept for my owe, Lyff and deth þerin I knowe. þi synne fro lyf now þe hath throwe — From deth þu mayst not fle. Adam Lord, I haue wrought a3ens þi wyll! I sparyd nat mysylf to spylle. þe woman þat þu toke me tylle, Sche brougth me þerto! It was here counsell and here reed; Sche bad me do be same deed. I walke as worm, withowtyn wede, Awey is schrowde and sho. Deus Womman þat arte þis mannys wyffe, Why hast þu steryd 3oure bothers stryffe? Now 3e be from 3oure fayr lyffe, And are demyd for to deye. Vnwys womman, sey me why þat þu hast don þis fowle foly. And I made þe a gret lady In paradys for to pleye. Eva Lord, whan þu wentyst from þis place, A werm with an aungelys face, He hyth vs to be ful of grace, þe frute yf þat we ete. I dyd his byddyng, alas, alas! Now we be bowndyn in dethis las. I suppose it was Sathanas; To peyne he gan vs pete. Deus Thou werm with þi wylys wyk, þi fals fablis, þei be ful thyk! Why hast þu put dethis pryk In Adam and his wyff? Thow þei bothyn my byddyng haue brokyn, Out of whoo 3et art not wrokyn. In helle logge þu xalt be loky[n], And nevyrmo lacche lyff. Diabolus I xal be sey whereffore and why I dede hem all þis velony: For I am ful of gret envy, Of wreth and wyckyd hate That man xulde leve above þe sky, Whereas sumtyme dwellyd I; And now I am cast to helle sty, Streyte out at hevyn gate. Deus Adam, for þu þat appyl boot A3ens my byddyng, well I woot, Go teyl þi mete with swynk and swoot Into þi lyvys ende; Goo nakyd, vngry, and barefoot, Ete both erbys, gres, and root. Thy bale hath non other boot. As wrecch in werlde þu wende. Womman, þu sowtyst þis synnyng And bad hym breke myn byddyng. þerfore þu xalt ben vndyrlyng; To mannys byddyng bend. What he byddyth þe, do þu þat thynge, And bere þi chyldere with gret gronynge, In daungere and in deth-dredynge Into þi lyvys ende. Thou wyckyd worm, ful of pryde, Fowle envye syt be þi syde! Vpon þi gutt þu xalt glyde, As werm wyckyd in kende, Tyl a maydon in medyl-erth be born. þu fende, I warn þe beforn, Thorwe here þi bed xal be to-torn. On wombe awey þu wende. Diabolus At þi byddyng fowle I falle, I krepe hom to my stynkyng stalle. Helle pyt and hevyn halle Xul do þi byddyng bone. I falle down here a fowle freke; For þis falle I gynne to qweke. With a fart my brech I breke! My sorwe comyth ful sone. Deus For 3oure synne þat 3e haue do, Out of þis blysse sone xal 3e go, In erthly labour to levyn in wo, And sorwe ye xal atast. For 3oure synne and mysdoyng An angell with a swerd brennyng, Out of þis joye he xal 3ow dyng. 3oure welth awey is past. Hic recedit Deus, a angelus seraphicus cum gladio flamme[o] verberat Adam et Euam extra paradisum Seraphim 3e wrecchis vnkend and ryht vnwyse, Out of þis joye hy3 3ow in hast! With flammyng swerd from paradyse To peyn I bete 3ow, of care to tast. 3oure myrth is turnyd to carfull syse, 3oure welth with synne awey is wast. For 3oure false dede of synful gyse þis blysse I spere from 3ow ryth fast. Herein come 3e no more Tyl a chylde of a mayd be born And vpon þe rode rent and torn To saue all þat 3e haue forlorn, 3oure welth for to restore. Eva Alas, alas, and weleaway, þat evyr towchyd I þe tre! I wende as wrecch in welsom way; In blake busshys my boure xal be. In paradys is plenté of pleye, Fayr frutys ryth gret plenté; þe 3atys be schet with Godys keye. My husbond is lost because of me. Leve spowse, now þu fonde. Now stomble we on stalk and ston. My wyt awey is fro me gon! Wrythe onto my neckebon With hardnesse of þin honde. Adam Wyff, þi wytt is not wurth a rosch. Leve woman, turne þi thought. I wyl not sle flesc[h] of my flesch, For of my flesch þi flesch was wrought. Oure hap was hard, oure wytt was nesch To paradys whan we were brought. My wepyng xal be longe fresch, Schort lykyng xal be longe bought. No more telle þu þat tale. For 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 vs walke forth into þe 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 þu fonde, Oure nakyd bodyes in cloth to wynde Tyll sum comforth of Godys sonde With grace releve oure careful mynde. Now come, go we hens, wyff. Eva Alas þat ever we wrought þis synne! Oure bodely sustenauns for to wynne, 3e must delve and I xal spynne, In care to ledyn oure lyff. Cain's Murder of Abel Abeel I wolde fayn knowe how I xuld do To serve my Lord God to his plesyng. þerfore, Caym, brother, lete us now go Vnto oure fadyr withowte lettyng, Suenge hym in vertu and in norture To com to be hy3e joy celestyall; Remembryng to be clene and pure, For in mysrewle we myth lythly fall A3ens Hevyn Kynge. Lete us now don oure dyligens To come to oure faderys presens. Good brother, passe we hens To knowe for oure levynge. Caym As to my fadyr lete us now tee To knowe what xal be his talkyng. And yet I holde it but vanyté To go to hym for any spekyng To lere of his lawe. For if I haue good anow plenté, I kan be mery, so moty the. Thow my fadyr I nevyr se, I 3yf not þerof an hawe! Abel Ryth sovereyn fadyr, semely, sad and sure, Euyr we thank 3ow in hert, body, and thowth, And alwey shull whyll oure lyf may indure As inwardly in hert it kan be sought, Bothe my brother and I. Fadyr, I falle onto 3oure kne To knowe how we xul rewlyd be For godys þat fallyth bothe hym and me; I wolde fayn wete trewly. Adam Sonys, 3e arn, to spekyn naturaly, The fyrst frute of kendely engendrure, Befforn whom, saff 3oure modyr and I, Were nevyr non of mannys nature. And 3it were we al of another portature, As 3e haue me oftyn herd seyd sothly. Wherfore, sonys, yf 3e wyl lyff sad and sure, Fyrst I 3ow counseyll most syngulerly God for to loue and drede. And suche good as God hath 3ow sent, The fyrst frute offyr to hym in sacryfice brent, Hym evyr besechyng with meke entent In all 3oure werkys to save and spede. Abeell Gramercy, fadyr, for 3oure good doctrine; For as 3e vs techyn, so xal we do. And as for me, borwe Goddys grace dyvyne, I wyl forthwith applye me þerto. Cayme And þow me be loth, I wyl now also Onto 3oure counsell, fadyr, me inclyne. And 3itt I say now to 3ow both too, I had levyr gon hom, well for to dyne! Adam Now God graunt good sacryfice to 3ow both too. He vowchesaff to acceptyn 3ow and all myne, And 3eve 3ow now grace to plesyn hym soo þat 3e may come to þat blysse þat hymself is inne With gostly grace; þat all 3oure here-levyng May be to his plesyng, And at 3oure hens-partyng To com to good place. Abell dicit: Almyhtty God and God ful of myth Be whom allþing is made of nowth, To þe myn hert is redy dyht, For upon þe is all my thought. O souereyn Lord reygnyng in eternnyté, With all þe mekenesse þat I kan or may, This lombe xal I offre it up to the; Accept it, blyssyd Lord, I þe pray. My 3yft is but sympyl, þis is no nay, But my wyl is good, and evyr xal be; þe to servyn and worchepyn both nyht and day. And þerto þi grace, Lord, grawnt þu me Throwh þi gret mercy; Which, in a lombys lyknes, þu xalt for mannys wyckydnes Onys ben offeryd in peynfulnes And deyn ful dolfoly. For trewly, Lord, þu art most worthy þe best to haue in eche degre. Both beste and werst, ful certeynly, All is had þorwe grace of þe. The best schep, full hertyly, Amongys my flok þat 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 be with ryht good wylle Of be best þu sentyst me tylle. Now, gracyous God on hevyn hille, Accept now my tythyng. Caym Amongys all folys þat gon on grownd I holde þat þu be on of þe most, To tythe þe best þat is most sownd, And kepe þe werst, þat is nere lost. But I more wysly xal werke þis stownde To tythe þe werst — and make no bost — Off all my cornys þat may be fownde In all my feldys, both crofte and cost; I xal lokyn on every syde. Here I tythe þis vnthende sheff; Lete God take it or ellys lef. þow it be to me gret repreff, I 3eve no fors þis tyde. Abell Now, Caym, brother, þu dost ful ill, For God be sent both best and werst. þerfore þu shewe to hym good wyll And tythe to God evyr of the best. Caym In feyth, þu shewyst now a febyll skyll, It wolde me hyndyr and do me greff. What were God be bettyr, þu sey me tyll, To 3evyn hym awey my best sheff And kepe myself þe wers? He wyll neyther ete nor drynke, For he doth neyther swete nor swynke. þu shewyst a febyl reson, methynke. What! þu fonnyst as a best, I gesse. Abell 3it methynkyth my wyt is good To God euyrmore sum loue to shewe, Off whom we haue oure dayly food; And ellys we had but lytyl drewe. Caym 3itt methynkeht þi wytt is wood, For of þi lore I fynde but fewe. I wyll neuyr þe more chawnge my mood For no wordys þat þu dost shewe. I sey I wyll tythe þe werst. Abell Now God þat syt in hefne aboue, On whom is sett all myn hool loue, þis wyckyd wyll from þe he showe, As it plesyth hym best. Hic ardent decimum Abel, et Caym quo facto dicit: Caym Herke, Abel, brother, what aray is þis? Thy tythyng brennyth as fyre ful bryght! It is to me gret wondyr, iwys! I trow þis is now a straunge syght. Abell Goddys wyll, forsothe, it is þat my tythyng with fyre is lyth; For of þe best were my tythis, And of be werst þu dedyst hym dyght — Bad thyng þu hym bede. Of þe best was my tythyng, And of þe werst was þin offryng. þerfor God Almyghty, Hevyn Kyng, Alowyht ryht nowth þi dede. Caym What! þu stynkyng losel, and is it so? Doth God þe love and hatyht me? þu xalt be ded, I xal be slo! þi Lord, þi God, þu xalt nevyr se! Tythyng more xalt þu nevyr do. With þis chavyl bon I xal sle þe! þi deth is dyht, þi days be go. Out of myn handys xalt þu not fle — With þis strok I þe kylle! Now þis boy is slayn and dede, Of hym I xal nevyrmore han drede; He xal hereafter nevyr ete brede. With þis gresse I xal hym hylle. Deus Caym, come forth 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 kannot telle wher þat he be; To kepe hym was I nevyr dyght. I knowe not wher he is. Deus A, cursyd Caym, þu art vntrewe, And for þi dede þu xalt sore rewe. þi brothers blood, þat þu slewe, Askyht vengeauns of þi mys. Thu xalt be cursyd on þe grounde, Vnprophitable whereso þu wende, Both veyn, and nowthty, and nothyng sounde; With what ring þu medele, þu xalt it shende! Caym Alas, in whoo now am I wounde, Acursyd of God as man vnkende! Of any man yf I be founde, He xal me slo; I haue no frende! Alas and weleaway! Deus Of what man þat þu be sclayn, He xal haue vij-folde more payn; Hym were bettyr [nevyr] to be sayn On lyve be nyth ne day. Caym Alas! Alas! Whedyr may I go? I dare nevyr se man in þe vesage. I am woundyn as a wrecch in wo And cursyd of God for my falsage. Vnprofytabyl and vayn also, In felde and town, 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 þat I best may From mannys ssyht me hyde. Noah and the Flood Introitus Noe Noe God of his goodnesse and of grace grounde, By whoys gloryous power allthyng is wrought, In whom all vertu plentevously is founde, Withowtyn whos wyl may be ryth nought, Thy seruauntys saue, Lord, fro synful sownde In wyl, in werk, in dede, and in thouht. Oure welth in woo lete nevyr be fownde; Vs help, Lord, from synne þat we be in brought, Lord God ful of myght. Noe, serys, 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, þe Secunde Age Indede begynnyth, as I 3ow 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, þat lesse þan synne be soner swage, God wyl be vengyd on vs sum way, Indede. Ther may no man go þerowte, But synne regnyth in every rowte; In every place rownde abowte Cursydnes doth sprynge and sprede. Vxor Noe Allmyghty God of his gret grace Enspyre men with hertely wyll For to sese of here trespace, For synfull levyng oure sowle xal spyll. Synne offendyth God in his face And agrevyth oure Lorde full ylle. It causyth to man ryght grett manace And scrapyth hym out of lyvys bylle, þat blyssyd book. What man in synne doth allwey sclepp, He xal gon to helle ful depp. Than xal he nevyr aftyr crepp Out of þat brennyng brook. I am 3oure wyff, 3oure childcryn þese be. Onto us tweyn it doth longe Hem to teche in all degré Synne to forsakyn, and werkys wronge. Therffore, fere, for loue of me, Enforme hem wele evyr amonge Synne to forsake, and vanyté, And vertu to folwe þat þei fonge, Oure Lord God to plese. Noe I warne 3ow, childeryn, on and all, Drede oure Lord God in hevy[n] hall, And in no forfete þat we ne fall, Oure Lord for to dysplese. Shem A, dere fadyr, God forbede þat we xulde do in ony wyse Ony werke of synful dede Oure Lord God þat xulde agryse. My name is Shem, 3oure son of prise; I xal werke aftere 3oure rede. And also, wyff, be weyll awyse Wykkyd werkys þat þu non brede, Nevyr in no degré. Vxor Seem Forsothe, sere, be Goddys grace, I xal me kepe from all trespace þat xulde offende Goddys face Be help of þe Trynyté. Cham I am Cham, 3oure secunde son, And purpose me, be Goddys myght, Nevyr suche a dede for to don þat xuld agreve God in syght. Vxor Cham I pray to God, me grawnt þis bone: That he me kepe in such a plyght, Mornynge, hevenynge, mydday, and none, I to affendyn hym day nor nyght. Lord God, I þe pray, Bothe wakynge and eke in slepe, Gracyous God, þu me keppe þat I nevyr in daunger crepe On dredfull Domysday. Japhet Japhet, þi jjjde sone, is my name. I pray to God wherso we be þat he vs borwe fro synfull shame, And in vertuous levynge evyrmore kepe me. Uxor Japhet I am 3oure wyff and pray þe same, þat God vs saue on sonde and se; With no grevauns þat we hym grame, He grawnt vs grace synne to fle. Lord God, now here oure bone. Noe Gracyous God, þat best may, With herty wyl to the we pray þu save us sekyr bothe nyght and day, Synne þat we noon done. Deus Ow! What menyht this myslevyng man Whiche myn hand made and byldyd in blysse? Synne so sore grevyht me, 3a, in certayn, I wol be vengyd of þis grett mysse! Myn aungel dere, þu xalt gan To Noe, þat my servaunt is. A shypp to make on hond to tan þu byd hym swyth for hym and his, From drynchyng hem to save. For, as I am God of myght, I xal dystroye þis werd downryght. Here synne so sore grevyht me in syght, þei xal no mercy haue. Fecisse hominem nunc penitet me: þat I made man sore doth me rewe. Myn handwerk to sle sore grevyth me, But þat here synne here deth doth brewe. Go sey to Noe as I bydde þe: Hymself, his wyf, his chylderyn trewe, Tho viij sowlys in shyp to be, Thei xul not drede be flodys flowe; þe flod xal harme them nowht. Of all fowlys and bestys thei take a peyre, In shypp to saue bothe foule and fayere From all dowtys and gret dyspeyre, This vengeauns, or it be wrought. Angelus ad Noe: Noe, Noe, a shypp loke þu make, And many a chaumbyr þu xalt haue þerinne. Of euery kyndys best a cowpyl þu take Within þe shyppbord, here lyvys to wynne. For God is sore grevyd with man for his synne, þat all þis wyde werd xal be dreynt with flood; Saff þu and þi wyff xal be kept from þis gynne, And also þi chylderyn with here vertuys good. Noe How xuld I haue wytt a shypp for to make? I am of ryght grett age: VC 3ere olde! It is not for me þis werk to vndyrtake; For feynnesse of age my leggys gyn folde! Angelus This dede for to do be bothe blythe and bolde. God xal enforme þe and rewle þe ful ryght. Of byrd and of beste take, as I þe tolde, A peyr into þe shypp and God xal þe qwyght. Noe I am ful redy, as God doth me bydde, A shypp for to make be myght of his grace. Alas, þat for synne it xal so be betydde þat vengeauns of flood xal werke þis manase. God is sore grevyd with oure grett tresspas, þat with wylde watyr þe werd xal be dreynt. A shypp for to make now lete us hens pas, þat God a3ens us of synne haue no compleynt. Hic transit Noe cum familia sua pro naui, quo exeunte locum interludii sub intret statim Lameth conductus ab adolescente; et di [cit]: Lameth Gret mornyng I make and gret cause I haue! Alas, now I se not: for age I am blynde. Blyndenes doth make me of wytt for to rave; Whantynge of eyesyght in peyn doth me bynde! Whyl I had syht þer myht nevyr man fynde My pere of archerye in all þis werd aboute. For 3itt schet I nevyr at hert, are, nere hynde But yf þat he deyd, of þis no man haue doute. Lameth þe good archere my name was ovyrall; For þe best archere myn name dede evyr sprede. Record of my boy here, wytnes þis he xal: What merk þat were set me, to deth it xuld blede. Adolescens It is trewe, maystyr, þat 3e seyn, indede. For þat tyme 3e had 3oure bowe bent in honde, If þat 3oure prycke had be half a myle in brede, 3e wolde þe pryk han hitte if 3e ny had stonde. Lameth I xuld nevyr a faylid what marke þat evyr were sett Whyl þat I myght loke and had my clere syght. And 3itt, as methynkyht, no man xuld shete bett Than I xuld do now, if myn hand were sett aryght. Aspye som marke, boy, my bowe xal I bende wyght; And sett myn hand euyn to shete at som best. And I dar Icy a wagour his deth for to dyght. þe marke xal I hitt, my lyff do I best. Adolescens Vndyr 3on grett busche, maystyr, a best do I se. Take me þin hand swyth and holde it ful stylle. Now is þin hand evyn as euyr it may be. Drawe up þin takyll 3on best for to kylle. Lameth My bowe xal I drawe ryght with herty wylle; This brod arwe I shete, þat best for to sayll. Now haue at þat busch 3on best for to spylle. A sharppe schote I shote; þerof I xal not fayll. Caym Out, out and alas! Myn hert is onsondyr! With a brod arwe I am ded and sclayn! I dye here on grounde, myn hert is all to tundyr; With þis brod arwe it is clovyn on twayn! Lameth Herke, boy, cum telle me þe trewth in certeyn, What man is he þat þis cry doth þus make? Adolescens Caym þu hast kyllyd, I telle þe ful pleyn; With þi sharp shetyng his deth hath he take. Lameth Haue I slayn Cayme? Alas, what haue I done? þu stynkynge lurdeyn, what hast þu wrought? þu art þe why I scle hym so sone; þerfore xal I kyll þe here — þu skapyst nowght! Hic Lameth cum arcu suo verberat adolescentem ad mortem, dicente adolescente: Adolescens Out, out, I deye here! My deth is now sought! þis theffe with his bowe hath broke my brayn! þer may non helpe be, my dethe is me brought. Ded here I synke down as man þat is sclayn. Lameth Alas, what xal I do, wrecch wykkyd on woolde? God wyl be vengyd ful sadly on me: For deth of Caym I xal haue vij-folde More peyn þan he had þat Abell dede sle! These to mennys deth ful sore bought xal be: Vpon all my blood God wyll venge þis 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 naui cantantes. Noe With doolful hert, syenge sad and sore, Grett mornyng I make for this dredful flood! Of man and of best is dreynte many a skore; All þis werd to spyll þese flodys be ful wood. And all is for synne of mannys wylde mood þat God hath ordeyned þis dredfull yengeaunce. In þis flood spylt is many a mannys blood. For synfull levynge of man we haue gret grevauns! All þis hundryd 3ere ryght here haue I wrought This schypp for to make as God dede byd me. Of all maner bestys a copyll is in brought, Within my shyppborde on lyve for to be. Ryght longe God hath soferyd amendyng to se; All þis hundryd 3ere God hath shewyd grace. Alas, fro gret syn man wyl not fle; God doth þis vengeauns for oure gret trespase. Vxor Noe Alas, for gret ruthe of þis gret vengeaunce! Gret doyl it is to se þis watyr so wyde. But 3it thankyd be God of þis ordenaunce, þat we be now savyd, on lyve to abyde. Seem For grett synne of lechory all þis doth betyde. Alas, þat evyr such synne xulde be wrought! þis flood is so gret on every a syde þat all þis wyde werd to care is now brought. Vxor Seem Becawse [þe] chylderyn of God, þat weryn good, Dede forfete ryght sore what tyme þat þei were Synfully compellyd to Caymys blood, Therfore be we now cast in ryght grett care. Cham For synful levynge þis werde doth forfare; So grevous vengeauns myght nevyr man se. Ouyr all þis werd wyde fer is no plot bare; With watyr and with flood God vengyd wyll be. Vxor Cham Rustynes of synne is cawse of þese wawys. Alas, in þis flood þis werd xal be lorn! For offens to God, brekyng his lawys, On rokkys ryght sharp is many a man torn. Japhet So grevous flodys were nevyr 3ett beforn. Alas, þat lechory þis vengeauns doth gynne! It were well bettyr euyr to be vnborn Than for to forfetyn evyrmore in þat synne. Vxor Japhet Oure Lord God I thanke of his gret grace, þat he doth us saue from þis dredful payn. Hym for to wurchipe in euery stede and place We beth gretly bownde with myght and with mayn. Noe Xlti days and nyghtys hath lasted þis rayn, And xlti days þis grett flood begynnyth to slake. This crowe xal I sende out to seke sum playn; Good tydyngys to brynge þis massage I make. Hic emittat coruum et, parum expectans, iterum dicat: This crowe on sum careyn is fall for to ete; þerfore a newe masangere I wyll forth now sende. Fly forth, þu fayr dove, ovyr fcse watyrys wete And aspye afftere sum drye lond oure mornyng to amend. Hic euolet columba, qua rede[u]nte cum ramo viridi oliue: Joye now may we make of myrth þat yet were frende. A grett olyve bush þis dowe doth us brynge. For joye of þis tokyn ryght hertyly we tende Oure Lord God to worchep: a songe lete vs synge. Hic decantent has versus: Mare vidit et fugit, Jordanis conuersus est retrorsum. Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam. Et sic recedant cum naui. Abraham's Sacrifice of Isaac Introitus Abrahe et cetera. [Abraham] Most myghty makere of sunne and of mone, Kyng of Kyngys and Lord ouyr all, Allmyghty God in hevyn trone, I þe honowre and evyrmore xal. My Lord, my God, to þe I kall; With herty wyll, Lord, I þe pray, In synfull lyff lete me nevyr fall, But lete me leve evyr to þi pay. Abraham my name is kydde, And patryarke of age ful olde. And 3it be þe grace of God is bredde In myn olde age a chylde full bolde. Ysaac, lo, here his name is tolde, My swete sone þat stondyth me by. Amongys all chylderyn þat walkyn on wolde A louelyer chylde is non, trewly. I thanke God with hert well mylde Of his gret mercy and of his hey grace, And pryncepaly for my suete chylde, þat xal to me do gret solace. Now, suete sone, fayre fare þi face; Ful hertyly do I love the. For trewe herty love now in þis place, My swcte childe, com kysse now me. Ysaac At 3oure byddynge 3oure mouthe I kys. With lowly hert I 3ow pray, 3oure fadyrly love lete me nevyr mysse, But blysse me, 3oure chylde, both nyght and day. Abraham Almyghty God þat best may, His dere blyssyng he graunt þe. And my blyssyng þu haue allway In what place þat evyr þu be. Now, Isaac, my sone so suete, Almyghty God loke þu honoure, Wich þat made both drye and wete, Shynyng sunne and scharpe schoure. Thu art my suete childe and paramoure; Ful wele in herte do I þe loue. Loke þat þin herte in hevyn toure Be sett, to serve oure Lord God above. In þi 3onge lerne God to plese, And God xal quyte þe weyl þi mede. Now, suete sone, of wordys these With all þin hert þu take good hede. Now fareweyl, sone, God be þin spede, Evyn here at hom þu me abyde. I must go walkyn, for I haue nede; I come a3en withinne a tyde. Ysaac I pray to God, Fadyr of Myght, þat he 3ow spede in all 3oure waye. From shame and shenshipp day and nyht God mote 3ow kepe in 3oure jornay. Abraham Now fareweyll, sone. I þe pray, Evyr in þin hert loke God þu wynde. Hym to serue bothe nyght and day I pray to God send þe good mynde. Ther may no man love bettyr his childe þan Isaac is lovyd of me. Almyghty God, mercyful and mylde, For my swete son I wurchyp þe. I thank þe, Lord, with hert ful fre For þis fayr frute þu hast me sent. Now, gracyous God, wherso he be, To saue my sone evyrmore be bent. Dere Lord, I pray to þe also, Me to saue for þi seruuaunte, And sende me grace nevyr for to do Thyng þat xulde be to þ[e] displesaunte. Bothe for me and for myn infaunte I pray þe, Lord God, vs to help. Thy gracyous goodnes þu us grawnt, And saue þi serwaunt from helle qwelp. Angelus Abraham! How, Abraham! Lyst and herke weyll onto me. Abraham Al redy, sere, here I am. Tell me 3oure wyll, what þat it be. Angelus Almyghty God þus doth bydde þe: Ysaac þi sone anon þu take, And loke hym þu slee anoon, lete se; And sacrafice to God hym make! Thy wel-belouyd childe þu must now kylle. To God þu offyr hym, as I say, Evyn vpon 3on hey hylle þat I þe shewe here in þe way. Tarye not be nyght nor day, But smertly þi gate þu goo. Vpon 3on hille þu knele and pray To God, and kylle þe childe þer and scloo. Abraham Now Goddys comaundement must nedys be done — All his wyl is wourthy to be wrought. But 3itt þe fadyr to scle þe sone, Grett care it causyth in my thought! In byttyr bale now am I brought, My swete childe with knyf to kyile. But 3it 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 þe 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 þi fadyr, my childe so fre, For we must wende togedyr in fere. Isaac All redy, fadyr, evyn at 3oure wyll, And at 3oure byddyng I am 3ow by. With 3ow to walk ovyr dale and hill At 3oure callyng I am redy. To þe fadyr evyr most comly It ovyth þe childe evyr buxom to be. I wyl obey ful hertyly To allthyng þat 3e bydde me. Abraham Now, son, in þi necke þis fagot þu take, And þis fyre bere in þinne honde. For we must now sacrefyse go make, Evyn aftyr þe wyll of Goddys sonde. Take þis brennyng bronde, My swete childe, and lete us go. Ther may no man þat levyth in londe Haue more sorwe than I haue wo. Ysaac Fayre fadyr, 3e go ryght stylle. I pray 3ow, fadyr, speke onto me. Abraham Mi gode childe, what is þi wylle? Telle me thyn hert, I pray to the. Ysaac Fadyr, fyre and wood here is plenté, But I kan se no sacryfice. What 3e xulde offre fayn wold I se, þat it were don at þe best avyse. Abraham God xal þat ordeyn, þat sytt in hevynne, My swete sone, for þis offryng. A derere sacryfice may no man nempne þan þis xal be, my dere derlyng. Ysaac Lat be, good fadyr, 3oure sad wepynge; 3oure hevy cher agrevyth me sore. Tell me, fadyr, 3oure grett mornyng, And I xal seke sum help þerfore. Abraham Alas, dere sone, for nedys must me Evyn here be kylle, as God hath sent! Thyn owyn fadyr þi deth must be — Alas, þat evyr þis bowe was bent! With þis fyre bryght þu must be brent, An aungelle seyd to me ryght so. Alas, my chylde, þu xalt be shent; þi careful fadyr must be þi fo. Ysaac Almyghty God of his grett mercye, Fulhertyly I thanke þe, sertayne. At Goddys byddyng here for to dye I obeye me here for to be sclayne. I pray 3ow, fadyr, be glad and fayne Trewly to werke Goddys wyll. Take good comforte to 3ow agayn, And haue no dowte 3oure childe to kyll. For Godys byddyng, forsothe, it is þat I of 3ow my deth schulde take. A3ens God 3e don amys His byddyng yf 3e xuld forsake. 3owre owyn dampnacyon xulde 3e bake If 3e me kepe from þis r[o]d. With 3oure swerd my deth 3e make, And werk evyrmore þe wyll of God. Abraham The wyll of God must nedys be done — To werke his wyll I seyd nevyr nay. But 3it þe fadyr to sle þe sone My hert doth clynge and cleue as clay! Ysaac 3itt werk Goddys wyll, fadyr, I 3ow pray, And sle me here anoon forthryght. And turne fro me 3oure face away, Myne heed whan þat 3e xul of smyght. Abraham Alas, dere childe, I may not chese: I must nedys my swete sone kylle. My dere derlyng now must me lese — Myn owyn sybb blood now xal I spylle! 3itt þis dede or I fulfylle, My swete sone, þi mouth I kys. Ysaac Al redy, fadyr, evyn at 3oure wyll. I do 3oure byddyng as reson is. Abraham Alas, dere sone, here is no grace, But nedis ded now must þu be. With þis kerchere I kure þi face; In þe tyme þat I sle the Thy lovely vesage wold I not se, Not for all þis werdlys good. With þis swerd þat sore grevyht me My childe I sle and spylle his blood. Angelus Abraham, Abraham, þu fadyr fre! Abraham I am here redy. What is 3oure wylle? Angelus Extende þin hand in no degré — I bydde þu hym not kylle! Here do I se by ryght good skylle Allmyghty God þat þu dost drede. For þu sparyst nat þi sone to spylle, God wyll aqwhyte þe well þi mede. Abraham I thank my God in hevyn above And hym honowre for þis grett grace. And þat my Lord me þus doth prove, I wyll 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 þis shepe with þis same knyff. Now þis shepe is deed and slayn, With þis fyre it xal be brent. Of Isaac my sone I am ful fayn þat my swete childe xal not be shent! This place I name with good entent þe Hill of Godys Vesytacyon, For hedyr God hath to us sent His comforte aftyr grett trybulacyon. Angelus Herke, Abraham, and take good heyd. By hymself God hath þus sworn: For þat þu woldyst a done þis dede, He wyll þe blysse both evyn and morn. For þi dere childe þu woldyst haue lorn At Goddys byddyng, as I the telle, God hath sent þe word beforn, þi seed xal multyplye wherso þu duelle. As sterrys in hevyn byn many and fele, So xal þi seed encrese and growe. þu xalt ovyrcome in welth and wele All þi fomen reknyd be rowe. As sond in þe se doth ebbe and flowe, Hath cheselys many vnnumerabyll, So xal þi sede, þu mayst me trowe, Encres and be evyr prophytabyll. For to my spech þu dedyst obeye, Thyn enmyes portys þu shalt possede. And all men on erthe, as I þe seye, Thei xal be blyssed in þi sede. Almyghty God þus þe wyll mede For þat good wyll þat þu ast done. þerfore thank God in word and dede, Both þu þiself and Ysaac þi sone. Abraham A, my Lord God to wurchep on kne now I fall. I thank be, Lord, of þi mercy. Now, my swete childe, to God þu kall, And thank we þat Lord now hertyly. Isaac With lowly hert to God I crye. I am his seruuant both day and nyght. I thank þe, Lord in hevyn so hy3e, With hert, with thought, with mayn, with myght. Abraham Gramercy, Lord and Kyng of Grace! Gramercy, Lord ouyr lordys all! Now my joye returnyth his trace. I thank þe, Lorde in hevyn, þin halle. Isaac Ovyr all kyngys crownyd kyng I þe kalle. At þi byddyng to dye with knyff I was ful buxvm evyn as þi thralle. Lord, now I thank the, þu grauntyst me lyff. Abraham Now we haue 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 Fadyr, as 3e wyll, so xal it be; I am redy with 3ow to gon. I xal 3ow folwe with hert full fre. And þat 3e bydde me sone xal be don. Abraham Now God, allthyng of nowth þat made, Evyr wurcheppyd he be on watyr and londe. His grett honowre may nevyrmore fade In felde nor town, se nor on sonde. As althyng, Lord, þu hast in honde, So saue us all wherso we be. Whethyr we syttyn, walk, or stonde, Evyr on þin handwerke þu haue pyté. Explicit Moses and the Ten Commandments Introitus Moyses [Moyses] He þat made allthynge of nought, Hevyn and erth, both sunne and mone, Saue all þat his hand hath wrought. Allmyghty God in hevyn trone, I am Moyses þat make þis bone. I pray þe, Lord God, with all my mende, To us inclyne þi mercy sone. þi gracyous lordchep lete us fynde. The to plesyn in all degré, Gracyous God and Lord ovyr all, þu graunte us grace wherso we be, And saue us sownd fro synfull fall. Thy wyll to werke to us, þi thrall, Enforme and teche us all þi plesans. In purenesse put us þat nevyr [m]ot fall, And grounde us in grace from all grevauns. Hic Moyses videns [rubum] ardentem admirande dicit: A, mercy, God, what menyth 3on syte? A grene busch as fyre doth flame And kepyth his colowre fayr and bryghte, Fresch and grene withowtyn blame! It fyguryth sum thynge of ryght gret fame; I kannot seyn what it may be. I wyll go nere, in Goddys name, And wysely loke þis busch to se. Deus Moyses! How, Moyses! Herke to me anon þis stounde. Moyses I am here, Lorde, withowtyn les; 3owre gracyous wyll to do I am bounde. Deus Thu take þi schon anon ful rownde Of þi fete in hast, lete se. Ful holy is þat place and grownde þer þu dost stonde, I sey to the. Moyses Barfoot now I do me make And pull of my schon fro my fete. Now haue I my shon of take, What is 3oure wyll, Lord, fayn wold I wete. Deus Com nere, Moyses, with me to mete. These tabellis I take þe in þin honde; With my fynger in hem is wrete All my lawys, þu vndyrstonde. Loke þat þu preche all abowte; Hooso wyll haue frenshipp of me, To my lawys loke þei lowte, þat þei be kept in all degré. Go forth and preche anon, let se; Loke þu not ses nyght nor day. Moyses 3oure byddyng, Lord, all wrought xal be, 3oure wyll to werk I walk my way. Custodi precepta Domini Dei tui: Deutronomini vj. The comaundment of þi Lord God, man, loke þu kepe Where þat þu walk, wake, or slepe. Euery man take good hede, And to my techynge take good intent, For God hath sent me now indede 3ow for to enforme his comaundment. 3ow to teche God hath me sent His lawys of lyff þat am ful wyse. Them to lerne be dyligent; 3oure soulys may þei saue at þe last asyse. The prcceptys þat taught xal be Be wretyn in þese tablys tweyn. In þe fyrst ben wretyn thre That towch to God, þis is serteyn. In þe secund tabyl be wretyn ful pleyn þe tother vij, þat towch mankende. Herk now well, man, what I xal seyn, And prent þise lawys well in þi mende. Ius Primum mandatum: non habebis deos alienos. The fyrst comaundement of God, as I 3ow say, Of þe fyrst tabyl, forsothe is this: þu xalt haue neythyr nyght nore day Noon other God but þe Kyng of Blysse. Vndyrstonde wele what menyth this, Euery man in his degré, And sett nevyr 3oure hert amys Vpon þis werdlys vanyté. For if þu sett þi loue so sore Vpon ryches and werdly good, þi wurdly rycches þu takyst evyrmore Evyn for þi God, as man ovyrwood. Amend þe, man, and chaunge þi mood; Lese not þi sowle for werdlys welth. Only hym loue which bodyly food Doth 3eve all day, and gostly helth. 2. Secundum mandatum: non [assumes] nomen Dei tui in vantum. The secund precept of þe Fyrst tabyll: þe name of God take nevyr in vayne. Swere none othis be noon fals fabyll; þe name of God þu nevyr dysteyn. Bewhare of othis, for dowte of peyn, Amongys felachepp whan þu dost sytt. A lytyl othe, þis is serteyn, May dampne thy sowle to helle pytt. Man, whan þu art sett at þe nale And hast þi langage as plesyth the, Loke þin othis be non or smale, And 3ett alwey loke trewe þei be. But swere not oftyn, by rede of me. For yf þu vse oftyntyme to swere, It may gendyr custom in the. Beware of custom, for he wyl dere. 3. Tercium mandatum: memento vt sabbatum sanctifice[s]. The iijde comaundment of God, as I rede, Doth bydde the halwe well þin haly day. Kepe þe well fro synfull dede, And care not gretly for rych aray. A ryght pore man, þis is non nay, Of sympyl astat, in clothis rent, Maybe bettyr than rych with garmentys gay Oftyntyme doth kepe þis comaundment. For rych men do shewe oftyntyme pompe and pride On haly days, as oftyn is sene. Whan pore men passe and go besyde, At wurthy festys riche men woll bene. Thyn haly day þu kepyst not clene In gloteny to lede þi lyff. In Goddys hous 3e xulde, bedene, Honoure 3oure God, both mayden and wyff. 4. Quartum mandatum: honora patrem tuum et matrem tuam. Off þe secunde tabyll þe fyrst comaundment, And in þe ordyr þe iiijte, I sey in fay, He byddyth þe euyrmore with hert bent Both fadyr a[n]d modyr to wurchep alway. Thow þat þi fadyr be pore of array, And 3ow neuyr so rych of golde and good, 3itt loke þu wurchep hym nyght and day Of whom þu hast both flesch and blood. In þis comaundmente includyd is Thi bodyli fadyr and modyr also. Includyd also I fynde in þis Thi gostly fadyr and modyr þerto. To þi gostly fadyr evyr reuerens do; þi gostly modyr is Holy Cherch. These tweyn saue þi sowle fro Woo; Euyr them to wurchep loke þat þu werch. 5. Quintum mandatum: non occides. The fyfft comaundement byddyth all us Scle no man, no whight þat þu kyll. Vndyrstonde þis precept þus: Scle no wyght with wurd nor wyll. Wykkyd worde werkyht oftyntyme grett ill; Bewar þerfore of wykkyd langage. Wyckyd spech many on doth spyll; Therfore of spech beth not owtrage. 6. Sextum mandatum: non makaberis. The sexte comaundement byddith every man þat no wyght lede no lecherous lay. Forfeit neuyr be no woman Lesse þan þe lawe alowe þi play. Trespas nevyr with wyff ne may, With wedow nor with non othyr wyght. Kepe þe clene, as I þe say, To whom þu hast þi trowth plyght. 7. Septimum mandatum: non furtum facies. Do no thefte, no thynge þu stele þe vijte precept byddyth þe ful sore. Whyll þu arte in welth and wele, Euyll-gett good loke þu restore. Off handys and dede be trewe evyrmore. For yf þin handys lymyd be, þu art but shent, þi name is lore In felde and town and in all countré. 8. Octauum mandatum: non loqueris contra proximum tuum falsum testimonium. The viijte precept þus doth þe bydde: Fals wyttnes loke non þu bere. þe trowth nevyrmore loke þat þu hyde, With fals wyttnes no man þu dere. Nowther for love, ne dred, ne fere, Sey non other than trowth is. Fals wytnes yf þat þu rere, A3ens God þu dost grettly amys. 9. Nonum mandatum: non desiderabis vxorem proximi tui, et cetera. The ixte precept of lawe of lyff Evyn þus doth bydde every man: Desyre not þi neyborys wyff, þow she be fayr and whyte as swan And þi wyff brown; 3itt natt for-than þi neyborys wyff þu nevyr rejoyse. Kepe þe clene as evyr þu can To þin owyn wyff and þin owyn choyse. 10. Decimum mandatum: non concupisces domum proximi tui, non seruum, non ancillam, non bo[vem], non asinum, nec omnia que illius sunt, et cetera. The xde comaundement of God and last is þis: Thi neyborys hous desyre þu nowth; Maydon, nor servaunt, nor nowth of his, Desyre hem nevyr in wyll nor thowth; Oxe nere asse þat he hath bought, Nere no thynge þat longyht hym to. Godys lawe must nedys be wrought; Desyre no thynge þin neybore fro. The vjte comaundement of lechory Doth exclude þe synfull dede. But theys tweyn last most streytly, Both dede and thought þei do forbede. In wyll nere thought no lechory þu bede: þi thought and wyll þu must refreyn, All þi desyre, as I be rede; In clennes of lyff þiself restreyn. Frendys, þese be þe lawys þat 3e must kepe. Therfore every man sett well in mende, Wethyr þat þu do wake or slepe, These lawys to lerne þu herke ful hynde, And Godys grace xal be þi frende. He socowre and saue 3ow in welth fro woo. Farewell, gode frendys, for hens wyll I wende; My tale I haue taught 3ow, my wey now I goo. Explicit Moyses The Root of Jesse: Prophecies of the Savior Ysaias I am þe prophete callyd Isaye, Replett with Godys grett influens, And sey pleynly be spyryte of prophecie þat a clene mayde thourgh meke obedyens Shall bere a childe which xal do resystens Ageyn foule Zabulon, þe devyl of helle; Mannys soule ageyn hym to defens, Opyn in þe felde þe fend he xal felle. Wherefore I seye quod virgo concipiet Et pariet filium, nomen Emanuel. Oure lyf for to save he xal suffyr deth, And bye us to his blysse, in hevyn for to dwell. Of sacerdotale lynage, þe trewth I 3ow tell, Flessch and blood to take God wyll be born. Joye to man in erth, and in hevyn aungell At þe chyldys byrth joye xal make þat morn. Radix Jesse Egredietur virga de radice Jesse, Et flos de radice eius ascendet: A blyssyd braunch xal sprynge of me That xal be swettere þan bawmys breth. Out of þat braunch in Nazareth A flowre xal blome of me, Jesse Rote, The which by grace xal dystroye deth And brynge mankende to blysse most sote. Dauyd Rex I am David of Jesse rote, The fresch kyng by naturall successyon. And of my blood xal sprynge oure bote, As God hymself hath mad promyssyon. Of regall lyff xal come such foyson þat a clene mayde modyr xal be, Ageyns þe devellys fals illusyon With regall power to make man fre. Jeremias Propheta I am þe prophete Jeremye And fullich acorde in all sentence With Kyng Dauid and with Ysaie, Affermynge pleynly beforn þis audyens That God, of his high benyvolens, Of prest and kynge wyll take lynage, And bye us all from oure offens, In hevyn to haue his herytage. Salamon Rex I am Salamon, þe secunde kynge, And þat wurthy temple, forsothe, made I, Which þat is fygure of þat mayde 3ynge þat xal be modyr of grett Messy. Ezechiel Propheta A vysion of þis, ful veryly, I, Ezechiel, haue had also, Of a gate þat sperd was, trewly, And no man but a prince myght þerin go. Roboas Rex The iijde kynge of þe jentyll Jesse, My name is knowe, Kyng Roboas. Of oure kynrede 3itt men xul se A clene mayde trede down foule Sathanas. Micheas Propheta And I am a prophete calde Mycheas. I telle 3ow pleynly þat þus it is: Evyn lyke as Eve modyr of wo was, So xal a maydyn be modyr of blyss. Abias Rex I that am calde Kynge Abias Conferme for trewe þat 3e han seyd, And sey also, as in þis cas, þat all oure myrth comyth of a mayd. Danyel I, prophete Danyel, am well apayed. Propheta In fygure of þis I saw a tre. All þe fendys of hell xall ben affrayd Whan maydenys frute þeron þei se. Asa Rex I, Kynge Asa, beleve all þis þat God wyll of a maydyn be born, And, vs to bryngyn to endles blys, Ruly on rode be rent and torn. Jonas I, Jonas, sey þat on þe morn Propheta Fro deth he xal ryse; þis is a trew tall Fyguryd in me, þe which longe beforn Lay iij days beryed within þe qwall. Josophat Rex And I, Josophat, þe vjte kynge, serteyn, Of Jesse rote in þe lenyall successyon, All þat my progenitouris hath befor me seyn Feythffully beleve withowyn all dubytacyon. Abdias Propheta I, Abdias prophete, make þis protestacyon: þat aftyr he is resyn to byve onys a3en, Deth xal be drevyn to endles dampnacyon, And lyff xal be grawntyd of paradys ful pleyn. Joras Rex And I, Joras, also, in þe numbre of sefne Of Jesse rote kynge, knowlych þat he Aftyr his resurreccyon returne xal to hefne, Both God and verry man, ther endles to be. Abacuch Propheta I, Abacuch prophete, holde wele with the. Whan he is resyn he xal up stye, In hevyn as juge sitt in his se, Vs for to deme whan we xal dye. Ozias Rex And I, Ozyas, kynge of hygh degré, Spronge of Jesse rote, dare well sey this: Whan he is gon to his dygnyté, He xal send þe Sprytt to his discyplis. Joell Propheta And I, Joel, knowe full trewe þat is. God bad me wryte in prophesye He wolde sende down his Sprytt, iwys, On 3onge and olde, ful sekyrlye. Joathas Rex My name is knowe, Kyng Joathan, The ixe kynge spronge of Jesse. Of my kynrede God wol be man, Mankend to saue, and þat joyth me. Aggeus Propheta With 3ow I do holde, þat am prophete Aggee. Com of þe same hygh and holy stok, God of oure kynrede indede born wyl be, From þe wulf to saue al shepe of his flok. Achas Rex Off Jesse, Kyng Achas is my name, þat falsly wurchepyd ydolatrye Tyl Ysaie putt me in blame And seyd a mayd xulde bere Messye. Ozyas Propheta Off þat byrthe wyttnes bere I, A prophete, Osyas men me calle. And aftyr þat tale of Isaye, þat mayd xal bere Emanuelle. Ezechias Rex My name is knowyn, Kyng Ezechyas, þe xjte kyng of þis geneologye, And say, forsothe, as in þis cas, A mayde be mekenes xal brynge mercye. Sophosas Propheta I, a prophete callyd Sophonye, Of þis matyr do bere wyttnes, And for trowth [d]o sertyfie þat maydens byrth oure welth xal dresse. Manasses Rex Of þis nobyll and wurthy generacyon The xije kyng am I, Manasses, Wyttnessynge here be trew testyficacyon þat maydenys childe xal be Prince of Pes. Baruk Propheta And I, Baruk prophete, conferme wurdys thes: Lord and Prince of Pes þow þat chylde be, [To] al his fomen ageyn hym þat pres, Ryght a grym syre at Domysday xal he be. Amon Rex Amon Kynge for þe last conclusyon Althynge befornseyd for trowth do testyfie, Praynge þat Lord of oure synne remyssyon; At þat dredful day he us graunt mercye. Thus we all of þis genealogye Acordynge in on here in þis place, Pray þat hey3 Lorde whan þat we xal dye, Of his gret goodnesse to grawnt us his grace. Explicit Jesse Joachim and Anna and the Conception of Mary Contemplacio Cryst conserve þis congregacyon Fro pereilys past, present, and future, And þe personys here pleand, þat þe pronunciacyon Of here sentens to be seyd mote be sad and sure; And þat non oblocucyon make þis matere obscure, But it may profite and plese eche persone present From be gynnynge to be endynge so to endure, þat Cryst and every creature with þe conceyte be content. This matere here mad is of þe Modyr of Mercy: How be joachym and Anne was here concepcyon Sythe offred into þe temple, compiled breffly; Than maryed to Joseph; and so, folwyng, þe Salutacyon, Metyng with Elyzabeth, and þerwith a conclusyon, In fewe wurdys talkyd, þat it xulde nat be tedyous To lernyd nyn to lewd, nyn to no man of reson. þis is þe processe, now preserve 3ow Jesus. þerfore of pes I 3ow pray, all þat ben here present, And tak hed to oure talkyn[g], what we xal say. I beteche 3ow þat Lorde þat is evyr omnypotent To governe 3ow in goodnes, as he best may. In hevyn we may hym se. Now God þat is Hevyn Kynge Sende us all hese dere blyssynge, And to his towre he mote vs brynge. Amen for charyté. Ysakar The prestys of God offre sote ensens Vnto here God, and þerfore they be holy. We þat mynistere here in Goddys presens, In vs xuld be fownd no maner of foly. Ysakar, prynce of prestys, am I, þat þis holyest day here haue mynystracyon, Certyfyenge all tribus in my cure specyaly þat this is þe hyest fest of oure solennyzacyon. This we clepe Festum Encenniorum, þe newe fest, of which iij in þe 3ere we exercyse. Now all þe kynredys to Jerusalem must cum Into þe temple of God, here to do sacryfyse. Tho þat be cursyd my dygnyté is to dysspyse, And þo þat be blyssyd here holy sacrefyse to take. We be regal sacerdocium, it perteyneth vs to be wysse Be fastyng, be prayng, be almes, and at du tyme to wake. Joachym Now all þis countré of Galylé, With þis cetye of Nazareth specyal, þis fest to Jerusalem must go we To make sacrefyce to God eternal. My name is Joachym, a man in godys substancyall. "Joachym" is to say, "He þat to God is redy." So haue I be and evyrmore xal, For be dredful domys of God sore drede I. I am clepyd ryghtful, why wole 3e se, For my godys into thre partys I devyde: On to þe temple and to hem þat þer servyng be; Anodyr to þe pylgrimys and pore men; be iijde for hem with me abyde. So xulde euery curat in þis werde wyde 3eve a part to his chauncel, iwys, A part to his parochonerys þat to povert slyde, The thryd part to kepe for hym and his. But, blyssyd wyff Anne, sore I drede In þe temple þis tyme to make sacryfice; Becawse þat no frute of vs doth procede, I fere me grettly þe prest wole me dysspice. Than grett slawndyr in þe tribus of vs xulde aryse. But þis I avow to God with all þe mekenes I can: 3yff of his mercy he wole a childe us devyse, We xal offre it up into þe temple to be Goddys man. Anna 3oure swemful wurdys make terys trekyl down be my face. Iwys, swete husbond, þe fawte is in me. My name is Anne, þat is to sey "grace;" We wete not how gracyous God wyl to us be. A woman xulde bere Cryst, þese profecyes haue we; If God send frute and it be a mayd childe, With all reuerens I vow to his magesté, Sche xal be here footmayd to mynyster here most mylde. Joachym Now lete be it as God wole, þer is no more. Tweyn turtelys for my sacryfice with me I take. And I beseche, wyff, and evyr we mete more, þat hese grett mercy vs meryer mut make. Anna For dred and for swem of 3oure wourdys I qwake. Thryes I kysse 3ow with syghys ful sad, And to þe mercy of God mekely I 3ow betake. And þo þat departe in sorwe, God make þer metyng glad. Senior Tribus Worchepful Sere Joachym, be 3e redy now? All 3oure kynrede is come 3ow to exorte þat þei may do sacrifice at þe temple with 3ow, For 3e be of grett wurchep, as men 3ow report. Joachym All synfull, seke, and sory God mote comforte. I wolde I wore as men me name. Thedyr, in Goddys name, now late us all 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 3ow brynge, And fro shame and sorwe he mote 3ow kepe. Tyl I se 3ow ageyn I kannot sees of wepynge. Senior Prynce of oure prestys, if it be 3oure plesynge, We be com mekely to make oure sacrefice. Ysakar God do 3ow mede, bothe elde and 3ynge. Than devowtly we wyl begynne servyse. There they xal synge þis sequens: "Benedicta sit beata Trinitas." And in þat tyme Ysakar with his ministerys ensensyth þe autere; and þan þei make her offryng, and Isaker seyth: Comyth up, serys, and offeryth all now, 3e þat to do sacryfice worthy are. Abyde a qwyle, sere; whedyr wytte þu? þu and þi wyff am barrany and bare; Neyther of 3ow fruteful nevyr 3ett ware. Whow durste þu amonge fruteful presume and abuse? It is a tokyn þu art cursyd fare. Whereffore with grett indygnacyon þin offeryng I refuse! Et refudit sacrificium Joachim. Amonge all þis pepyl barreyn be no mo. Therefore comyth up and offeryth here alle. þu, Joachym, I charge þe, fast out þe temple þu go. Et redit flendo Than with Goddys holy wourde blysse 3ow I shalle. Ministro cantando: Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini, Chorus Qui fecit celum et terram. Minister Sit nomen Domini benedictum Chorus Ex hoc nunc et usque in seculum. Episcopus Benedicat vos diuina majestas et vna Deitas, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus. Chorus Amen. Signando manu cum cruce sole[m]niter, et recedant tribus extra templum. [Ysakar] Now of God and man blyssyd be 3e alle. Homward a3en now returne 3e. And in þis temple abyde we xalle To servyn God in Trinyté. Joachym A, mercyfful Lord, what is þis lyff? What haue I do, Lorde, to haue þis blame? For hevynes I dare not go hom to my wyff, And amonge my neyborys I dare not abyde for shame. A, Anne, Anne, Anne, al oure joye is turnyd to grame! From 3oure blyssyd felachepp I am now exilyd. And 3e here onys of þis fowle fame, Sorwe wyl sle 3ow to se me thus revylyd. But s[e]n God soferyth thys, vs must sofron nede. Now wyl I go to my she[p]herdys and with hem abyde, And þer evyrmore levyn in sorwe and in drede. Shame makyth many man his bed for to hyde. Ha, how do 3e, felas? In 3ow is lytel pryde. How fare 3e and my bestys, þis wete wolde I veryly. Primus Pastor A, welcom hedyr, blyssyd mayster; we pasture hem ful wyde. They be lusty and fayr, and grettly multyply. How do 3e, mayster? 3e loke al hevyly. How doth oure dame at hom? Sytt she and sowyht? Joachym To here þe speke of here, it sleyth myn hert, veryly. How I and sche doth, God hymself knowyth. The meke God lyftyth up, þe proude overthrowyht. Go do what 3e lyst, se 3oure bestys not stray. Secundus Pastor Aftere grett sorwe, mayster, ever gret grace growyht. Sympyl as we kan, we xal for 3ow pray. Tercius Pastor 3a, to pray for careful, it is grett nede; We all wul prey for 3ow knelende. God of his goodnes send 3ow good spede, And of 3oure sorwe 3ow sone amende. Joachym I am nott wurthy, Lord, to loke up to hefne. My synful steppys an vemynyd þe grounde. I, lothfolest þat levyth; þu, Lord hyest in þi setys sefne. What art þu? Lord. What am I? Wrecche, werse þan an hownde. þu has sent me shame which myn hert doth wounde — I thank þe more herefore þan for all my prosperité. þis is a tokyn þu lovyst me, now to the I am bounde; þu seyst þu art with hem þat in tribulacyon be. And hoso haue þe, he nedyth not care thanne. My sorwe is feryng I haue do sum offens. Punchyth me, Lorde, and spare my blyssyd wyff Anne þat syttyth and sorwyth ful sore of myn absens. Ther is not may profyte but prayour to 3oure presens; With prayorys prostrat byfore þi person I wepe. Haue mende on oure avow for 3oure mech magnyficens, And my lovyngest wyff Anne, Lord, for þi mercy, kepe. Anna A, mercy, Lord! Mercy, mercy, mercy! We are synfolest it shewyth þat 3e send us all þis sorwe. Why do 3e thus to myn husbond, Lord? Why? Why? Why? For my barynes? [3e] may amend þis þiself, and þu lyst, tomorwe. And it plese so þi mercy, þe, my Lord, I take to borwe, I xal kepe myn avow qwhyl I leve and leste. I fere me I haue offendyd þe; myn hert is ful of sorwe. Most mekely I pray þi pety þat þis bale þu wyl breste. Here þe aungel descendith þe hefne syngyng, "Exultet celum laudibus, resultet terra gaudiis, archangelorum gloria sacra canun[t] solemnia." Joachym Qwhat art þu, in Goddys name, þat makyst me adrad? It is as lyth abowt me as al þe werd were fere! Angelus I am an aungel of God com to make þe glad. God is plesyd with þin helmes and hath herd þi prayere; He seyth þi shame, þi repreff, and þi terys cler. God is avengere of synne and not nature doth lothe; Whos wombe þat he sparyth and makyth barreyn her He doth to shewe his myth and his mercy bothe. Thu seest þat Sara was nynty 3ere bareyn; Sche had a son, Ysaac, to whom God 3aff his blyssynge. Rachel also had þe same peyn; She had a son, Joseph, þat of Egypt was kynge. A strongere þan Sampson nevyr was be wrytynge, Nor an holyere þan Samuel, it is seyd thus; 3ett here moderys were bareyn bothe in þe gynnynge. þe concepcyon of all swych, it is ful mervelyous! And in þe lyke wyse, Anne, þi blyssyd wyff, Sche xal bere a childe xal hygth Mary, Which xal be blyssyd in here body and haue joys fyff, And ful of þe Holy Goost inspyred syngulyrly. Sche xal be offryd into þe temple solemply, þat of here non evyl fame xuld sprynge thus. And as sche xal be bore of a barrany body, So of here xal be bore without nature Jesus, That xal be Savyour vnto al mankende. In tokyn, whan þu come to Jherusalem, to þe Gyldyn Gate, þu xalt mete Anne, þi wyff; haue þis in þi mende. I xal sey here þe same, here sorwys to rebate. Joachym Of þis imcomparabyl comfort I xal nevyr forgete þe 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 þat body of þe xal be bore! Now farewel, myn shepherdys, governe 3ow now wysly. Primus Pastor Haue 3e good tydyngys, maystyr? þan be we glad. Joachym Prayse God for me, for I am not wourthy. Secundus Pastor In feyth, sere, so we xal with all oure sowlys sad. Tercius Pastor I holde it helpiful þat on of vs with 3ow be had. Joachym Nay, abyde with 3oure bestys, sone, in Goddys blyssynge. Primus Pastor We xal make us so mery now þis is bestad þat a myle on 3oure wey 3e xal here us synge. Anne Alas, for myn hushond me is ful wo. I xal go seke hym whatsoevyr befalle. I wote not in erth which wey is he go. Fadyr of Hefne, for mercy to 3oure fete I falle. Angelus Anne, þin husbond ryght now I was withall, þe aungel of God þat bar hym good tydynge; And as I seyd to hym, so to þe sey I xal: God hath herd þi preyour and þi wepynge. At þe Goldyn Gate þu xalte mete hym ful mylde, And in grett gladnes returne to 3oure hous. So be proces þu xalt conseyve and bere a childe Whiche xal hyght Mary; and Mary xal bere Jesus, Which xal be Savyour of all þe werd and us. Aftere grett sorwe evyr grett gladnes is had. Now myn inbassett I haue seyd to 3ow thus. Gooth in oure Lordys name and in God beth glad. Anne Now blyssyd be oure Lorde and all his werkys ay! All heffne and erthe mut blysse 3ow for this. I am so joyful I not what I may say; þer can no tounge telle what joye in me is! I to bere a childe þat xal bere all mannys blys, And haue myn hosbonde ageyn! Ho myth haue joys more? No creature in erth is grauntyd more mercy, iwys. I xal hy3e me to þe 3ate to be þer before. Here goth þe aungel a3en to hefne. A, blyssyd be oure Lord, myn husbond I se. I xalle on myn knes and to hymward crepe. Joachym A, gracyous wyff Anne, now fruteful xal 3e be. For joy of þis metyng in my sowbe I wepe. Haue þis kusse of clennesse and with 3ow it kepe. In Goddys name, now go we, wyff, hom to oure hous. Anne þer was nevyr joy sank in me so depe. Now may we sey, husbond, God is to us gracyous, Veryly. Joachym 3a, and if we haue levyd wel herebefore, I pray þe, Lord, þin ore, So mote we levyn evyrmore, And, be þi grace, more holyly. Anne Now homward, husbond, I rede we gon, Ryth hom al to oure place, To thank God þat sytt in tron, þat þus hath sent us his grace. Joachim and Anne's Presentation of Mary at the Temple Contemplacio Sovereynes, 3e han sen shewyd 3ow before Of Joachym and Anne here botherys holy metynge. How oure Lady was conseyvid and how she was bore, We passe ovyr þat, breffnes of tyme consyderynge; And how oure Lady in here tendyr age and 3yng Into þe temple was offryd, and so forth proced. þis sentens sayd xal be hire begynnyng. Now þe Modyr of Mercy in þis be oure sped. And as a childe of iij 3ere age here she xal appere To alle pepyl þat ben here present. And of here grett grace now xal 3e here, How she levyd evyr to Goddys entent With grace. That holy matere we wole declare Tyl fortene acre how sche dyd fare. Now of 3oure speche I pray 3ow spare, All þat ben in þis place. Here Joachym and Anne, with oure Lady betwen hem beyng al in whyte as a childe of iii 3ere age, presente here into the temple, thus seyng Joachym: Joachim Blyssyd be oure Lord Fayr frute haue we now. Anne, wyff, remembyr wole 3e þat we made to God an holy avow þat oure fyrst childe þe servaunt of God xulde be. The age of Mary, oure dowtere, is 3erys thre; þerfore to thre personys and on God lete us here present. þe 3onger she be drawyn, þe bettyr semyth me. And for teryeng of oure avow, of God we myth be shent. Anne It is as 3e husbond, indede. Late us take Mary, oure dowtere, us betwen, And to be temple with here procede. Dowtere, þe aungel tolde us 3e xulde be a qwen! Wole 3e go se þat Lord 3oure husbond xal ben, And lerne for to love hym and lede with hym 3oure lyff? Telle 3oure fadyr and me her 3oure answere, let sen. Wole 3e be pure maydyn and also Goddys wyff? Maria Fadyr and modyr, if it plesynge to 3ow be, 3e han mad 3oure avow, so ssothly wole I, To be Goddys chast seruaunt whil lyff is in me. But to be Goddys wyff I was nevyr wurthy: I am þe sympelest þat evyr was born of body. I haue herd 3ow seyd God xulde haue a modyr swete; þat I may leve to se hire, God graunt me for his mercy, And abyl me to ley my handys vndyr hire fayr fete. Et genuflectet ad Deum. Joachym Iwys, dowtere, it is wel seyd; 3e answere and 3e were twenty 3ere olde! Anne Whith 3oure speche, Mary, I am wel payd. Can 3e gon alone? Lett se, beth bolde. Maria To go to Goddys hous, wole 3e now beholde, I am joyful thedyrward as I may be. Joachym Wyff, I [am] ryght joyful oure dowtere to beholde. Anne So am I, wys husbond Now in Goddys name go we. Joachym Sere prince of prestes, and it plese 3ow, We þat were barreyn God hath sent a childe. To offre here to Goddys service we mad oure avow; Here is þe same mayde, Mary most mylde. Isakar Joachym, I haue good mende how I 3ow revyled. I am ryght joyful þat God hath 3ove 3ow þis grace. To be amonge fruteful now be 3e reconsylid. Com, swete Mary, com; 3e haue a gracyous face. Joachym flectendo ad Deum sic dicens: Joachym Now Fadyr, and Sone, and Holy Gost, On God and personys thre, We offre to þe, Lorde of myghtys most, Oure dowtere, þi servaunt evyrmore to be. Anna Therto most bounde evyrmore be we. Mary, in þis holy place leve 3ow we xall. In Goddys name now up go 3e; Oure fadyr, oure prest, lo, doth 3ow call. Maria Modyr, and it plese 3ow, fyrst wole I take my leve Of my fadyr and 3ow, my modyr, iwys. I haue a fadyr in hefne, þis I beleve; Now, good fadyr, with þat fadyr 3e me blysse. Joachym In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Maria Amen Now 3e, good modyr. Anne In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Maria Amen. Now oure Lord thank 3ow for this. Here is my fadyr and my modyr bothe; Most mekely I beseche I may 3ow kys. Now for3eve me yfevyr I made 3ow wrothe. Et [am] plexendo osculabit patrem et matrem. Joachym Nay, dowtere, 3e offendyd nevyr God nor man. Lovyd be þat Lord 3ow so doth kepe. Anne Swete dowtyr, thynk on 3oure modyr, An; 3oure swemynge smytyht to myn hert depe. [Maria] Fadyr and modyr, I xal pray for 3ow and wepe To God with al myn hert specyaly. Blysse me day and nyght, and evyr her 3e slepe, Good fadyr and modyr, and beth mery. Joachym A, ho had evyr suche a chylde? Nevyr creature 3it þat evyr was bore! Sche is so gracyous, she is so mylde — So xulde childyr to fadyr and modyr evyrmore. Anne Than xulde thei be blyssyd and plese God sore. Husbond, and it plese 3ow not hens go we xal Tyl Mary be in þe temple above thore; I wold not for al erthe se here fal. Episcopus Come, gode Mary Come, babe, I þe call. þi pas pratyly to þis plas pretende. þu xalt be þe dowtere of God eternal! If þe fyftene grees þu may ascende. It is meracle if þu do! Now God þe dyffende. From Babylony to Hevynly Jherusalem þis is þe way. Every man þat thynk his lyf to amende, þe fyftene psalmys in memorye of his mayde say. Maria, et sic deinceps usque ad fine [in] xveimxxx psalinorum. Maria The fyrst degré gostly applyed, It is holy desyre with God to be. In trobyl to God I haue cryed, And in sped þat Lord hath herde me. Ad Dominum cum tribularer clamaui, et exaudiuit me. The secunde is stody with meke inquysissyon, veryly, How I xal haue knowynge of Godys wylle. To þe mownteynes of hefne I haue lyfte myn ey, From qwens xal comyn helpe me tylle. Leuaui oculos meos in montes, vnde ueniat auxilium mihi. The thrydde is gladnes in mende in hope to be That we xall be savyd all thus. I am glad of these tydyngys ben seyd to me, Now xal we go into Goddys hous. Letatus sum in hiis que dicta sunt mihi: in domum Domini ibimus. The fourte is meke obedyence as is dette To hym þat is above þe planetys sefne. To þe I haue myn eyn sette þat dwellys above þe skyes in hefne. Ad te leuaui oculos meos, qui habitas in celis. The fyfte is propyr confessyon, þat we be nought withowth God thus. But God in vs haue habytacyon, Peraventure oure enemyes shulde swelle vs. Nisi quia Dominus erat in nobis, dicat nunc Israel, nisi quia Dominus erat in nobis.... The sexte is confidens in Goddys strenght alon, For of all grace from hym comyth þe strem. They þat trust in God as þe Mownt Syon, He xal not be steryd endles þat dwellyth in Jherusalem. Qui confidunt in Domino sicut Mons Syon, non commouebitur in eternum, qui habitat in Hierusalem. The sefte is vndowteful hope of immortalyté In oure Lordeis grac[e] and mercy. Whan oure Lord conuertyth oure captiuité, Than are we mad as joyful mery. In conuertendo Dominus captiuitatem Syon, facti sumus sicut consolati. The eyted is contempt of veynglory in vs For hym þat at mankende hath multyplyed. But yf oure Lord make here oure hous, They an laboryd in veyn þat it han edyfied. Nisi Dominus edificauerit domum, in uanum laboraueru[n]t qui edificant eam. The nynte is a childely fer indede With a longyng love in oure Lorde þat ay is. Blyssyd am all they þat God drede, Whiche þat gon in his holy weys. Beati omnes qui timent Dominum, qui ambulant in viis eius. The tende is myghty soferauns of carnal temptacyon, For þe fleschly syghtys ben fers and fel. Ofte 3ough is fowth with with suech vexacyon. þu, seynge God, say so, clepyd Israel. Sepe expugnauerunt me a juuentute mea, dicat nunc Israel. The elefnte is accusatyff confessyon of iniquite, Of which ful noyous is þe noyis. Fro depnes, Lord, I haue cryed to the; Lord, here in sped my sympyl voys. De profundis clamaui ad te, Domine; Domine, exaudi uocem meam. The twelfte is mekenes þat is fayr and softe In mannys sowle withinne and withowte. Lord, myn herte is not heyned on lofte, Nyn myn eyn be not lokynge abowte. Domine, non est exaltatum cor meum, neque elati sunt oculi mei. The threttene is feyth þerwith, With holy dedys don expresse. Haue mende, Lorde, of Davyth, And of all his swettnes. Memento, Domine, Dauid et omnis mansuetudinis eius. The fourtene is brothyrly concorde, iwys, þat norchyth love of creaturys echon. Se how good and how glad it is Bretheryn for to dwelle in on. Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum habitare fratres in vnum. The fyftene is gracyous. With on acorde, Whiche is syne of godly love, semyth me, Se, now blysse oure Lord, All þat oure Lordys servauntys be. Ecce nunc benedicite Dominum, omnes serui Domini. Episcopus A, gracyous Lord, þis is a mervelyous thynge þat we se here all in syght: A babe of thre 3er age so 3ynge To come vp frese grecys so vpryght! It is an hey meracle and, be Goddys myght, No dowth of, she xal be gracyous. Maria Holy fadyr, I beseche 3ow forthryght, Sey how I xal be rewlyd in Goddys hous. Episcopus Dowtere, God hath 3ovyn vs comaundementys ten, Which, shortely to say, be comprehendyd in tweyn. And þo must be kept of all Crysten men, Or ellys here jugement is perpetual peyn. 3e muste love God s[o]vereynly and 3oure evyn-Crystyn pleyn, God fyrst for his hy3 and sovereyn dygnyté; He lovyd 3ow fyrst, love hym ageyn, For of love to his owyn lyknes he made the. Love Fadyr, Sone, and Holy Gost: Love God þe Fadyr for he gevyth myght; Love God þe Sone for he gevyth wysdam, þu wost; Love God þe Holy Gost for he gevyth love and lyght. Thre personys and on God þus love of ryght With all þin hert, with all þi sowle, with all þi mende, And with all þe strenghthis in þe bedyght. þan love þin evyn-Crystyn as þiself withowtyn ende. Thu xalt hate nothynge but þe devyl and synne — God byddyth the lovyn þi bodyly enmy, And as for 3oureself here, þus xal 3e begynne; 3e must serve and wurchep God here dayly, For with pray3er [come] grace and mercy. Se the haue a resonable tyme to fede, Thanne to haue a labour bodyly, þat þerin þe gostly and bodely mede. 3oure abydynge xal be with 3oure maydenys fyve Swyche tyme as 3e wole haue consolacyon. Maria This lyff me lyketh as my lyve; Of here namys I beseche 3ow to haue informacyon. Episcopus There is þe fyrst, Meditacyon, Contryssyon, Compassyon, and Clennes, And þat holy mayde, Fruyssyon. With these blyssyd maydenes xal be 3oure besynes. Maria Here is an holy felachepp I fele. I am not wurthy amonge hem to be. Swete systerys, to 3ow all I knele; To receyve me I beseche 3oure charyté. Episcopus They xal, dowtere; and on þe tothere syde se Ther ben sefne prestys indede To schryve, to teche, and to mynystryn to the, To lerne þe Goddys lawys, and Scrypture to rede. Maria Fadyr, knew I here namys, wele were I. Episcopus Ther is Dyscressyon, Devocyon, Dylexcyon, and Deliberacyon; They xal tende upon 3ow besyly With Declaracyon, Determynacyon, Dyvynacyon. Now go, 3e maydenys, to 3oure occupacyon, And loke 3e tende þis childe tendyrly. And 3e, serys, knelyth and I xal gyve 3ow Goddys benyson In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Et recede[t] cum ministris suis; omnes virgines dicent 'Amen'. [Maria] To 3ow, fadyr and modyr, I me comende. Blyssyd be þe tyme 3e me hedyr brought. Joachym Dowtere, þe Fadere of oure Feyth þe mot defende, As he of his myght made allthynge of nowth. Anne Mary, to þi sowle solas he sende, In whos wysdam all þis 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 þe Holy Gost at hom be 3e brought. Ad virgines: Systerys, 3e may go do what 3e xall; To serve God fyrst here is al my thought. Beforn þis holy awtere on my knes I fall. Lord, sefne petycyons I beseche 3ow of here: Fyrst, þat I may kepe þi love and þi lawe. þe secunde, to lovyn myn evyn-Crystyn as myself dere. þe thrydde, from all þat þu hatyst me to withdrawe. The fourte, all vertuys to þi plesauns [to] knawe. þe fyfte, to obey þe ordenaryes of þe temple echon. þe sexte, and þat all pepyl may serve þe with awe, þat in þis holy tempyl fawte be non. The sefnte, Lord, I haske with grett fere, þat I may se onys in my lyve þat lady þat xal Goddys sone bere, þat I may serve here with my wyttys fyve, If it plese 3ow; and ellys it is not þerwith to stryve. With prayers prostrat for þese gracys I wepe. O my God, devocyon depe in me dryve þat myn hert may wake in þe thow my body slepe! Here þe aungel bryngyth manna in a cowpe of gold lyke to confeccyons, þe hefue syngynge. þe aungel seyth: [Angelus] Merveyle not, mekest maydon, of my mynystracyon. I am a good aungel sent of God Allmyght With aungelys mete for 3oure sustentacyon, 3e to receyve it for natural myght. We aungellys xul serve 3ow day and nyght. Now fede 3ow þerwith, in Goddys name. We xal lerne 3ow be lyberary of oure Lordys lawe lyght, For my sawys in 3ow shewyth sygnes of shame. Maria To thank oure sover[ey]n Lord not sufficyth my mende. I xal fede me of þis fode my Lord hath me sent; All maner of savowrys in þis mete I fynde, I felt nevyr non so swete ner so redolent. Angelus Eche day þerwith 3e xal be content; Aunge[lys] alle howrys xal to 3ow apere. Maria Mercy, my Makere, how may þis be ment? I am be sympelest creature þat is levynge here. Angelus In 3oure name, Maria, fyve letterys we han: M: mayde most mercyfull and mekest in mende. A: auerte[r] of þe anguysch þat Adam began R: regina of regyon, reyneng withowtyn ende. I: innocent be influens of Jesses kende. A: aduocat most autentyk, 3oure [anceter] Anna. Hefne and helle here kneys down bende Whan þis holy name of 3ow is seyd, Maria. Maria I qwake grettly for dred to here þis comendacyon Good swete aungel, why wole 3e sey thus? Aungell For 3e xal hereaftere haue a salutacyon þat xal þis excede, it is seyd amonge vs. The Deyté þat dede xal determyn and dyscus 3e xal nevyr, lady, be lefte here alone. I crye þe mercy, Lorde, and þin erthe cus, Recomendynge me to þat Godhyd þat is tryne in trone. Hic osculet terram. Here xal comyn alwey an aungel with dyvers presentys, goynge and comyng, and in þe tyme þei xal synge in hefne þis hympne: 'Jesu Corona Virginum'. And aftyr, þer comyth a minister fro þe busschop with a present and seyth: Minister Prynce of oure prestes, Ysakare be name, He hath sent 3ow hymself his servyce, indede, And bad 3e xulde fede 3ow, spare for no shame; In þis tyme of mete no lenger 3e rede. Maria Recomende me to my fadyr, sere, and God do hym mede. These vesselys a3en sone I xal hym sende I xal bere it my systerys — I trowe þei haue more nede; Goddys foyson is evyr to his servauntys hendyr þan we wende. Systerys, oure holy fadyr Isakare Hath sent vs hese servyce here ryght now. Fede 3ow þerof hertyly, I pray 3ow nat spare. And if owght beleve, specyaly I pray 3ow That þe pore men þe relevys þerof haue now. Fayn, and I myth, I wolde do þe dedys of mercy. Pore folk faryn God knowyth how. On hem evyr I haue grett pety. Contemplacio’s Link Contemplacio Lo, sofreynes, here 3e haue seyn In þe temple of oure Ladyes presentacyon. She was nevyr occapyed in thyngys veyn, But evyr besy in holy ocupacyon. And we beseche 3ow of 3oure pacyens þat we pace fese materys so lythly away; If þei xulde be do with good prevydens, Eche on wolde suffyce for an hool day. Now xal we procede to here dissponsacyon, Which aftere þis was xiiij 3ere. Tyme sufficyth not to make pawsacyon; Hath pacyens with vs we besech 3ow her. And in short spas, The Parlement of Hefne sone xal 3e se, And how Goddys sone com man xal he, And how þe Salutacyon aftere xal be, By Goddys holy gras. The Marriage of Mary and Joseph Tunc venit Abysakar Episcopus [Episcopus] Listenyth, lordyngys bothe hye and lowe, And tendyrly takyth heyd onto my sawe. Beth buxom and benyngne 3oure busshopp to knowe, For I am þat lord þat made þis lawe. With hertys so hende herkyn nowe: 3oure damyselys to weddyng, 3a, loke þat 3e drawe, þat passyn xiiij 3ere, for what þat 3e owe. þe lawe of God byddyth þis sawe: þat at xiiij 3ere of age Euery damesel, whatso sche be, To þe encrese of more plenté, Xulde be browght in good degré Onto here spowsage. Joachym Herke now, Anne, my jentyl spowse, How þat þe buschop his lawe hath tolde, þat what man hath a dowtyr in his house þat passyth xiiij 3erys olde, He muste here brynge, I herde hym rowse, Into þe tempyl a spowse to wedde. Wherfor oure dowtyr ryth good and dowse, Into þe tempyl sche must be ledde, And þat anoon-ryght sone. Anne Sere, I grawnt þat it be so. A3en þe lawe may we not do. With here togedyr lete us now go, I hold it ryght weyl done. Joachym Sere busshopp, here aftyr þin owyn hest We haue here brought oure dowtyr dere, Mary, my swete childe; she is ful prest, Of age she is ful xiiij 3ere. Episcopus Welcome, Joachym, onto myn areste, Bothe Anne þi wyff and Mary clere. Now, Mary chylde, to þe lawe þu leste And chese þe a spowse to be þi fere — þat lawe þu must fullfylle. Maria A3ens þe lawe wyl I nevyr be, But mannys felachep xal nevyr folwe me. I wyl levyn evyr in chastyté Be þe grace of Goddys wylle. Episcopus A, fayre mayde, why seyst þu so? What menyth the for to levyn chast? Why wylt þu not to weddyng go? þe cawse þu telle me, and þat in hast! Maria My fadyr and my modyr, sertys, also, Er I was born, 3e may me trast, Thei were bothe bareyn, here frute was do; They come to þe tempyl at þe last To do here sacryfice. Bycause they hadde nothyr frute nere chylde, Reprevyd þei wore of wykkyd and wyllde. With grett shame þei were revylyd, Al men dede them dyspyce. My fadyr and my modyr, thei wepte full sore. Ful hevy here hertys wern of þis dede. With wepynge eyn þei preyd, þerfore, þat God wolde socowre hem and sende hem sede. Iff God wold graunt hem a childe be bore, They behest þe chylde here lyff xulde lede In Goddys temple to serve evyrmore, And wurchep God in loue and drede. Than God, ful of grace, He herd here longe prayour, And þan sent hem both seed and flowre. Whan I was born in here bowre, To þe temple offryd I was. Whan þat I was to þe temple brought And offerde up to God above, Ther hestyd I, as myn hert thought, To serve my God with hertyly love. Clennesse and chastyté myn hert owth Erthely creature nevyr may shoue. Such clene lyff xuld 3e nouht In no maner wyse reprove. To þis clennesse I me take. This is þe cawse, as I 3ow tell, þat I with man wyll nevyr mell! In þe servyse of God wyl I evyr dwell — I wyl nevyr haue other make. Episcopus A, mercy, God, þese wordys wyse Of þis fayr mayde clene, Thei trobyl myn hert in many wyse — Her wytt is grett, and þat is sene! In clennes to levyn in Godys servise No man here blame, non here tene. And 3it in lawe þus it lyce, þat such weddyd xulde bene. Who xal expownd þis oute? þe lawe doth after lyff of clennes; þe lawe doth bydde such maydenes expres þat to spowsyng they xulde hem dres. God help us in þis dowhte! This ansuere grettly trobelyth me. To mak a vow, to creaturys it is lefful — Vovete et reddite in Scripture haue we — And to observe oure lawe also it is nedful. In þis to dyscerne, to me it is dredful. þerfore, to cow[n]cell me in þis cas I calle þe holde and þe wyse, and swiche as ben spedful. In þis sey 3oure avyse, I besech 3ow alle. Minister To breke oure lawe and custom it wore hard indede; And on þat other syde, to do a3en Scrypture. To 3eve sentens in þis degré 3e must take goo[d] hede, For dowteles þis matere is dyffuse and obscure. Myn avyse here in þis, I 3ow ensure: þat we prey all God to haue relacyon; For be prayour grett knowlech men recure, And to þis I counsell 3ow to 3eve assygnacyon. Episcopus Trewly 3oure counsel! is ryght good and eylsum, And as 3e han seyd, so xal it be. I charge 3ow, bretheryn and systerys, hedyr 3e com, And togedyr to God now pray we That it may plese his fynyte deyte Knowleche in þis to sendyn vs. Mekely eche man falle down on kne And we xal begynne "Veni Creator Spiritus." Et hic cantent "Veni Creator" And whan "Veni Creator" is don þe buschop xal [seyn]: [Episcopus] Now, Lord God, of lordys wysest of alle, I pray þe, Lorde, knelynge on kne; With carcfull herte I crye and calle, þis dowteful dowte enforme þu me. Angelus Thy prayour is herd to hy3 hevyn halle. God hath me sent here down to the To telle þe what þat þu do xalle, And how þu xalt be rewlyd in iche degré. Take tent and vndyrstond: This is Goddys owyn byddyng, þat all kynsmen of Dauyd be kyng To þe temple xul brynge here du offryng With whyte 3ardys in þer honde. Loke wele what tyme þei offere there All here 3ardys in þin hand þu take; Take heed whose 3erde doth blome and here, And he xal be þe maydenys make. Episcopus I thank þe, Lord, with mylde chere. Thi wurde xal I werkyn withowtyn wrake. I xal send for hem bothyn fer and nere; To werke þi wyl I vndyrtake. Anon it xal be do. Herk, masangere, þu wend þi way; Dauyd kynsmen, as I þe say, Byd hem come offyr þis same day, And brynge white 3ardys also. Nuncius Oy! Al maner men, takyth to me tent That be owgth of kynrede to Dauid þe kyng! My lord þe busshop hath for 3ow sent, To þe temple þat 3e come with 3oure offryng. He chargight þat 3e hast 3ow, for he is redy bent 3ow to receyve at 3oure comyng. He byddyth 3ow ferthermore in handys þat 3e hent A fayre white 3erde everych of 3ow 3e bryng In hyght. Tary not, I pray 3ow, My lord, as I say 3ow, Now to receyve 3ow Is full redy dyght. Joseph In gret labore my lyff I lede, Myn ocupasyoun lyth in many place. For febylnesse of age my jorney I may nat spede. I thank the, gret God, of thi grace. Primus Generacionis Dauid What chere, Joseph? What ys the case That ye lye here on this ground? Joseph Age and febylnesse doth me enbrase, That I may nother well goo ne stond. Secundus Generacio[nis Dauid] We be commandyd be the beschoppys sond That euery man of Dauyd kynrede In the tempyll offyr a wond; Therfor in this jorney let vs procede. Joseph Me to traveyll yt is no nede. I prey you, frendys, go forth youre wey. Tercius Generacion[is Dauid] Yis, com forth, Joseph, I you rede, And knowyth what the buschop woll sey. Quartus Gener[acionis Dauid] Ther ys a mayd whos name ys clepyd Mary Doughter to Joachym as it is told. Here to mary thei woll asay To som man dowty and bold. Joseph Benedicité! I cannot vndyrstande What oure prince of prestys doth men, þat every man xuld come and brynge with hym a whande. Abyl to be maryed, þat is not I, so mote I then! I haue be maydon evyr and evyrmore wele ben, I chaungyd not 3et of all my long lyff! And now to be maryed? Sum man wold wen It is a straunge thynge an old man to take a 3onge wyff! But nevyrþelesse, no doute, of we must forth to towne. Now, neyborys and kynnysmen, lete us forth go. I xal take a wand in my hand and cast of my gowne. Yf I falle þan I xalle gronyn for wo! Hoso take away my staff I say he were my fo! 3e be men þat may wele ren, go 3e before. I am old and also colde, walkyng doth me wo. þerfore now wol[d]e I, so my staff holde I, þis jurny to wore. Episcopus Serys, 3e xal vndyrstande þat þis is þe cawse of oure comynge, And why þat ech of 3ow bryngyth a wande: For of God we haue knowynge Here is to be maryde a mayde 3ynge. All 3oure roddys 3e xal brynge vp to me, And on hese rodde þat þe Holy Gost is syttynge, He xal þe husbond of þis may be. Hic portent virgas Joseph It xal not be [I], I ley a grote! I xal abyde behynde preuyly. Now wolde God I were at hom in my cote! I am aschamyd to be seyn, veryly. Primus Generacionis Dauidto wurchep my Lord God hedyr am I come Here for to offyr my dewe offrynge. A fayr white 3arde in hand haue I nome, My lord, sere busshop, at 3oure byddynge. Secundus Generacionis Dauid Off Dauythis kynred, sertys, am I com. A fayr white 3arde in hand now I bryng. My lord þe busshop, after 3oure owy[n] dom þis 3arde do I offre at 3oure chargyng Ryht here. Tercius Generacionis Dauid And I a 3arde haue both 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 Dauidi am þe fourte of Dauidis kyn, And with myn offrynge my God I honoure. þis fayr whyte 3arde is offryng myn; I trost in God of sum socoure. Com on, Joseph, with offrynge þin, And brynge up þin as we han oure. þu taryst ryth longe behynde, certeyn! Why comyst not forth to Goddys toure? Com on, man, for shame! Joseph Com? 3a! 3a! God help! Full fayn I wolde, But I am so agyd and so olde þat both 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 3et, trewly, To whom þe mayd howyth to be maryed her. Episcopus Whath! Joseph, why stande 3e there byhynde? Iwys, sere, 3e be to blame! Joseph Sere, I kannot my rodde fynde. To come fer, in trowth, methynkyht shame. Episcopus Comyth thens! Joseph Sere, he may euyl go þat is ner lame — In soth, I com as fast as I may! Episcopus Offyr up 3oure rodde, sere, in Goddys name. Why do 3e not as men 3ow pray? Joseph Now in þe wurchep of God of hevyn I offyr þis 3erde as bely-whyte, Prayng þat Lord of gracyous stewyn With hert, with wytt, with mayn, with myght. And as he made þe sterrys seven, þis sympyl offrynge þat is so lyght To his wurchep he weldygh evyn, For to his wurchep þis 3erd is dyght. Lord God, I þe pray, To my herte þu take good hede, And nothynge to my synful dede; Aftyr my wyl þu qwyte my mede As plesyth to þi pay. I may not lyfte myn handys heye! Lo. Lo. Lo! What se 3e now? Episcopus A, Mercy! Mercy! Mercy, Lord, we crye! þe blyssyd of God we se art thou. Et clamant omnes "Mercy! Mercy!" [Episcopus] A, gracyous God in hevyn trone, Ryht wundyrful þi werkys be! Here may we se a merveyl one: A ded stok beryth flourys fre! Joseph, in hert withoutyn mone, þu mayst be blyth with game and gle. A mayd to wedde þu must gone Be þis 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 A3ens God, Joseph, þu mayst not stryve. God wyl þat þu a wyff haue; þis fayr mayde xal be þi wyve, She is buxum and whyte as laue. Joseph A! Shuld I haue here? 3e lese my lyff! Alas, dere God, xuld I now rave? An old man may nevyr thryff With a 3onge wyff, so God me saue. 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 þus oftyntymes it is sene. Episcopus Joseph, now as I þe saye, God hath assygnyd here to þe. þat God wol haue do, sey þu not nay — Oure Lord God wyl þat it [so be]. Joseph A3ens my God not do I may. Here wardeyn and kepere wyl I evyr be. But, fayr maydon, I þe pray, Kepe þe clene as I xal me — I am a man of age! Therfore, sere busshop, I wyl þat 3e wete þat in bedde we xul nevyr mete, For, iwys, mayden suete, An old man may not rage. Episcopus This holyest virgyn xalt þu maryn now. 3oure rodde floreschyth fayrest þat man may se. þe Holy Gost, we se, syttyht on a bow. Now 3elde we all preysyng to þe Trenyté. Et hic cantent "Benedicta sit beata Trinitas" Joseph, wole 3e haue þis maydon to 3oure wyff And here honour and kepe as 3e howe to do? Joseph Nay, sere, so mote I thryff! I haue ryght no nede þerto! 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 þerto, For allthynge owyght to ben at his wyl. [Episcopus] Sey þan after me: Episcopus et idem Joseph: "Here I take þe, Mary, to wyff, To hauyn, to holdyn, as God his wyll with us wyl make. And as longe as bethwen us lestyght oure lyff To loue 3ow as myself my trewth I 3ow take." Nunc ad Mariam sic dicens Episcopus: [Episcopus] Mary, wole 3e haue þis man, And hym to kepyn as 3oure lyff? Maria In þe tenderest wyse, fadyr, as I kan, And with all my wyttys fyff. Episcopus Joseph, with þis ryng now wedde þi wyff, And be here hand now þu here take. Joseph Sere, with þis rynge I wedde here ryff, And take here now here for my make. Episcopus Mary, mayd, withoutyn more stryff Onto þi spowse þu hast hym take. Maria In chastyté to ledyn my lyff I xal hym nevyr forsake, But evyr with hym abyde. And, jentyll spowse, as 3e an seyd, Lete me levyn as a clene mayd; I xal be trewe, be not dysmayd, Both terme, tyme, and tyde. Episcopus Here is þe holyest matremony þat evyr was in þis werd! þe hy3 names of oure Lord we wole now syng hy. We all wole þis solempn dede record Devowtly: Alma chorus Domini nunc pangat nomina Summi. Now goth hom all, in Godys name, Whereas 3oure wonyng was before. Maydenys, to lete here go alone it wore shame, It wold hevy 3oure hertys sore. 3e xal bbysse þe tyme þat sche was bore. Now loke 3e at hom here brynge. Maria To haue 3oure blyssyng, fadyr, I falle 3ow before. Episcopus He blysse 3ow þat hath non hendyng In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Joseph, þiselph art old of age And þi wyff of age is 3onge; And as we redyn in old sage, Many man is sclepyr of tonge. þerfore, euyl langage for to swage, þat 3oure good fame may leste longe, Iij damysellys xul dwelle with 3ow in stage, With þi wyff to be evyrmore amonge. I xal these iij here take: Susanne þe fyrst xal be, Rebecca, þe secunde, xal go with the, Sephore, þe thrydde; loke þat 3e thre þis maydon nevyr 3e forsake. Susanne Sere, I am redy art 3oure wyll With þis maydon for to wende. Rebecca 3oure byddyng, sere, [I] xall fulffyl And folwe þis maydon fayr and hende. Sephor To folwe hyre it is good skyl, And to 3oure byddynge wole I bende. Joseph Now, sere buschop, hens go I wyl, For now comyth onto my mende A matere þat nedful is. Episcopus Farewel, Joseph and Mary clere, I pray God kepe 3ow all in fere And sende 3ow grace in good manere To serve þe Kynge of Blysse. Maria Fadyr and modyr, 3e knowe þis cas How þat it doth now stonde with me: With myn spowse I must forth passe, And wott nevyr whan I xal 3ow se. Therfore I pray 3ow here in þis plas Of 3oure blyssynge, for charyté, And I xal spede þe betyr and haue more gras In what place þat evyr I be. On knes to 3ow I falle. I pray 3ow, fadyr and modyr dere, To blysse 3oure owyn dere dowtere And pray for me in all manere, And I for 3ow all. Joachym Almyghty God, he mote þe blysse, And my blyssynge þu haue also. In all godnesse God þe wysse On londe or on watyr, wherevyr þu go. Anna Now God þe kepe from every mysse And saue þe sownd in welth from wo. I pray þe, dowtyr, þu onys me kys Or þat þi modyr parte þe fro. I pray to God þe saue. I pray fe, Mary, my swete chylde, Be lowe and buxhum, meke and mylde, Sad and sobyr, and nothyng wylde, And Goddys blyssynge þu haue. Joachym F[a]rwel, Joseph, and God 3ow spede Wherso 3e be, in halle or boure. Joseph Almyghiy God 3oure weys lede And saue 3ow sownd from all doloure. Anna Goddys grace on 3ow sprede. Farewel, Mary, my swete flowre. Fareweyl, Joseph, and God 3ow rede. Fareweyl, my chylde and my tresowre, Farewel, my dowtere 3yng. Maria Farewel, fadyr and modyr dere, At 3ow I take my leve ryght here. God þat sytt in hevyn so clere Haue 3ow in his kepyng. Joseph Wyff, it is ful necessary þis 3e knowe, þat I and my kynrede go hom before. For in soth we haue non hous of oure owe; þerfore I xal gon ordeyn and thanne come 3ow fore. We ar not ryche of werdly thynge, And 3et of oure sustenauns we xal not mys. Therfore abydyth here stylle to 3oure plesynge; To worchep 3oure God is all 3oure blysse. He þat is and evyr xal be Of hefne and helle ryche kynge In erth hath chosyn poverté, And all ryches and welthis refusynge. Maria Goth, husbond, in oure Lordys blyssynge; He mote 3ow spede in all 3oure nede. And I xal here abyde 3oure a3encomynge And on my Sawtere-book I xal rede. Now blyssyd be oure Lord for this. Of hefne and erthe and all þat beryth lyff I am most bound to 3ow, Lord, iwys, For now I am bothe mayde and wyff. Now, Lord God, dysspose me to prayour þat I may sey þe holy psalmes of Dauyth, Wheche book is clepyd þe Sawtere, þat I may preyse the, my God, þerwith. Off þe vertuys þerof þis is þe pygth; It makyht sowles fayr þat doth it say; Angelys be steryd to help us þerwith; It bytenyth therkeness and puttyth develys away. þe song of psalmus is Goddys deté, Synne is put awey þerby. It lernyth a man vertuysful to be, It feryth mannys herte gostly. Who þat it vsyth custommably, It claryfieth þe herte and charyté makyth cowthe. He may not faylen of Goddys mercy þat hath þe preysenge of God evyr in his mowthe. O holy psalmys, O holy book, Swetter to say than any ony, þu lernyst hem love Lord þat on þe look, And makyst hem desyre thyngys celestly. With these halwyd psalmys, Lord, I pray the specyaly For all þe creatures qwyke and dede, þat þu wylt shewe to hem þi mercy, And to me specyaly þat do it rede. I haue seyd sum of my Sawtere and here I am At þis holy psalme indede. Benedixisti, Domine, terram tuam. In þis holy labore, Lord, me spede. Joseph Mary, wyff and mayd most gracyous, Displese 3ow not, I pray 3ow, so long I haue be. I haue hyryd for us a lytyl praty hous, And þerin ryght hesely levyn wole we. Come forth, Mary, and folwe me, To Nazareth now wele we go. And all þe maydonys bothe fayr and fre, With my wyff comyth forth also. Now lystenyth well, wyff, what I tell þe: I must gon owth hens fer þe fro. I wyll go laboryn in fer countré, With trewth to maynteyn oure housholde so — þis ix monthis þu seyst me nowth. Kepe þe clene, my jentyl spowse, And all þin maydenys in þin howse, þat evyl langage I here not rowse, For hese love þat all hath wrought. Maria I pray to God he spede 3oure way, And in sowle-helth he mote 3ow kepe, And sende 3ow helth bothe nyth and day; He shylde and saue 3ow from al shenschepe. Now, Lord of Grace, to þe I pray, With morny mood on kne I krepe. Me saue from synne, from tene and tray, With hert I murne, with eye I wepe, Lord God of peté. Whan I sytt in my conclaue All myn hert on þe I haue. Gracyous God my maydenhed saue Euyr clene in chastyté. The Parliament in Heaven Between God the Father and the Virtues, and the Annunciation of Gabriel to Mary Contemplacio Fowre thowsand sex vndryd foure, I telle, Man for his ofens and fowle foly Hath loyn 3erys in þe peynes of helle, And were wurthy to ly þerin endlesly; But thanne xulde perysche 3oure grete mercye. Good Lord, haue on man pyté! Haue mende of þe prayour seyd by Ysaie, Lete mercy meke þin hyest magesté. Wolde God þu woldyst breke þin hefne myghtye And com down here into erth, And levyn 3erys thre and threttye, Thyn famyt folke with þi fode to fede. To staunche þi thrysté lete þi syde blede, For erste wole not be mad redempcyon. Cum vesyte vs in þis tyme of nede. Of þi careful creaturys, Lord, haue compassyon! A, woo to vs wrecchis of wrecchis be, For God hath haddyd ssorwe to sorwe! I prey þe, Lord, þi sowlys com se, How þei ly and sobbe for syknes and sorwe. With þi blyssyd blood from balys hem borwe, Thy careful creaturys cryenge in captyvyté. A, tary not, gracyous Lord, tyl it be tomorwe! The devyl hath dysceyved hem be his iniquité. "A," quod Jeremye, "who xal gyff wellys to myn eynes þat I may wepe bothe day and nyght To se oure bretheryn in so longe peynes?" Here myschevys amende may þi mech myght. As grett as þe se, Lord, was Adamys contryssyon ryght. From oure bed is falle þe crowne. Man is comeryd in synne, I crye to þi syght: Gracyous Lord, gracyous Lord, gracyous Lord, come downe! Virtutes Lord, plesyth it þin hy3 domynacyon On man þat þu mad to haue pyté. Patryarchys and prophetys han mad supplycacyon, Oure offyse is to presente here prayerys to the. Aungelys, archaungelys, we thre þat ben in þe fyrst ierarchie, For man to þin hy magesté Mercy, mercy, mercy we crye! The aungel, Lord, þu 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 grett males, good Lord, repelle, And take man onto þi grace; Lete þi mercy make hym with aungelys dwelle, Of Locyfere to restore þe place. Pater Propter miseriam inopum et gemitum pauperum nunc exurgam. For þe wretchydnes of þe nedy And þe porys lamentacyon Now xal I ryse þat am almyghty; Tyme is come of reconsyliacyon! My prophetys with prayers haue made supplicacyon, My contryte creaturys crye all for comforte. All myn aungellys in hefne withowte cessacyon, They crye þat grace to man myght exorte. Veritas Lord, I am þi dowtere Trewth. þu wylt se I be not lore. Thyn vnkynde creaturys to save were rewthe: The offens of man hath grevyd þe sore. Whan Adam had synnyd þu seydest þore þat he xulde deye and go to helle. And now to blysse hym to resstore — Twey contraryes mow not togedyr dwelle! Thy trewthe, Lord, xal leste withowtyn ende, I may in no wyse fro þe go. þat wretche þat was to þe so vnkende, He may not haue to meche wo! He dyspysyd þe and plesyd þi fo. þu art his creatour and he is þi creature. þu hast lovyd trewthe, it is seyd, evyrmo; þerfore in peynes lete hym evyrmore endure. Misericordia O Fadyr of Mercy and God of Comforte þat counsell us in eche trybulacyon, Lete 3oure dowtere Mercy to 3ow resorte, And on man þat is myschevyd haue compassyon. Hym grevyth ful gretly his transgressyon. All hefne and erthe crye for mercy; Mesemyth þer xuld be non excepcyon, Ther prayers ben offeryd so specyally. Threwth sseyth she hath evyr be than; I graunt it wel: she hath be so. And þu seyst endlessly þat mercy þu hast kept for man; Than, mercyabyl Lorde, kepe us bothe to. Thu seyst, "Veritas mea et Misericordia mea cum ipso;" Suffyr not þi sowlys than in sorwe to slepe. þat helle hownde þat hatyth þe, byddyth hym ho; þi love, man, no lengere lete hym kepe. Justicia Mercy, me merveylyth what 3ow movyth! 3e know wel I am 3oure systere Ryghtwysnes. God is ryghtful and ryghtifulnes lovyth. Man offendyd hym þat is endles, Therfore his endles punchement may nevyr se[se]. Also he forsoke his makere þat made hym of clay, And þe devyl to his maystyr he ches. Xulde he be savyd? Nay, nay, nay! As wyse as is God he wolde a be, This was þe abhomynabyl presumpcyon. It is seyd 3e know wel þis of me, þat þe ryghtwysnes of God hath no diffynicyon. Therffore late þis be oure conclusyon: He þat sore synnyd ly stylle in sorwe. He may nevyr make aseyth be resoun: Whoo myght thanne thens hym borwe? Misericordia Systyr Ryghtwysnes, 3e are to vengeabyl. Endles synne God endles may restore. Above all hese werkys God is mercyabyl. þow he forsook God be synne, be feyth he forsook hym nevyr þe more. And þow he presumyd nevyr so sore, 3e must consyder þe frelnes of mankende. Lerne, and 3e lyst; þis is Goddys lore: þe mercy of God is withowtyn ende. Pax To spare 3oure speches, systerys, it syt: It is not onest in Vertuys to ben dyscencyon. The pes of God ovyrcomyth all wytt. þow Trewth and Ryght sey grett resoun, 3ett Mercy seyth best to my pleson. For yf mannys sowle xulde abyde in helle, Betwen God and man evyr xulde be dyvysyon, And than myght not I, Pes, dwelle. Therefore mesemyth best 3e thus acorde; Than hefne and erthe 3e xul qweme; Putt bothe 3oure sentens in oure Lorde, And.in his hy3 wysdam lete hym deme. This is most syttynge me xulde seme, And lete se how we fowre may all abyde. þat mannys sowle it xulde perysche, it wore sweme, Or þat ony of vs fro othere xulde dyvyde. Veritas In trowthe hereto I consente, I wole prey oure Lorde it may so be. Justicia I, Ryghtwysnes, am wele contente, For in hym is very equyté. Misericordia And I, Mercy, fro þis counsel wole not fle Tyl Wysdam hath seyd I xal ses. Pax Here is God now, here is Vnyté; Hefne and erth is plesyd with pes. Filius I thynke þe thoughtys of pes and nowth of wykkydnes. This I deme, to ses 3oure contraversy. If Adam had not deyd, peryschyd had Ryghtwysnes, And also Trewth had be lost þerby. Trewth and Ryght wolde chastyse foly. 3iff another deth come not, Mercy xulde perysch; þan Pes were exyled fynyaly. So tweyn dethis must be, 3ow fowre to cherysch. But he þat xal deye, 3e must knawe þat in hym may ben non iniquyté, þat helle may holde hym be no lawe, But þat he may pas at hese lyberté. Qwere swyche on his prevyde and se, And hese deth for mannys deth xal be redempcyon. All hefne and erth seke flow 3e. Plesyth it 3ow þis conclusyon. Veritas I, Trowthe, haue sowte þe erthe withowt and withinne, And in sothe þer kan non be fownde þat is of o day byrth withowte synne, Nor to þat deth wole be bownde. Misericordia I, Mercy, haue ronne þe hevynly regyon rownde, And þer is non of þat charyté þat for man wole suffre a deddly wounde. I cannott wete how þis xal be. Justicia Sure I can fynde non sufficyent, For servauntys vnprofytable we be echon. He[se] love nedyth to be ful ardent That for man to helle wolde gon. Pax That god may do is non but on. þerfore þis is Pesys avyse: He þat 3aff þis counsell, lete hym 3eve þe comforte alon, For þe conclusyon in hym of all þese lyse. Filius It peyneth me þat man I mad; þat is to seyn, peyne I must sufre fore. A counsel of þe Trinité must be had. Whiche of vs xal man restore? Pater In 3oure wysdam, son, man was mad thore, And in wysdam was his temptacyon. þerfor, sone, sapyens 3e must ordeyn herefore, And se how of man may be salvacyon. Filius Fadyr, he þat xal do þis must be both God and man — Lete me se how I may were þat wede. And syth in my wysdam he began, I am redy to do þis dede. Spiritus Sanctus I, the Holy Gost, of 3ow tweyn do procede. This charge I wole take on me: I, Love, to 3oure lover xal 3ow lede. þis is þe assent of oure Vnyté. Misericordia Now is þe loveday mad of us fowre fynialy, Now may we leve in pes as we were wonte. Misericordia et Veritas obviauerunt sibi, Justicia et Pax osculate sunt. Et hic osculabunt pariter omnes. Pater From vs, god aungel Gabryel, þu xalt be sende Into þe countré of Galylé — The name of þe cyté Nazareth is kende — To a mayd, weddyd to a man is she, Of whom þe name is Joseph, se, Of þe hous of Davyd bore. The name of þe mayd fre Is Mary, þat xal al restore. Filius Say þat she is withowte wo and ful of grace, And þat I, þe Son of þe Godhed, of here xal be bore. Hy3e þe, þu were there apace, Ellys we xal be there the beffore, I haue so grett hast to be man thore In þat mekest and purest virgyne. Sey here she xal restore Of 3ow aungellys þe grett ruyne. Spiritus Sanctus And if she aske þe how it myth be, Telle here I, þe Holy Gost, xal werke al this. Sche xal be savyd thorwe oure Vnyté. In tokyn, here bareyn cosyn Elyzabeth is Qwyk with childe in here grett age, iwys. Sey here to vs is nothynge impossyble. Here body xal be so fulfylt with blys þat she xal sone thynke þis sownde credyble. Gabriel In thyn hey inbassett, 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, gracia plena, Dominus tecum. Heyl, ful of grace, God is with the. Amonge all women blyssyd art thu. Here þis name Eva is turnyd Aue; þat is to say, withowte sorwe ar 3e now. Thow sorwe in 3ow hath no place, 3ett of joy, lady, 3e nede more. Therfore I adde and sey "ful of grace," For so ful of grace was nevyr non bore. 3ett who hath grace, he nedyth kepyng sore; Therfore I sey God is with the, Whiche xal kepe 3ow endlesly thore. So amonge all women bly[ss]yd are 3e. Maria A, mercy, God, þis is a mervelyous herynge, In þe aungelys wordys I am trobelyd her. I thynk, how may be þis gretynge? Aungelys dayly to me doth aper, But not in þe lyknes of man þat is my fer. And also thus hy3ly to comendyd be, And am most vnwurthy, I cannot answere. Grett shamfastnes and grett dred is in me. Gabryel Mary, in þis take 3e no drede, For at God grace fownde haue 3e. 3e xal conceyve in 3oure wombe indede A childe, þe sone of þe Trynyté. His name of 3ow Jesu clepyd xal be. He xal be grett, þe Son of þe Hyest clepyd, of kende. And of his fadyr, Davyd, þe Lord xal 3eve hym þe se, Reynyng in þe hous of Jacob, of which regne xal be non ende. Maria Aungel, I sey to 3ow, In what manere of wyse xal þis be? For knowyng of man I haue non now: I haue evyrmore kept and xal my virginyté. I dowte not þe wordys 3e þan seyd. to me, But I aske how it xal be do. Gabryel The Holy Gost xal come fro above to the, And be vertu of hym hyest xal schadu þe so. Therfore þat holy of þe xal be bore, He xal be clepyd þe Son of God sage. And se Elyzabeth, 3oure cosyn thore, She hath conseyvid a son in hyre age. This is þe sexte monyth of here passage, Of here þat clepyd was bareyn. Nothynge is impossyble to Goddys vsage. They thynkyth longe to here what 3e wyl seyn. Here þe aungel makyth a lytyl restynge and Mary beholdyth hym, and þe aungel seyth: Mary, come of and haste the, And take hede in thyn entent Whow þe Holy Gost, blyssyd he be, Abydyth þin answere and þin assent. Thorwe wyse werke of dyvinyté, The secunde persone, verament, Is mad man by fraternyté Withinne þiself in place present. Ferthermore, take hede þis space Whow all þe blyssyd spyrytys of vertu þat are in hefne byffore Goddys face, And all be gode levers and trew That are here in þis erthely place, Thyn owyn kynrede, be sothe ho knew, And þe chosyn sowlys þis tyme of grace þat are in helle and byde rescu, As Adam, Abraham, and Davyd in fere, And many othere of good reputacyon, þat þin answere desyre to here, And þin assent to þe Incarnacyon, In which þu standyst as persevere Of all mankende savacyon. Gyff me myn answere now, lady dere, To all these creaturys comfortacyon. Maria With all mekenes I clyne to þis acorde, Bowynge down my face with all benyngnyté. Se here þe handmayden of oure Lorde, Aftyr þi worde be it don to me. Gabryel Gramercy, my lady fre, Gramercy of 3oure answere on hyght. Gramercy of 3oure grett humylyté, Gramercy, 3e lanterne off lyght! Here þe Holy Gost discendit with iij bemys to oure Lady, the Sone of þe Godhed nest with iij bemys to þe Holy Gost, the Fadyr godly with iij bemys to þe Sone. And so entre all thre to here bosom, and Mary seyth: Maria A, now I fele in my body be Parfyte God and parfyte man, Havyng aL schapp of chyldly carnalyté; Evyn aL at onys þus God began, Nott takynge fyrst o membyr and sythe another, But parfyte childhod 3e haue anon. Of 3oure handmayden now 3e haue mad 3oure modyr Withowte peyne in flesche and bon. Thus conceyved nevyr woman non þat evyr was beynge in þis lyff. O myn hyest Fadyr in 3oure tron, It is worthy 3oure son — now my son — haue a prerogatyff. I cannot telle what joy, what blysse, Now I fele in my body! Aungel Gabryel, I thank 3ow for thys. Most mekely recomende me to my Faderys mercy. To haue be þe modyr of God ful lytyl wend I. Now myn cosyn Elyzabeth fayn wold I se, How sche hath conseyvid as 3e dede specyfy. Now blyssyd be þe hy3 Trynyté. Gabryel Fareweyl, turtyl, Goddys dowtere dere. Farewel, Goddys modyr. I þe honowre. Farewel, Goddys sustyr and his pleynge fere; Farewel, Goddys chawmere and his bowre. Maria Farewel, Gabryel, specyalé. Farewel, Goddys masangere expresse. I thank 3ow for 3oure traveyl hye; Gramercy of 3oure grett goodnes, And namely of 3oure comfortabyl massage, For I vndyrstande by inspyracyon þat 3e knowe by syngulere preuylage Most of my sonys Incarnacyon. I pray 3ow, take it into vsage Be a custom ocupacyon To vesyte me ofte be mene passage; 3oure presence is my comfortacyon. Gabriel At 3oure wyl, lady, so xal it be, 3e gentyllest of blood and hyest of kynrede þat reynyth in erth in ony degré, Be pryncypal incheson of þe Godhede. I comende me onto 3ow, þu trone of þe Trinyté, O mekest mayde, now be modyr of Jesu. Qwen of Hefne, Lady of Erth, and Empres of Helle be 3e; Socour to all synful þat wole to 3ow sew Thorwe 3oure body beryth þe babe oure blysse xal renew. To 3ow, Modyr of Mercy, most mekely I recomende. And as I began I ende, with an Ave new Enjouyd hefne and erth; with þat I ascende. Angeli cantando istam sequenciam: Angeli Aue Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, virgo serena." Joseph's Doubt About Mary Joseph How, dame, how! Vndo 3oure dore, vndo! Are 3e at hom? Why speke 3e notht? Susanna Who is ther? Why cry 3e so? Telle us 3oure herand; wyl 3e ought? Joseph Vndo 3oure dore, I sey 3ow to. For to com in is all my thought. Maria It is my spowse þat spekyth us to. Ondo þe dore, his wyl were wrought. Wellcome hom, myn husbond dere. How haue 3e ferd in fer countré? Joseph To gete oure levynge, withowtyn dwere, I haue sore laboryd for þe and me. Maria Husbond, ryght gracyously now come be 3e. It solacyth me sore sothly to se 3ow in syth. Joseph Me merveylyth, wyff, surely! 3oure face I cannot se, But as þe sonne with his bemys quan he is most bryth. Maria Husbond, it is as it plesyth oure Lord, þat grace of hym grew. Who þat evyr beholdyth me, veryly, They xal be grettly steryd to vertu. For þis 3yfte and many moo, good Lord, gramercy. Joseph How hast þu ferde, jentyl mayde, Whyl I haue be out of londe? Maria Sekyr, sere, beth nowth dysmayde, Ryth aftyr þe wyl of Goddys sonde. Joseph That semyth evyl, I am afrayd. þi wombe to hy3e doth stonde! I drede me sore I am betrayd, Sum other man þe had in honde Hens sythe þat I went! Thy wombe is gret, it gynnyth to ryse. Than hast þu begownne a synfull gyse. Telle me now in what wyse Thyself þu ast þus schent. Ow, dame, what þinge menyth this? With childe þu gynnyst ryth gret to gon. Sey me, Mary, þis childys fadyr ho is? I pray þe telle me, and þat anon. Maria The Fadyr of Hevyn and 3e it is — Other fadyr hath he non. I dede nevyr forfete with man, iwys. Wherfore I pray 3ow, amende 3oure mon. This childe is Goddys and 3oure. Joseph Goddys childe! þu lyist, in fay! God dede nevyr jape so with may! And I cam nevyr ther, I dare wel say, 3itt so nyh þi boure. But 3it I sey, Mary, whoos childe is this? Maria Goddys and 3oure, I sey, iwys. Joseph 3a, 3a, all olde men to me take tent, And weddyth no wyff in no kynnys wyse þat is a 3onge wench, by myn asent, For doute and drede and swych servyse. Alas, alas, my name is shent! All men may me now dyspyse And seyn, "Olde cokwold, þi bowe is bent Newly now aftyr þe Frensche gyse." Alas and welaway! Alas, dame, why dedyst þu so? For þis synne þat þu hast do I the forsake and from þe go For onys, evyr, and ay. Maria Alas, gode spowse, why sey 3e thus? Alas, dere hosbund, amende 3oure mod. It is no man but swete Jesus. He wyll be clad in flesch and blood And of 3oure wyf be born. Sephor Forsothe, þe aungel, þus seyd he, þat Goddys sone in Trynité For mannys sake a man wolde be To save þat is forlorn. Joseph An aungel! Allas, alas! Fy, for schame! 3e syn now in þat 3e to say, To puttyn an aungel in so gret blame! Alas, alas! Let be! Do way! It was sum boy began þis game þat clothyd was clene and gay. And 3e 3eve hym now an aungel name. Alas, alas, and welaway þat evyr this game betydde. A, dame, what thought haddyst þu? Here may all men þis proverbe trow, þat many a man doth bete þe bow, Another man hath þe brydde. Maria A, gracyous God in hefne trone, Comforte my spowse in þis hard cas. Mercyful God, amend his mone, As I dede nevyr so gret trespas. Joseph Lo, lo, serys, what told I 3ow, þat it was not for my prow A wyff to take me to — An þat is wel s[e]ne now! For Mary, I make God avow, Is grett with childe, lo. Alas, why is it so? To þe busshop I wole it telle þat he þe lawe may here do, With stonys here to qwelle. Nay, nay, 3et God forbede þat I xuld do þat ve[n]geabyl dede But if I wyst wel qwy. I knew nevyr with here, so God me spede, Tokyn of thynge in word nor dede þat towchyd velany. Ncvyrþeles, what forthy, þow she be meke and mylde, Withowth mannys company She myght not be with childe! But I ensure, myn was it nevyr! Thow þat she hath not don here devyr, Rather than I xuld pleynyn opynly, Serteynly 3itt had I levyr Forsake þe countré forevyr And nevyr come in here company. For and men knew þis velany, In repreiff ci wolde me holde. And 3ett many bettyr than I, 3a, hath ben made cokolde! Now, alas, whedyr xal I gone? I wot nevyr whedyr nor to what place, For oftyntyme sorwe comyth sone, And longe it is or it pace. No comforte may I haue here. Iwys, wyff þu dedyst me wronge! Alas, I taryed from þe to longe! All men haue pety [on me] amonge, For to my sorwe is no chere. Maria God, þat in my body art sesyd, þu knowist myn husbond is dysplesyd To se me in þis plight. For vnknowlage he is desesyd, And þerfore, help þat he were esyd, þat he myght knowe þe ful perfyght. For I haue levyr abyde [d]espyt To kepe þi sone in privité Grauntyd by þe Holy Spyryt, þan þat it xulde be opynd by me. Deus Descende, I sey, myn aungelle, Onto Joseph for to telle Such as my wyl is. Byd hym with Mary abyde and dwelle, For it is my sone ful snelle þat she is with, iwys. Angelus Almyghty God of Blys, I am redy for to wende Wedyr as þi wyl is, To go bothe fer and hynde. Joseph, Joseph, þu wepyst shyrle. Fro þi wyff why comyst þu owte? Joseph Good sere, lete me wepe my fylle; Go forthe þi wey and lett me nowght. Angelus In þi wepynge þu dost ryght ylle — A3ens God þu hast myswrought! Go chere þi wyff with herty wylle, And chawnge þi chere, amende þi thought. Sche is a ful clene may. I telle þe, God wyl of here be born, And sche clene mayd as she was beforn, To saue mankynd, þat is forlorn. Go chere hyre, þerfore, I say. Joseph A, Lord God, benedicité. Of þi gret comforte I thank the þat þu sent me þis space. I myght wel a wyst, pardé, So good a creature as she Wold nevyr a don trespace, For sche is ful of grace. I know wel I haue myswrought. I walk to my pore place And aske forgyfnes, I haue mysthought. Now is þe tyme sen at eye þat þe childe is now to veryfye, Which xal saue mankende, As it was spoke be prophesye. I thank þe, God, þat syttys on hye, With hert, wyl, and mende, þat evyr þu woldyst me bynde To wedde Mary to my wyff, þi blysful sone so nere to fynde, In his presens to lede my lyff. Alas, for joy I qwedyr and qwake. Alas, what hap now was this? A mercy, mercy, my jentyl make, Mercy, I haue seyd al amys! All þat I haue seyd, here I forsake. 3oure swete fete now lete me kys. Mary Nay, lett be my fete, not þo 3e take; My mowthe 3e may kys, iwys, And welcom onto me. Joseph Gramercy, myn owyn swete wyff, Gramercy, myn hert, my love, my lyff. Xal I nevyrmore make suche stryff Betwyx me and þe. A, Mary, Mary, wel þu be, And blyssyd be þe frewte in the, Goddys Sone of Myght. Now, good wyff, ful of pyté, As be not evyl payd with me þow þat þu haue good ryght. As for my wronge in syght To wyte þe with ony synne, Had þu not be a vertuous wythe, God wold not a be þe withinne. I knowlage I haue don amys. I was nevyr wurthy, iwys, For to be þin husbonde. I xal amende aftere thys, Ryght as þin owyn wyl is, To serve þe at foot and honde, And þi chylde bothe to vndyrstonde, To wurchep hym with good affeccyon. And þerfore telle me, and nothynge whonde, The holy matere of 3oure concepcyon. Maria At 3owre owyn wyll as 3e bydde me: Ther cam an aunge[l] hyght Gabryell, And gret me fayr, and seyd, "Aue!" And ferthermore to me gan tell God xulde be borne of my bodé, þe fendys powsté for to felle. þorwe þe Holy Gost, as I wel se, þus God in me wyl byde and dwelle. Joseph Now I thank God with spech and spelle þat euyr, Mary, I was weddyd to the. Mary It was þe werk of God, as I 3ow telle. Now blyssyd be þat Lord so purveyd for me. Mary and Joseph's Visit to Elizabeth Maria Bvtt, husbond, of oo thynge I pray 3ow most mekely: I haue knowyng þat oure cosyn Elyzabeth with childe is. þat it plese 3ow to go to here hastyly, If owught we myth comforte here, it wore to me blys. Joseph A, Godys sake! Is she with childe? Sche? Than wole here husbond, Zakarye, be mery. In Montana they dwelle, fer hens, so moty the, In þe cety of Juda, I knowe it veryly. It is hens, I trowe, myles two and fyfty_ We are lyke to be wery or we come at þat same. I wole with a good wyl, blyssyd wyff Mary; Now go we forthe, than, in Goddys name. Maria [Good] husbond, þow it be to 3ow peyne, This jurny, I pray 3ow, lete us go fast; For I am schamfast of þe pepyl to be seyne, And namely of men þerof I am agast. Pylgrymagys and helpyngys wolde be go in hast. þe more þe body is peynyd þe more is þe mede. Say 3e 3oure devocyonys and I xal myn icast. Now in þis jurny God mote us spede. Joseph Amen, amen, and evyrmore, Lo, wyff lo how starkly I go before. Et sic transient circa placeam. Contemplacio Sovereynes, vndyrstondyth þat Kynge Davyd here Ordeyned foure and twenty prestys of grett devocyon, In þe temple of God aftere here l[o]t [to] apere. þei wer[e] clepyd summi sacerdotes for here mynistracyon. And on was prynce of prestys, havynge domynacyon; Amonge whiche was an old prest clepyd Zakarye, And he had an old woman to his wyff of holy conversacyon, Whiche hyth Elizabeth, þat nevyr had childe, verylye. In hese mynistracyon, the howre of incense, The aungel Gabryel apperyd hym to. þat hese wyff xulde conscyve he 3aff hym intelligence, [He, seinge] hese vnwurthynes and age, not belevyd so; The plage of dompnesse hise lippis lappyd, lo. Thei wenten hom and his wyff was conseyvenge — This concepcyon Gabryel tolde oure Lady to — And in soth, sone aftere, þat sage sche was sekynge. And of here tweyners metyng Here gynnyth þe 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 þe hous of Zakary; Wole 3e I clepe Elyzabeth to 3ow to apere? Maria Nay, husbond, and it plese 3ow, I xal go ner. Now þe blyssyd Trynité be in þis hous. A, cosyn Elizabeth, swete modyr, what cher? 3e grow grett! A, my God, how 3e be gracyous! Elizabeth Anon as I herd of 3ow þis holy gretynge, Mekest mayden and þe Modyr of God, Mary, Be 3oure breth þe Holy Gost vs was inspyrynge; þat þe childe in my body enjoyd gretly And turnyd down on his knes to oure God reverently. Whom 3e here in 3oure body, þis veryly I ken. Fulfyllyd with þe Holy Gost þus lowde I cry: Blyssyd be þu amonge all women! And blyssyd be þe frute off þi wombe also, þu wurthyest virgyne and wyff þat evyr was wrought. How is it þat þe Modyr of God me xulde come to, þat wrecche of all wrecchis, a whyght wers þan nought; And þu art blyssyd, þat belevyd veryly in þi thought þat þe wurde of God xulde profyte in the. But how þis blyssydnes abought was brought, I cannot thynk nyn say how it myght be. Maria To þe preysynge 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 conceyvyd God at my consentynge, Parfyte God and parfyte man at onys beynge. Than þe aungel seyd onto me þat it was sex monethys syn 3oure conseyvynge; þis cawsyth my comynge, cosyn, 3ow to comfort and se. Elizabeth Blyssyd be 3e, cosyn, for 3oure hedyrcomynge. How I conseyvyd I xal to 3ow say: þe aungel apperyd þe howre of incensynge Seynge I xulde conseyve, and hym thought nay! Sethe for his mystrost he hath be dowm alway. And þus of my concepcyon I haue tolde 3ow sum. Maria For þis holy psalme I begynne here þis day: Magnificat anima mea Dominum, Et exultauit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo. Elizabeth Be þe Holy Gost with joye Goddys son is in þe cum, þat þi spyryte so injouyid þe helth of þi God so. Maria Quia respexit humilitatem ancille sue. Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generaciones. Elizabeth For he beheld þe lownes of hese handmayde, 3e. [L]o, ferforthe for þat, all generacyonys blysse 3ow in pes. Maria Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est, Et sanctum nomen eius. Elizabeth For grett thyngys he made, and also myghtyest, And ryght holy is þe name of hym in vs. Maria Et misericordia eius a progenie in progenies Timentibus eum. Elizabeth 3a, þe mercy of hym fro þat kynde into þe kynde of pes, For all þat hym drede now is he cum. Maria Fecit potenciam in brachio suo, Disspersit superbos mente cordis sui. Elizabeth The pore in his ryght arme he hath mad so, þe prowde to dyspeyre [in] þe thought of here hertys only. Maria Deposuit potentes de sede, Et exaltauit humiles. Elizabeth The prowde men fro hey setys put he, And þe lowly vpon heyth in þe sete of pes. Maria Esurientes impleuit bonis, Et diuites dimisit inanes. Elizabeth Alle þe pore and þe nedy he fulfyllyth with his goodys, And þe ryche he fellyth to voydnes. Maria Suscepit Israel puerurn suum, Recordatus est misericordie sue. Elizabeth Israel for his childe vp toke he to cum, On his mercy to thynk, for hese þat be. Maria Sicut locutus est ad patres nostros, Abraham et semini eius in secula. Elizabeth As he spak here to oure forfaderys in clos, Abraham and to all hese sed of hym in þis werd, sa. Maria Gloria Patri, et Filio, Et Spiritui Sancto. Elizabeth Preysyng be to þe Fadyr in hevyn, lo! þe same to þe Son here be so, þe Holy Gost also to ken. Maria Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, Et in secula seculorum, amen. Elizabeth As it was in þe begynnynge, and now is, and xal be forevyr, And in þis werd in all good werkys to abydyn then. Maria This psalme of prophesye seyd betwen vs tweyn, In hefne it is wretyn with aungellys hond, Evyr to be songe and also to be seyn Euery day amonge us at oure evesong. But, cosyn Elyzabeth, I xal 3ow here kepe, And þis thre monethis abyde here now, Tyl 3e han childe; to wasche, skore, and swepe, And in all þat I may to comforte 3ow. Elizabeth A, 3e Modyr of God, 3e shewe us here how We xulde be meke þat wrecchis here be. All hefne and herthe wurchepp 3ow mow, þat are trone and tabernakyl of þe hy3 Trinité. Joseph A, how do 3e, how do 3e, fadyr Zacharye? We falle fast in age, withowte oth. Why shake 3e so 3oure hed? Haue 3e þe palsye? Why speke 3e not, sere? I trowe 3e are not wroth. Elizabeth Nay, wys fadyr Joseph, þerto he were ful loth. It is þe vesytac[y]on of God; he may not speke, veryly. Lete us thank God þerffor, both. He xal remedy it whan it plesyth his mercy. Conclusion A Joseph Of 3oure dissese thynkys no greff, Thank God of al aduersyté; For he wyl chastyse and repreff þo þat he lovyth most hertylé. Mary, I hold best þat we go hens; We haue fer hom, withowt fayl. Maria Al redy, husbond, without defens, Iwyl werke be 3oure counsayl. Cosyn, be 3oure leve and 3oure lycens, For homward now us must travayl. Of þis refreschynge in 3oure presens God 3eld 3ow, þat most may avayl. Elizabeth Now, cosynes bothe, God 3ow spede. And wete 3ow wele withowtyn mo, 3oure presens comfortyth me indede. And þerfore now am I ryght wo That 3e, my frendys and my kynrede, þus sone now xul parte me fro. But I pray God he mote 3ow lede In every place wherso 3e go. Here Mary and Elizabet partyn, and Elizabeth goth to Zakarie and seyth: Good husbond, ryse up I beseke 3ow, And go we to þe temple now fast To wurchep God, with þat we mow, And thank hym bothe, this is my cast, Of þe tyme þat is comynge now. For now is cum mercy, and venjauns is past! God wyl be born for mannys prow To brynge us to blysse þat evyr xal last. Conclusion B Come, I pray 3ow specialy. Iwys, 3e are welcome, Mary. For þis comfortabelest comynge, good God, gramercy. Contemplacio Lystenyth, sovereynys, here is a conclusyon. How þe Aue was mad here is lernyd vs: þe aungel seyd, "Aue, gracia plena. Dominus tecum, Benedicta tu in mulieribus." Eiyzabeth seyd, "Et benedictus Fructus uentris tui." Thus þe Chirch addyd "Maria" and "Jesus" her. Who seyth oure Ladyes Sawtere dayly for a 3er þus, He hath pardon ten thowsand and eyte hundryd 3er. Than ferther to oure matere for to procede, Mary with Elizabeth abod þer stylle Iij monthys fully, as we rede, Thankynge God with hertly wylle. A, Lord God, what hous was þis on þat [held] þese childeryn and here moderys to As Mary and Elizabeth, Jesus and John, And Joseph and Zakarye also. And evyr oure Lady abod stylle þus Tyl Johan was of his modyr born. And þan Zakarye spak, iwus, þat had be dowm and his spech lorn. He and Elizabeth prophesyed as þus: They mad "Benedictus" them beforn. And so "Magnificat" and "Benedictus" Fyrst in þat place þer made worn. Whan all was don oure Lady fre Toke here leve than aftere this At Elizabeth and at Zakarie, And kyssyd Johan and gan hym blys. Now most mekely we thank 3ou of 3oure pacyens And beseke 3ou of 3oure good supportacyon. If here hath be seyd ore don any inconuenyens, We asygne it to 3oure good deliberaci[on], Besekynge to Crystys precyous Passyon Conserve and rewarde 3oure hedyrcomynge. With "Aue" we begunne and "Aue" is oure conclusyon: "Ave Regina Celorum" to our Lady we synge. The Trial of Mary and Joseph Den Avoyd, serys, and lete my lorde þe buschop come And syt in þe courte, þe lawes for to doo. And I xal gon in þis place, them for to somowne, Tho þat ben in my book — þe court 3e must com too! I warnd 3ow here all abowte þat I somown 3ow, all þe rowte! Loke 3e fayl for no dowte At þe court to pere. Both Johan Jurdon and Geffrey Gyle, Malkyn Mylkedoke and fayr Mabyle, Stevyn Sturdy and Jak-at-þe-Style, And Sawdyr Sadelere. Thom Tynkere and Betrys Belle, Peyrs Pottere and Whatt-at-þe-Welle, Symme Srnalfeyth and Kate Kelle, And Bertylmew þe bochere. Kytt Cakelere and Colett Crane, Gylle Fetyse and fayr Jane, Powle Pewterere and Pernel Prane, And Phelypp þe good flecchere. Cok Crane and Davy Drydust, Luce Lyere and Letyce Lytyltrust, Miles þe myllere and Colle Crakecrust, Bothe Bette þe bakere and Robyn Rede. And loke 3e rynge wele in 3oure purs, For ellys 3oure cawse may spede þe wurs, þow þat 3e slynge Goddys curs Evyn at myn hede! Fast com away, Bothe Boutyng þe browstere and Sybyly Slynge, Megge Merywedyr and Sabyn Sprynge, Tyffany Twynkelere, fayle for nothynge, The courte xal be þis day! Hic intrabit page [n] turn do Purgacione Marie et Joseph. Hic dicit Prirnus Detractor: [Primus Detractor] A, a, serys, God saue 3ow all! Here is a fayr pepyl, in good fay. Good serys, telle me what men me calle; I trowe 3e kannot be þis day. 3itt I walke wyde and many Way, But 3et fer I come I do no good: To reyse slaw[n]dyr is al my lay. Bakbytere is my brother of blood. Dede he ought come hedyr in al þis day? Now wolde God þat he wore here. And be my trewth I dare wel say þat yf we tweyn togedyr apere, More slawndyr we to xal arere Within an howre thorweouth this town Than evyr þer was þis thowsand 3ere, And ellys I shrewe 3ow bothe vp and down! Now be my trewth I haue a syght Euyn of my brother, lo! where he is. Welcom, dere brother, my trowth I plyght! 3owre jentyl mowth let me now kys. Secundus Detractor Gramercy, brother, so haue I blys! I am ful glad we met þis day. Primus Detractor Ryght so am I, brothyr, iwys, Mech gladdere than I kan say. But 3itt, good brother, I 3ow pray, Telle all þese pepyl what is 3oure name; For yf þei knew it, my lyf I lay, They wole 3ow wurchep and speke gret fame. Secundus Detractor I am Bakbytere, þat spyllyth all game, Bothe kyd and knowyn in many a place! Primus Detractor Be my trowth, I seyd þe same, And 3et sum seyden þu xulde haue evyl grace. Secundus Detract[or] Herk, Reysesclaundyr, canst þu owth telle Of any newe thynge þat wrought was late? Primus Detract[or] Within a shorte whyle a thynge befelle, I trowe þu wylt lawh3 ryght wel þerate; For, be trowth, ryght mekyl hate, If it be wyst, þerof wyl growe. Secundus Detractor If I may reyse þerwith debate, I xal not spare þe seyd to sowe. Primus Detractor Syr, in þe tempyl a mayd þer was Calde Mayd Mary, þe trewth to tell. Sche semyd so holy withinne þat plas, Men seyd sche was fedde with holy aungell. Sche made a vow with man nevyr to melle, But to leve chast and clene virgine. Howevyr it be, here wombe doth swelle And is as gret as þinne or myne! Secundus Detractor 3a, þat old shrewe Joseph, my trowth I plyght, Was so anameryd upon þat mayd þat of hyre bewté whan he had syght, He sesyd nat tyll [he] had here asayd! Primus Detractor A, nay, nay, wel wers she hath hym payd: Sum fresch 3onge galaunt she lovyth wel more þat his leggys to here hath leyd! And þat doth greve þe old man sore. Secundus Detractor Be my trewth, al may wel be, For fresch and fayr she is to syght. And such a mursel, as semyth me, Wolde cause a 3onge man to haue delyght. Primus Detractor Such a 3onge damesel of bewté bryght, And of schap so comely also, Of hire tayle ofte-tyme be lyght And rygh tekyl vndyr þe too. Secundus Detractor That olde cokolde was evyl begylyd To þat fresche wench whan he was wedde. Now muste he faderyn anothyr mannys chylde, And with his swynke he xal be fedde. Primus Detractor A 3onge man may do more chere in bedde To a 3onge wench þan may an olde. þat is þe cawse such lawe is ledde, þat many a man is a kokewolde. Hic sedet Episcopus Abizachar inter duos legis doctores et, audientes hanc defam[a]cionem, vocat ad se detractores dicens: Episcopus Herke, 3e felawys, why speke 3e such schame Of þat good virgyn, fayr Mayd Mary? 3e be acursyd so hire for to defame, She þat is of lyff so good and holy. Of hire to speke suche velany 3e make myn hert ful hevy of mood. I charge 3ow sese of 3oure fals cry, For sche is sybbe of myn owyn blood. Secundus Detractor Syb of þi kyn þow þat she be, All gret with chylde hire wombe doth swelle! Do calle here hedyr, þiself xal se þat it is trewthe þat I þe telle. Primus Detractor Sere, for 3oure sake I xal kepe cowncelle; 3ow for to greve I am ryght loth. But lest, serys, lyst what seyth þe belle: Oure fayr mayd now gret with childe goth! Primus Doctor Take good heed, serys, what 3e doth say, Avyse 3ow wele what 3e present. 3yf þis be fownd fals anothyr day, Ful sore 3e xal 3oure tale repent! Secundus Detractor Sere, þe mayd forsothe is good and gent, Bothe comely and gay and a fayr wench; And feetly with help sche can consent To set a cokewolde on þe hye benche! Secundus Doctor 3e be to besy of 3oure langage! I hope to God 3ow fals to preve. Legis It were gret rewthe she xulde so outrage, Or with such synne to myscheve. Episcopus This evy talys my hert doth greve, Of hire to here such fowle dalyawnce. If she be fowndyn in suche repreve, She xal sore rewe here governawns! Sym Somnore, in hast wend þu þi way; Byd Joseph and his wyff be name At þe coorte to appere þis day, Here hem to pourge of here defame. Sey þat I here of hem grett schame And þat doth me gret hevynes. If þei be clene withowtyn blame, Byd hem come hedyr and shew wyttnes. Den All redy, sere, I xal hem calle Here at 3oure courte for to appere. And yf I may hem mete withall, I hope ryght sone þei xal ben here. Awey, serys, lete me com nere! A man of wurchep here comyth to place. Of curtesy, mesemyth, 3e be to lere; Do of 3oure hodys, with an evyl grace. Do me sum wurchep befor my face, Or be my trowth I xal 3ow make! If þat I rolle 3ow up in my race, For fere I xal do 3oure ars qwake! But 3it sum mede and 3e me take, I wyl withdrawe my gret rough toth. Gold or sylvyr I wyl not forsake, But [do] evyn as all somnorys doth. A, Joseph, good day, with þi fayr spowse! My lorde þe buschop hath for 3ow sent. It is hym tolde þat in þin house A cockoldeis bowe is ech nyght bent. He þat shett þe bolt is lyke to be schent. Fayre mayde, þat tale 3e kan best telle. Now be 3oure trowth, telle 3oure entent: Dede not þe archere plese 3ow ryght well? Maria Of God in hevyn I take wyttnes, þat synful werk was nevyr my thought. I am a mayd 3it of pure clennes, Lyke as I was into þis werd brought. Den Othyr wyttnes xal non be sought. þu art with childe cche man may se. I charge 3ow bothe 3e tary nought, But to þe buschop com forth with me. Joseph To þe buschop with 3ow we wende — Of oure purgacyon hawe we no dowth. Maria Almyghty God xal be oure frende Whan þe trewthe is tryed owth. Den 3a, on þis wyse excusyth here every scowte Whan here owyn synne hem doth defame! But lowly þan þei gyn to lowth Whan þei be gylty and fowndyn in blame. Therfore, com forth, Cokewolde be name! þe busschop xal 3oure lyff appose. Com forth also, 3e goodly dame, A clene huswyff, as I suppose! I xal 3ow tellyn withowtyn glose, And 3e were myn, withowtyn lak, I wolde ech day beschrewe 3oure nose And 3e dede brynge me such a pak! My lord þe buschop, here haue I brought þis goodly copyl at 3oure byddyng; And as mesemyth as be here fraught, 'Fayr chylde, lullay' sone must she syng. Primus Detractor To here a credyl and 3e wolde brynge, 3e myght saue mony in here purse. Becawse she is 3oure cosyn 3ynge, I pray 3ow, sere, lete here nevyr fare þe wers. Episcopus Alas, Mary, what hast þu wrought? I am aschamyd evyn for þi sake. How hast þu chaungyd þin holy thought? Dude old Joseph with strenght þe take? Or hast þu chosyn another make By whom þu art þus brought in schame? Telle me who hath wrought þis wrake. How has þu lost þin holy name? Maria My name, I hope, is saff and sownde. God to wyttnes, I am a mayd. Of fleschby lust and gostly wownde In dede nere thought I nevyr asayd. Primus Doctor How xulde þi wombe þus be arayd, So grettly swollyn as þat it is? Legis But if sum man þe had ovyrlayd, þi wombe xulde never be so gret, iwys! Secundus Doctor Herke þu, Joseph, I am afrayd þat þu hast wrought þis opyn synne. þis woman þu hast þus betrayd With gret flaterynge or sum fals gynne. Secundus Detractor Now, be myn trowth, 3e hytte þe pynne! With þat purpose, in feyth, I holde. Telle now how þu þus hire dudyst wynne, Ore knowlych þiself for a cockewold. Joseph Sche is for me a trewe clene mayde, And I for hire am clene also. Of fleschly synne I nevyr asayde Sythyn þat sch[e] was weddyd me to. Episcopus Thu xalt not schape from vs 3itt so; Fyrst þu xalte tellyn us another lay. Streyt to þe awter þu xalt go, þe drynge of vengeawns fer to asay. Here is þe botel of Goddys vengeauns. This drynk xal be now þi purgacyon. þis [hath] suche vertu by Goddys ordenauns þat what man drynk of þis potacyon And goth serteyn in processyon Here in þis place þis awtere abowth, If he be gylty, sum maculacion Pleyn in his face xal shewe it owth. Iff þu be gylty, telle us, lete se. Ouyr Godys myght be not to bolde! If þu presume and gylty be, God þu dost greve many a folde. Joseph I am not gylty, as I fyrst tolde, Allmyghty God I take wytnes. Episcopus Than þis drynke in hast þu holde, And on processyon anon þe dresse. Hic Joseph bibit et sepcies circuiuit altare dicens: Joseph This drynk I take with meke entent. As I am gyltles, to God I pray: Lord, as þu art omnypotente, On me þu shewe þe trowth þis day. Modo bibit About þis awtere I take þe Way, O gracyous God, help þi servaunt! As I am gyltles a3en 3on may, þin hand of mercy þis tyme me graunt. Den This olde shrewe may not wele gon! Longe he taryeth to go abowth. Lyfte up þi feet, sett forth þi ton, Or be my trowth þu getyst a clowte! Secundus Detractor Now, sere, evyl thedom com to þi snowte! What heylyght þi leggys now to be lame? þu dedyst hem put ryght freschly owte Whan þu dedyst pley with 3on 3onge dame! Primus Detractor I pray to God gyf hym myschawns! Hese leggys here do folde for age. But with þis damysel whan he dede dawns, þe olde charle had ryght gret corage! Den The shrewe was þan sett in a dotage And had good lust þat tyme to pleyn. 3aff sche not 3ow cawdel to potage Whan 3e had don, to comforte 3oure brayn? Joseph A, gracyous God, help me þis tyde Ageyn þis pepyl þat me doth fame. As I nevyrmore dede towch here syde, þis day help me fro werdly scharne. Abowte þis awtere to kepe my fame, Vij tymes I haue gon round abowte. If I be wurthy to suffyr blame, O ryghtful God, my synne shewe owughte. Episcopus Joseph, with hert thank God þi Lorde Whos hey3 mercy doth the excuse. For þi purgacyon we xal recorde With hyre of synne þu dedyst nevyr muse. But, Mary, þiself mayst not refuse: All grett with chylde we se þe stonde. What mystyr man dede be mysvse? Why hast þu synnyd ageyn þin husbonde? Maria I trespacyd nevyr with erthely wyght. þerof I hope þurowe Goddys sonde Here to be purgyd before 3oure syght From all synne clene, lyke as myn husbonde. Take me þe botel out of 3oure honde, Here xal I drynke beforn 3oure face. Abowth þis awtere than xal I fonde Vij tyrnes to go, by Godys grace. Primus Doctor Se, þis bolde bysmare wolde presume Ageyn God to preve his myght! þow Goddys vengeauns hyre xuld consume, Sche wyl not telle hyre fals delyght. þu art with chylde we se in syght; To us þi wombe þe doth accuse! þer was nevyr woman 3itt in such plyght þat from mankynde hyre kowde excuse. Primus Detractor In feyth, I suppose þat þis woman slepte Withowtyn all coverte whyll þat it dede snowe; And a flake þerof into hyre mowthe crepte, And þerof þe chylde in hyre wombe doth growe. Secundus Detractor Than beware, dame, for this is wel iknowe: Whan it is born, yf þat þe sunne shyne, It wyl turne to watyr ageyn, as I trowe; For snow onto watyr doth evyrmore reclyne. Secundus Doctor With Goddys hy3 myght loke þu not jape! Of þi purgacyon wel þe avyse. Yf þu be gylty þu mayst not schape; Beware evyr of God, þat ryghtful justyce! If God with vengeauns set on þe his syse, Not only þu but all þi kyn is schamyd. Bettyr it is to telle þe trewth, devyse, Than God for to greve and of hym be gramyd. I trostyn in his grace, I xal hym nevyr greve; His servaunt I am in worde, dede, and thought. A mayd vndefyled I hope he xal me preve. I pray 3ow, lett me nought. Episcopus Now, be þat good Lord þat all þis werd hath wrought, If God on þe shewe ony manyr tokyn, Purgacyon, I trowe, was nevyr so dere bowth, If I may on the in any wyse be wrokyn. Holde here þe botel and take a large draught, And abowth the awtere go þi processyon. Marya To God in þis case my cawse I haue betaught; Lord, thorwe þin helpe I drynke of þis potacyon. Hic Beata Uirgo bibit de potacione et postea circuiuit altare dicens: Maria God, as I nevyr knew of mannys maculacion, But evyr haue lyued in trew virginité, Send me þis day þi holy consolacyon þat all þis fayr peple my clennes may se. O, gracyous God, as þu hast chose me For to be þi modyr, of me to be born, Saue þi tabernacle, þat clene is kepte for þe, Which now am put at repref and skorn. Gabryel me tolde with wordys he[re] beforn þat 3e of 3oure goodnes wold become my chylde. Help now of 3oure hy3ness my wurchep be not lorn; A, dere son, I pray 3ow, help 3oure modyr mylde. Episcopus Almyghty God, what may þis mene? For all þe drynke of Goddys potacyon, þis woman with chylde is fayr and clene, Withowtyn fowle spotte or maculacion! I cannat, be non ymagynacyon, Preve hyre gylty and synful of lyff. It shewyth opynly by here purgacyon Sche is clene mayde, bothe modyr and wyff! Primus Detracto[r]be my fadyr sowle, here is gret gyle! Because sche is syb of 3oure kynreed, þe drynk is chaungyd by sum fals wyle þat sche no shame xulde haue þis steed! Episcopus Becawse þu dernyst þat we do falshede, And for þu dedyst hem fyrst defame, þu xalt ryght here, magré þin heed, Beforn all þis pepyl drynk of þe same. Primus Detractor Syr, in good feyth oo draught I pulle, If these to drynkerys haue not all spent. Hic bibit, et scenciens dolorem in capite cadit, et dicit: Out, out! Alas, what heylith my soulle? A, myn heed with fyre methynkyht is brent! Mercy, good Mary, I do me repent Of my cursyd and fals langage! Maria Now god Lord in hevyn omnypotent, Of his grett mercy 3oure seknes aswage. Episcopus We all on knes fall here on grownd, þu, Goddys handemayd, prayng for grace. All cursyd langage and schame onsownd, Good Mary, for3eve us here in þis place. Maria Now God for3eve 3ow all 3owre trespace, And also for3eve 3ow all defamacyon þat 3e haue sayd, both more and lesse, To myn hynderawnce and maculacion. Episcopus Now, blyssyd virgyne, we thank 3ow alle Of 3oure good hert and gret pacyens. We wyl go with 3ow hom to 3oure halle To do 3ow servys with hy3 reverens. Maria I thank 3ow hertyly of 3oure benevolens. Onto 3oure owyn hous I pray 3ow 3e goo, And take þis pepyl hom with 3ow hens; I am not dysposyd to passyn hens froo. Episcopus Than farewel, mayden and pure virgyne, Farewel, trewe handmayd of God in blys! We all to 3ow lowly inclyne And take oure leve of 3ow as wurthy is. Maria Allmyghty God 3oure weys wysse, For þat hy3 Lord is most of myght. He mote 3ow spede þat 3e not mys In hevyn of hym to haue a syght. Joseph Honouryd in hevyn be þat hy3 Lorde Whos endles grace is so habundaunt þat he doth shewe þe trewe recorde Of iche wyhgt þat is his trewe servaunt. That Lord to wurchepe with hert plesaunt We bothe be bownd ryght on þis place, Which oure purgacyon us dyde graunt And prevyd us pure by hie3 grace. Maria Forsothe, good spowse, I thank hym hy3ly Of his good grace for oure purgacyon. Oure clennesse is knowyn ful opynly Be vertu of his grett consolacyon. The Nativity Joseph Lord, what travayl to man is wrought! Rest in þis werd behovyth hym non. Octauyan, oure emperour, sadly hath besought; Oure trybute hym to bere folk must forth ichon; It is cryed in every bourgh and cety be name. I þat am a pore tymbre-wryth Born of þe blood of Dauyd, þe emperorys comawndement I must holde with, And ellys I were to blame. Now, my wyff, Mary, what sey 3e to this? For sekyr, nedys I must forth wende Onto þe cyté of Bedleern fer hens, iwys. þus to labore I muste my body bende. Myn husbond and my spowse, with 3ow wyl I wende; A syght of þat cyté fayn wolde I se. If I myght of myn alye ony fer fynde, It wold be grett joyd onto me. Joseph My spowse, 3e be with childe, I fere 3ow to kary, For mesemyth it were werkys wylde. But 3ow to plese ryght fayn wold I. 3itt women ben ethe to greve whan þei be with childe. Now latt us forth wende as fast as we may, And almyghty God spede us in oure jurnay. Maria A, my swete husbond, wolde 3e telle to me What tre is 3on standynge vpon 3on hylle? Joseph Forsothe, Mary, it is clepyd a chery tre; In tyme of 3ere 3e myght fede 3ow þeron 3oure fylle. Turne ageyn, husbond, and beholde 3on tre, How þat it blomyght now so swetly. Joseph Cum on, Mary, þat we worn at 3on cyté, Or ellys we may be blamyd, I telle 3ow lythly. Maria Now, my spowse, I pray 3ow to behold How þe cheryes growyn vpon 3on tre. For to haue þerof ryght fayn I wold, And it plesyd 3ow to labore so mech for me. Joseph 3oure desyre to fulfylle I xal assay, sekyrly. Ow! To plucke 3ow of these cheries, it is a werk wylde! For þe tre is so hy3 it wol not be lyghtly — þerfore lete hym pluk 3ow cheryes begatt 3ow with childe! Now, good Lord, I pray the, graunt me þis boun, To haue of þese cheries and it be 3oure wylle. Now I thank it God, þis tre bowyth to me down! I may now gaderyn anowe and etyn my fylle. Joseph Ow! I know weyl I haue offendyd my God in Trinyté Spekyng to my spowse these vnkynde wurdys. For now I beleve wel it may non other be But þat my spowse beryght þe Kyngys Son of Blys; He help us now at oure nede. Of þe kynrede of Jesse worthely were 3e bore, Kyngys and patryarkys 3ow beffore. All þese wurthy of 3oure kynred wore, As clerkys in story rede. Maria Now gramercy, husbond, for 3oure report. In oure weys wysely late us forth wende. þe Fadyr allmyghty, he be oure comfort, þe Holy Gost gloryous, he be oure frende. Joseph Heyl, wurchepful sere, and good day! A ceteceyn of þis cyte 3e seme to be. Of herborwe for [my] spowse and me I 3ow pray; For trewly þis woman is ful weré, And fayn at reste, sere, wold she be. We wolde fulfylle þe byddynge of oure emperour For to pay trybute as ryght is oure. And to kepe ourseselfe from dolowre, We are come to þis cyté Ciues Sere, ostage in þis town know I non þin wyff and þu in for to slepe; This ceté is besett with pepyl every won, And 3ett þei ly withowte, ful every strete. Withinne no wall, man, comyst þu nowth Be þu onys withinne þe cyté gate. Onethys in þe strete a place may be sowth þeron to rest withowte debate. Joseph Nay, sere, debate, þat wyl I nowth — All such thyngys passyn my powere. But 3itt my care and all my thought Is for Mary, my derlynge dere. A, swete wyff, what xal we do? Wher xal we logge þis nyght? Onto þe Fadyr of Heffne pray we so, Vs to kepe from every wykkyd whyt. Ciues Good man, o word I wyl þe sey, If þu wylt do by þe counsel of me: 3ondyr is an hous of haras þat stant be þe wey; Amonge þe bestys herboryd may 3e be. Maria Now þe Fadyr of Hefne, he mut 3ow 3elde. His sone in my wombe, forsothe, he is. He kepe þe and þi good be fryth and felde. Go we hens, husbond, for now tyme it is. But herk now, good husbond, a newe rebacyon, Which in myself I know ryght well: Cryst, in me hath take incarnacyon, Sone wele be borne, þe trowth I fele. In þis pore logge my chawmere I take, Here for to abyde þe blyssyd byrth Of hym þat all þis werd dude make. Betwyn myn sydys I fele he styrth. Joseph God be þin help, spowse, it swemyth me sore, þus febyly loggyd and in so pore degré. Goddys sone amonge bestys for to be bore — His woundyr werkys fulfyllyd must be — In an hous þat is desolat, withowty[n] any wall; Fyer nor wood non here is. Maria Joseph, myn husbond, abydyn here I xal, For here wyl be born þe Kyngys Sone of Blys. Joseph Now, jentyll wyff, be of good myrth, And if 3e wyl owght haue, telle me what 3e thynk. I xal not spare for schep nor derth. Now telle me 3oure lust of mete and drynk. Maria For mete and drynk lust I ryght nowth — Allmyghty God my fode xal be. Now þat I am in chawmere brought, I hope ryght well my chylde to se. Therfore, husbond, of 3oure honesté, Avoyd 3ow hens out of þis place, And I alone with humylité Here xal abyde Goddys hy3 grace. Joseph All redy, wyff, 3ow for to plese I wyl go hens out of 3oure way, And seke sum mydwyuys 3ow for to ese Whan þat 3e trauayle of childe þis day. Farewell, trewe wyff and also clene may, God be 3oure comforte in Trinyté. Maria To God in hevyn for 3ow I pray, He 3ow preserve wherso 3e be. Hic dum Joseph est absens parit Maria Filium Vnigenitum. Joseph Now God, of whom comyth all releffe, And as all grace in þe is grownde, So saue my wyff from hurt and greffe Tyl I sum mydwyuys for here haue fownde. Travelynge women in care be bownde With grete throwys whan þei do grone; God helpe my wyff þat sche not swownde. I am ful sory sche is alone! It is not conucnyent a man to be þer women gon in travalynge. Wherfore sum mydwyff fayn wold I se, My wyff to helpe þat is so 3enge. Zelomy Why makyst þu, man, suche mornyng? Tell me sumdele of 3oure gret mone. Joseph My wyf is now in gret longynge, Trauelyng of chylde, and is alone. For Godys loue, þat sytt in trone, As 3e mydwyuys þat kan 3oure good, Help my 3onge spowse in hast anone. I drede me sore of þat fayr food! Salomé Be of good chere and of glad mood, We ij mydwyuys with þe wyll go. þer was nevyr woman in such plyght stood But we were redy here help to do. My name is Salomee, all men me knowe For a mydwyff of wurthy fame. Whan women travayl, grace doth growe; þeras I come I had nevyr shame. Zelomye And I am Zelomye, men knowe my name, We tweyn with the wyl go togedyr And help þi wyff fro hurt and grame. Com forth, Joseph, go we streyth thedyr. Joseph I thank 3ow, damys, 3e comforte my lyff. Streyte to my spowse walke we þe way. In þis pore logge lyght Mary my wyff. Hyre for to comforte, gode frendys, asay. Salomé We dare not entre þis logge, in fay — þer is þerin so gret bryghtnes! Mone be nyght nor sunne be day Shone nevyr so clere in þer lyghtnesse! Zelomye Into þis hous dare I not gon; þe woundyrifull lyght doth me affray. Joseph Than wyl myself gon in alon And chere my wyff if þat I may. All heyl, maydon and wyff, I say! How dost þu fare? Telle me þi chere. The for to comforte in gesyn þis day, Tweyn gode mydwyuis I haue brought here. The for to helpe, þat art in harde bonde, Zelomye and Salomee be com with me. For dowte of drede withowte þei do stond, And dare not come in for lyght þat they se. Hic Maria subridendo dicat: Maria The myght off e Godhede in his magesté Wyl not be hyd now at þis whyle. The chylde þat is born wyl preue his modyr fre, A very clene mayde, and þerfore I smyle. Joseph Why do 3e lawghe, wyff? 3e be to blame! I pray 3ow, spowse, do no more so! In happ þe mydwyuys wyl take it to grame, And at 3oure nede helpe wele non do. Iff 3e haue nede of mydwyuys, lo, Perauenture thei wyl gon hens. þerfor be sad, and 3e may so, And wynnyth all þe mydwyuis good diligens. Maria Husbond, I pray 3ow dysplese 3ow nowth, þow þat I lawghe and gret joye haue. Here is þe chylde þis werde hath wrought, Born now of me, þat allthynge xal saue. Joseph I aske 3ow grace, for I dyde raue! O gracyous childe, I aske mercy. As þu art Lord and I but knaue, For3eue me now my gret foly. Alas, mydwyuis, what haue I seyd? I pray 3ow com to us more nere, For here I fynde my wyff a mayd And in here arme a chylde hath here — Bothe mayd and modyr sch[e] is in fere! þat God wole haue may nevyrmore fayle. Modyr on erth was nevyr non clere Withowth sche had in byrth travayle. Zelomy In byrth trauayle muste sche nedys haue, Or e!lys no chylde of here is born. Joseph I pray 3ow dame, and 3e vowchsaue, Com se þe chylde my wyff beforn. Salomé Grete God be in þis place. Swete systyr, how fare 3e? Maria I thank þe Fadyr of his hy3 grace; His owyn son and my chylde here 3e may se. Zelomye All heyl, Mary, and ryght good morn. Who was mydwyfe of þis fayr chylde? Maria He þat nothynge wyl haue forlorn Sent me þis babe, and I mayd mylde. Zelomye With honde lete me now towch and fele Yf 3e haue nede of medycyn. I xal 3ow comforte and helpe ryght wele As other women yf 3e haue pyn. Maria Of þis fayr byrth þat here is myn Peyne nere grevynge fele I ryght non. I am clene mayde and pure virgyn; Tast with 3oure hand 3oureself alon. Hic palpat Zelomye Beatam Virginem dicens: Zelomy O myghtfull God, haue mercy on me! A merveyle þat nevyr was herd beforn Here opynly I fele and se: A fayr chylde of a maydon is born, And nedyth no waschynge as other don: Ful clene and pure forsoth is he, Withoutyn spott or ony polucyon, His modyr nott hurte of virgynité! Coom nere, gode systyr Salomé. Behobde þe brestys of þis clene rnayd, Ful of fayr mylke how þat þei be, And hyre chylde clene, as I fyrst sayd. As other ben nowth fowle arayd, But clene and pure bothe modyr and chylde. Of þis matyr I am dysmayd, To se them both thus vndefyled! Salomé It is not trewe, it may nevyr be! þat bothe be clene I cannot beleve! A mayd mylke haue nevyr man dyde se, Ne woman bere 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 cleue þat sche hath chylde and is a may. Maria 3ow for to putt clene out of dowth, Towch with 3oure hand and wele asay. Wysely ransake and trye þe trewthe owth Whethyr I be fowlyd or a clene may. Hic tangit Salomee Mari[am] et, cum arescerit manus eius, vlulando et quasi flendo dicjt: Salomee Alas, alas, and weleawaye! For my grett dowth and fals beleve Myne hand is ded and drye as claye — My fals vntrost hath wrought myscheve! Alas þe tyme þat I was born, Thus to offende a3ens Goddys myght! Myn handys power is now all born, Styff as a stykke, and may nowth plyght. For I dede tempte þis mayde so bryght And helde a3ens here pure clennes, In grett myscheff now am I pyght. Alas, alas for my lewdnes! O Lord of Myght, þu knowyst be trowth, þat I haue evyr had dred of þe. On every power whyght evyr I haue rowthe, And 3ove hem almes for loue of þe. Bothe wyff and wedowe þat askyght, for the, And frendles chylderyn þat haddyn grett nede, I dude them cure, and all for the, And toke no rewarde of them, nor mede. Now as a wrecch for fals beleve þat I shewyd in temptynge þis mayde, My hand is ded and doth me greve. Alas, þat evyr I here assayde! Angelus Woman, þi sorwe to haue delayde, Wurchep þat childe þat þer is born; Towch þe clothis þer he is leyde, For he xal saue all þat is lorn. Salomee O gloryous chylde and Kynge of Blysse, I aske 3ow mercy for my trespace. I knowlege my synne, I demyd amys. O blyssyd babe, grawnt me sum grace! Of 3ow, mayde, also here in þis 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 3ow dede telle, My chylde is medycyn for every sor. Towch his clothis be my cowncelle, 3owre hand ful sone he wyl restor. Hic Salomee tangit fimbriam Christi dicens: Salomee A, now blyssyd be þis chylde euyrmore! þe Sone of God, forsothe he is, Hath helyd myn hand þat was forlore Thorwe fals beleve and demynge amys! In every place I xal telle þis: Of a clene mayde þat God is born, And in oure lyknes God now clad is, Mankend to saue þat was forlorn; His modyr a mayde as sche was beforn, Natt fowle polutyd as other women be, But fayr and fresch as rose on thorn, Lely-wyte, clene with pure virginyté. Of þis blyssyd babe my leve now do I take, And also of 3ow, hy3 Modyr of Blysse. Of þis grett meracle more knowlege to make, I xal go telle it in iche place, iwys. Maria Farewel, good dame, and God 3oure wey wysse. In all 3oure jurnay God be 3oure spede! And of his hy3 mercy þat Lord so 3ow blysse þat 3e nevyr offende more in word, thought, nore dede. Zelomy And I also do take my leve here Of all þis blyssyd good company, Praynge 3oure grace bothe fere and nere On us to spede 3oure endles mercy. Joseph The blyssyng of þat Lord þat is most myghty Mote sprede on 3ow in every place; Of all 3oure enmyes to haue þe victory, God þat best may, grawnt 3ow his grace. Amen The Annunciation to and Visitation of the Shepherds Angelus ad pastores dicit "Gloria in excelsis Deo." Angelus Joye to God þat sytt in hevyn, And pes to man on erthe grownde. A chylde is born benethe þe levyn, Thurwe hym many folke xul be vnbownde! Sacramentys þer xul be vij Wonnyn þo[r]we þat childys wounde. Therfore I synge a joyful stevene. þe flowre of frenchep now is founde, God þat wonyght on hy3! He is gloryed mannys gost to wynne, He hath sent salue to mannys synne; Pes is comyn to mannys kynne Thorwe Goddys sleytys sly3. Primus Pastor Maunfras, Maunfras, felawe myne, I saw a gret lyght with shene shyne! 3it saw I nevyr so selkowth syne Shapyn vpon þe skyes. It is bryghtere þan be sunnebem, It comyth ryght ouyr all þis rem, Evyn above Bedleem. I saw it brenne thryes. Secundus Pastor Thu art my brother, Boosras. I haue beholdyn þe same pas! I trowe it is tokenynge of gras þat shynynge shewyght beforn. Balaam spak in prophesye A lyght xuld shyne vpon þe skye Whan a sone of a mayd Marye In Bedleem were iborn. Tercius Pastor Thow I make lyty[l] noyse, I am an herde þat hattyht Moyse. I herde carpynge of a croyse Of Moyses in his lawe. Of a mayd a barne born, On a tre he xulde be torn; Delyver folkys þat arn forlorn, The chylde xulde be slawe. Primus Pastor Balaam spak in prophecie Out of Jacob xuld shyne a skye. Many folke he xulde bye With his bryght blood. Be þat bryght blod þat he xulde blede He xal us brynge fro þe develys drede, As a duke most dowty in dede, Thorwe his deth on rode. Secundus Pastor Amos spak with mylde meth, A frute swettere than bawmys breth, His deth xulde slen oure sowlys deth And drawe us all from helle. Therfore such lyght goth beforn In tokyn þat þe childe is born Whiche xal saue þat is forlorn, As prophetys gonne spelle. Tercius Pastor Danyel þe prophete þus gan speke: "Wyse God, from woo us wreke, þi bryght hevyn þu to-breke And medele þe with a mayde." This prophecye is now spad: Cryst in oure kende is clad. þerfore mankend may be glad, As prophetys beforn han seyd. "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" cantent. Primus Pastor Ey! Ey! þis was a wondyr note þat was now songyn above þe sky. I haue þat voys ful wele I wote, þei songe "Gle, glo glory." Secundus Pastor Nay, so moty the, so was it nowth. I haue þat songe ful wele invm. In my wyt weyl it is wrought, It was "Gle, glo, glas, glum." Tercius Pastor The songe methought it was "Glory". And aftyrwarde he seyd us to, þer is a chybde born xal be a prynce myghty. For to seke þat chylde I rede we go. Primus Pastor The prophecye of Boosdras is spedly sped, Now leyke we hens as þat lyght us lede. Myght we se onys þat bryght on bed, Oure bale it wolde vnbynde. We xulde shodyr for no shoure. Buske we us hens to Bedleem boure To se þat fayr fresch flowre, The mayde mylde in mynde. Secundus Pastor Lete us folwe with all oure myght. With songe and myrth we xul us dyght, And wurchep with joye þat wurthy wyght þat Lord is of mankynne. Lete us go forthe fast on hye And honowre þat babe wurthylye, With merthe, songe, and melodye. Haue do! þis songe begynne. Tunc pastores cantabunt "Stella celi extirpauit," quo facto ibunt ad querendum Christum. Primus Pastor Heyle, floure of flourys, fayrest ifownde! Heyle, perle peerles, prime rose of prise! Heyl, blorne on bedde, we xul be vnbownde With þi blody woundys and werkys full wyse! Heyl, God grettest, I grete þe on grownde! þe gredy devyl xal grone grysly as a gryse Whan þu wynnyst þis worlde with þi wyde wounde And puttyst man to paradys with plenty of prys. To loue þe is my delyte. Heyl, floure fayr and fre, Lyght from þe Trynyté! Heyl, blyssyd mote þu be! Heyl, mayde fayrest in syght! [Secundus] Pastor Heyl, floure ovyr flourys fowndyn in fryght! Heyl, Cryst, kynde in oure kyth! Heyl, werker of wele to wonyn us wyth! Heyl, wynnere, iwys! Heyl, formere and frende! Heyl, fellere of þe fende! Heyl, clad in oure kende! Heyl, Prince of Paradys! Tercius Pastor Heyl, lord ouyr lomdys, þat lyggyst ful lowe! Heyl, kynge ovyr kyngys, þi kynrede to knowe! Heyl, comely knyth, þe deuyl to ouyrthrowe! Heyl, flowre of alle! Heyl, werkere to wynne Bodyes bowndyn in synne! Heyl, in a bestys bynne, Bestad in a stable! Joseph Herdys on hylle, Beth not stylle, But seyth 3oure wylle To many a man: How God is born þis mery morn; þat is forlorn Fyndyn he can. Primus Pastor We xull telle Be dale and hylle How Harwere of Helle Was born þis nyght, Myrthis to melle And fendys to quelle þat were so felle A3ens his ryght. Secundus Pastor Farewel, babe and barne of blys! Farewel, Lord þat lovely is! þe to wurchep þi feet I kys, On knes to þe I falle. þe to wurchepe I falle on kne. All þis werd may joye of þe, Now farewel, Lorde of grett pousté! 3a, farewel, kynge of alle! Tercius Pastor Thow I be þe last þat take my leve, 3it, fayre mullynge, take it nat at no greve. Now, fayre babe, wele mut þu cheve; Fayr chylde, now haue good day! Fareweyl, myn owyn dere derlyng! Iwys, þu art a ryght fayr thyng. Farewel, my Lorde and my swetyng! Farewel, born in pore aray! Maria Now, 3e herdmen, wel mote 3e be. For 3oure omage and 3ourd syngynge, My sone xal aqwyte 3ow in hefne se And 3eue 3ow all ryght good hendynge. Amen [missing] Even though there is no play 17 in the manuscript, there was probably one at some point. … continued here. Herod and the Magi, and the Adoration of the Magi Herode[s Rex] As a lord in ryalté, in non regyon so ryche, And rulere of all remys, I ryde in ryal aray! Ther is no lord of lond in lordchep to me lyche, Non lofflyere, non lofsummere, evyrlestyng is my lay! Of bewté and of boldnes I bere evermore þe belle. Of mayn and of myght I mastyr every man! I dynge with my dowtynes þe devyl down to helle, For bothe of hevyn and of herth I am kynge, sertayn! I am þe comelyeste kynge clad in gleterynge golde, 3a, and þe semelyeste syre þat may bestryde a stede! I welde att my wyll all wyghtys upon molde, 3a, and wurthely I am wrappyd in a wurthy wede. 3e knyghtys so comely, bothe curteys and kene, To my paleys wyl I passe full prest, I 3ow plyth. 3e dukys so dowty, folwe me bedene. Onto my ryal paleys þe wey lyth ful ryght. Wyghtly fro my stede I skyppe down in hast, To myn hey3 hallys I haste me in my way. 3e mynstrell, of myrth blowe up a good blast Whyll I go to chamere and chaunge myn array. Primus Rex Heyl be 3e, kyngys tweyne, Ferre rydyng out of 3oure regne! Methynkyth be 3oure presentys seyne 3e sekyn oure Sauyour. Fro Saba haue I folwyd ferre The glemynge of 3on gay sterre. A chyldys blood xal bye vs dere þat þer is born in bestys boure. My name is Kynge Baltazare. Of prophetys speche I am ware. Therfore a ferre wey I fare, A maydenys childe to seche. For he made man of þe moolde, And is kynge of hevyn holde. I wyl hym offere þe rede golde, As reson wyl me teche. Secundus Rex Melchizar, þat my name is kydde. In hote loue myn herte is hydde To þe blosme upon his bedde, Born by bestys bynne. In Tarys I am kynge with crowne By bankys and brymmys browne. I haue trauaylid by many a towne My lordys love to wynne. I seke hym with ensens sote. Of all prestys he xal be rote. His bryght blood xal be oure bote, To brynge us out of bende. The childe xal be chosyn a preste, In all vertuys fownden meste. Beforn his faderys 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 sage I haue faryn ryght ferre. Jasper is my name knowyn In many countrés þat are myn owyn. Thorwe byttyr blastys þat gyn blowyn I stryke aftere þe sterre. I brynge myrre to my present, A byttyr lycour verament. For he xal tholyn byttyr dent In a maydonys flesch is clad. On byttyr tre he xal be bent, Man and God omnypotent; With byttyr betynge his flesch be rent Tyl all his blood be bledde. Her[odes Rex] Now I regne [as þi] kynge arayd ful rych, Rollyd in rynggys and robys of array. Dukys with dentys I dryve into þe dych, My dedys be ful dowty demyd be day! I xall marryn þo men þat r__yn on myche, And þerinne sette here sacrementys sottys ___ say! þer is no lorde in þis werde þat lokygh me lyche. For to lame l___ of þe lesse lay I am jolyere than þe jay, Stronge thevys to steke, þat wele oure lawys breke. On þo wrecchis I wyll be wreke, And hont hem vndyr ha[y]. In kyrtyl of cammaka kynge am I cladde, Cruel and curryd in myn crowne knowe! I sytr in ondyr Sesar in my se___e sadde. Sorwyn to sottys, such seed wyll I sowe! Boys now blaberyn, bostynge of a baron bad, In bed[de] is born be bestys, suche bost is blowe. I xal prune þat pap-hawk and preuyn hym as a pad Scheldys and shaftys sh__h__ sowe! My knyghtys xaln rydyn on rowe, Knave chylderyn for to qwelle! Be Mahound, dyngne duke of helle, Sowre deth his lyff xall selle Such thrett wolde me throwe! Styward bolde, Walke þu on wolde And wysely beholde All abowte. Iff anythynge Shuld greve þe kynge, Brynge me tydynge If þer be ony dowte. Senescallus Lord kynge in crowne, I go fro towne. By bankys browne I wyll abyde, And with erys lyste Est and west Iff any geste On grownde gynnyth glyde. Tunc ibit Senescallus et obuiabit tribus regibus, et dicit eis: Kyngys iij Vndyr þis tre, In þis countré Why wyll 3e abyde? Herowde is kynge Of þis wonynge. Onto his dwellynge Now xul 3e glyde. Primus Rex Now lede us alle To þe kyngys halle. How it befalle, We pray to the, Wyttys to wete He may us pete In flesshe be glete Godys frute fre. Senescallus Folwyth in stownde Vpon þis grownde. To þe castel rownde I xal 3ow tech, Where kynge gynny[th] wyde Vp in þis tyde In pompe and pryde His myght gynnyth reche. Sere kyng in trone, Here comyth anone By strete and stone Kyngys thre. They bere present. What thei haue ment, Ne whedyr they arn bent I cannot Se. Herodes Rex I xal hem craue What they haue. Iff they raue Or waxyn wood, I xal hem reve, Here wyttys deve, Here hedys cleve, And schedyn here blood! Primus Rex Heyl be þu, kynge in kage ful hye! Heyl, we nyghe þin halle ryght nye. Knowyst þu ought þat chylde slye? He is born hereabowth. He is born of a mayd 3ynge, He xal be kynge ouyr every kynge. We go to seke þat louely thynge, To hym fayn wolde I lowth. Secundus Rex Babaam spak in prophecye A sterre xulde ful louelye Lythtyn upon mayd Marye, Comyn of Jacobys kynne. þe childe is born and lyth hereby, Blomyd in a maidenys body. A sterre hath strekyn upon þe sky And ledde us fayr be fenne. Tercius Rex The sterre hath ledde us out of þe est To seke a baron born best. He xal be kynge of myghtys mest, As prophecy gynnyth spelle. We be kyngys in wey wery. Syr kynge, for þi curtesy, Telle us to þat childe so louely; In what town gynnyth he dwelle? Herodes Rex 3e thre kyngys rekenyd be rowe, Ley now downe 3oure wurdys lowe. Such a carpynge is vnknowe, Onrekenyd in my regne! I am a kynge of hy3 degré, þer xal non ben above me! I haue florens and fryhthis fre, Parkys and powndys pleyne. But goth to fynde þat 3e sech; And yf 3e knowe such a lech And 3e hym fynde, I 3ow besech, Comyth a3en be me. And I xal be both blyth and bowne þat all worchep to hym be done; With reuerens I xal seke hym sone And honour hym on kne. And þerfore, kyngys, I 3ow pray, Whan 3e haue don 3oure jurnay, Come a3en þis same way, þe trewth to me to telle. Come and telle me as 3e spede, And I xal qwyte ryght wel 3oure mede, With gold, and tresour, and rych wede, With furrys rych and wurth pelle. Primus Rex Kynge, haue good day! I go my way To seche Lord of Myght; He xal be ryght Oure leche. Secundus Kynge ful sterne, Rex Be felde and ferne I goo To sekyn a kynge, He takyth wonynge In woo. Tercius Rex If we hym fynde Oure kynge ful kynde Be a may, From kynge and qwen We comyn a3en þis day. Herodes Rex A, fy, fy on talys þat I haue 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 old, An hardy kyng of hye degré. This daye tho kynggys xal be kold If þey cum ageyne be me! My goddys I xall vp reyse! A derke devyll with falsnese, I saye, Shall cast a myst in þe kynggys eye; Be bankys and be dalys drey, þat be derk þei xall cum this weyys. Primus [Rex] Go we to sek owr Lord and our lech, Yon stere will us tech þe weyis full sone. To saue vs from myschyff God I here besech, Onto his joyis þat we may rech; I pray hem of this bone. Tunc ibunt reges cum muneribus ad Jesum, et Primus Rex dicit: Heyle be þou, kyng cold clade! Heyll, with maydynnys mylk fade! Heyll, I cum to þe with gold glade. As wese wrytyng bere it record, Gold is þe rycheste metall, And to weryng most ryall. Gold I gyffe in this hall And know fre for my Lorde. Secundus R[ex]lorde, I knele vpon my kne, Sote encence I offere to the. Thow xalte be þe fyrst of hy3 degré, Non so mekell of myght! In Goddys howse, as men xall se, Thow xalt honour þe Trynité; Iij personys in oon Gode free, And all oo Lord of Myght. Tercius R[ex] Lord, I knele downe be thy bede, In maydyns fleshe þou arte hede. Thy name xal be wyde rede, And kyng ouyr all kynggys. Byttyr myre to þe I brynge, For byttyr dentys on þe þei xall dyng; And byttyr deth xall be þy endyng, And ferfor I make mornyng. Kynggys kynde, Frome þe fende God yow defende. Homwarde 3e wende, And to your placys 3e lende þat 3e xulde tende. Primus Rex Now haue we þe place fownde, To Herode go we this stownde. With owr wordys we were bownde That we xulde cum ageyne. Go we apace and sey owr spech, For we haue fownde oure Lord and lech. All þe truth we wyll hem tech, How þe 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 xall fare þe warse. I wax hevy in lyme and fla[n]ke, Downe I ley me vpon this banke, Vnder this bryght sterre, iwys. Tercius Rex Broþer, I must lye þe bye, I will go neuyr ouyr þis stye Tyll I haue a slepe. The yong kyng and his moþyr Mary Save vs all frome euery velany. Now Cryst vs save and kepe. Primus Rex Such hevynese haue vs cawght, I must drynk with yow a drawght, To slepe a lytyll whyle. I am hevy heed and footte, I xulde stumbyll at resch and root And I xuld goo a myle. Hic dormiunt reges, et venit angelus et dicit eis: Ange[lus] 3e kynggys on this hill, Werk 3e not aftyr Herodys wyll. For yf 3e do he wyll yow kyll þis day or nyght. My Lorde yow sent this tydyng To rest yow, kynggys in rych clothyng. And whan 3e rysyn and goo to your dwellyng, Tak home þe wey full ryght. Whether þat 3e be wakyn or slepe, My Lorde God xall yow keppe. In goode tyme 3e dede down drepe To take yowr rest. Herowdys, to Je devyl he tryste To marre 3ow in a myrke myste. My Lord God is ful of lyste To glathe 3ow for his geste. And þerfore, kyngys, whan 3e ryse, Wendyth forth be weys wyse þer 3oure hall be sett in syse In dyverse londe. Fadyr of God in allthynge Hath 3ow grawntyd his swete blyssynge. He xal 3ow saue from all shendynge With his ryght honde. Tunc surgant reges, et dicat Primus Rex: [Primus Rex] A bryght sterre ledde us into Bedleem; A bryghtere thynge I saw in drem, Bryghtere than þe sunnebeem; An aungell I saw ryght here. þe fayre floure þat here gan falle, From Herowdys Kynge he gan vs kalle. He taught us hom tyll oure halle A wey by another mere. Secundus Rex I sawghe a syght, Myn hert is lyght To wendyn home. God, ful of myght, Hath us dyght Fro develys dome. Tercius Rex Oure God I blysse. He sent us, iwys, His aungel bryght. Now we wake þe wey to take Home full ryght. The Purification at the Temple Symeon Justus I haue be prest in Jherusalem here And tawth Goddys lawe many a 3ere, Desyrynge in all my mende þat þe tyme we[re] neyhand nere In which Goddys son xul apere In erthe to take mankende, Or I deyd þat I myght fynde My Savyour with myn ey to se. But þat it is so longe behynde, It is grett dyscomforte onto me. For I wax olde and wante my myght And begynne to fayle my syght, þe more I sorwe þis tyde, Save only, as I telle 3ow ryght, God of his grace hath me hyght þat 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 þat þu þi son doth sende, þat I in erth myght hym se? Good Lord, consydyr to me — I drawe fast to an ende — þat, or my strenthis fro me wende, Gode Lorde, send dow[n] þi son, þat I with my ful mende Myght wurchepp 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 all my lemys to werke and do, In his servyse to be bayn, Send forth þi son, my Lord sovereyn, Hastely, anon, withowte teryenge; For fro þis world I wolde be fayn — It is contrary to my levynge. Angelus Symeon, leff þi careful stevene, For þi prayer is herd in hevene. To Jherusalem fast now wynne, And þer xalt se ful evene He þat is Goddys son for to nemene In þe templ[e] þer þu dwellyst inne. The dyrknes of orygynal synne He xal make lyght and clarefye. And now þe dede xal begynne Whiche hath be spokyn be prophecye. Symeon A, I thank þe, Lord of Grace, þat hath grauntyd me tyme and space To lyve and hyde thys! And I wyl walk now to þe place Where I may se þi sonys face, Which is my joye and blys. I was nevyr lyghtere, iwys, To walke nevyr herebeforn! For a mery tyme now is Whan God, my Lord, is born! Anna Prophetessa Al heyl, Symeon, what tydyngys with 3ow? Why make 3e al þis myrth now? Telle me whedyr 3e fare. Symeon Anne Prophetes, and 3e wyst whov, So xulde 3e, I make avow, And all maner men þat are. For Goddys son, as I declare, Is born to bye mankende! Oure Savyour is come to sesyn oure care, þerfore haue I grett merth to wende. And þat is þe cawse I hast me Onto þe temple hym to se. And þerfore left me not, good frende. Anna Now blyssyd be God in Trinyté Syn þat tyme is come to be! And with 3ow wyl I wende To se my Savyour ende, And wurchepp hym also With all my wytt and my ful mende. As I am bound now wyl I do. Et tunc ibunt ambo ad templum et prophetissa. Symeon In be temple of God, who vndyrstod, þis day xal be offeryd with mylde mood Which þat is kynge of alle, þat xal be skorgyd and shedde his blood And aftyr dyen on þe rood Withowtyn cawse to calle; For whos Passyon þer xal beffalle Swych a sorwe bothe sharpe and smerte, þat as a swerd perce it xalle 3evene thorwe his moderys herte. Anna Prop[hetissa] 3a, þat xal be, as I wel fende, For redempcyon of all mankende, þat blysse for to restore Whiche hath be lost fro oute of mende, As be oure fadyr of oure owyn kende, Adam, and Eue beffore. Maria Joseph, my husbond, withowtyn mys, 3e wote þat fourty days nere is Sythe my sonys byrth ful ryght. Wherfore we must to þe temple, iwys, þer for to offre oure sone of blys Up to his fadyr in hyght. And I in Goddys syght Puryfyed for to be, In clene sowle with al my myght, In presence of þe Trinyté. Joseph To be purefyed haue 3e no nede, Ne þi son to be offryd, so God me spede. For fyrst þu art ful clene, Vndefowlyd in thought and dede; And anothyr, þi son, withowtyn drede, Is God and man to mene. Wherefore it nedyd not to bene, But to kepe þe lawe on Moyses wyse. Whereffore we xal take us betwene Dowys and turtelys for sacrefyce. Et ibunt ad templum. Symeon All heyl, my kyndely comfortour! Anna Prophetissa All heyl, mankyndys creatoure! Symeon All heyl, þu God of Myght! Anna Prophetissa All heyl, mankyndys Savyour! Symeon All heyl, bothe kynge and emperour! Anna Prophetissa All heyl, as it is ryght. Symeon All heyl also, Mary bryght! Anna Prophetissa All heyl, salver of seknes! Symeon All heyl, lanterne of lyght! Anna Prophetissa All heyl, þu modyr of mekenes! Maria Symeon, I vndyrstand and se þat bothyn of my sone and me 3e haue knowynge clere. And also in 3oure compané My sone desyryth for to be, And þerffore haue 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 haue receyvyd þis day of þe In myddys of þi temple here Thy grett mercy, as we may se. Therfore þi name of grett degré Be wurchepyd in all manere Over all þis werde, bothe fer and nere, 3evyn onto þe [vterest] ende. For now is man owt of daungere, And rest and pes to all mankende. Nunc dimittis seruum tuum, Domine, et cetera. The psalme songyn every vers, and þerqwyl Symeon pleyth with þe child; and qwhan þe psalme is endyd he seyth: Now lete me dye, Lorde, and hens pace, For I, þi servaunt in þis place Haue sen my Sauyour dere, Whiche þu hast ordeyned beforn þe face Of al mankynde þis tyme of grace Opynly to appere. þi lyth is shynand clere To all mankyndys savacyon. Mary, take 3oure childe now here, And kepe wel þis, manis savacyon. Anna Prophetissa Ne I rowth nere to dye also, For more than fowre skore 3ere and to þis tyme hath bede to se. And sythe þat it is come þerto, What Goddys wyl is with me to do, Ryght evyn so mot it be. Joseph Take here these candelys thre, Mary, Symeon, and Anne. And I xal take þe fowrte to me To offre oure childe up thanne. Maria Hyest fadyr, God of powere, 3oure owyn dere son I offre 3ow here. As I to 3oure lawe am sworn, Receyve þi childe in glad manere. For he is þe fyrst, þis childe so dere, þat of his modyr is born. But þow I offre hym 3ow beforn, Good Lord, 3it 3yf me hyrn a3en, For my comforte were fully lorn If we xuld longe asondyr ben. Mari leyth þe childe on þe autere. Joseph Sere prest of þe temple, now Haue he[re] fyff pens vnto 3ow, Oure childe a3en to take. It is þe lawe, as 3e woot how. Capellanus Joseph, 3e an do ryght anow As for 3oure childys sake. But othere offerynge 3ett must 3e make. And þerfore take 3oure sone, Mary. In meche joye 3e may awake Whylys he is in 3oure company. Maria Therto I am ful glad and fayn For to receyve my childe agayn, Ellys were I to blame; And afterewarde for to be bayn To offre to God, in ful certayn, As in my sonys name With fowlys bothe wylde and tame. For in Goddys servyse I xal nevyr irke. Joseph Lo, Mary, haue here tho same To do þi dewtys of Holy Kyrke. And þer Mary offeryth fowlys onto þe autere and seyth: Maria Allmyghtyfful Fadyr, mercyful Kynge, Receyvyth now þis lytyl offrynge, For it is be fyrst in degré þat 3oure lytyl childe so 3ynge Presentyth today be my shewyng To 3oure hy3 magesté. Of his sympyl poverté, Be his devocyon and my good wylle, Vpon 3oure awtere receyve of me 3oure sonys offrynge, as it is skylle. 1468 The Slaughter of the Innocents and the Death of Herod Tunc, respiciens, Senescallus vadyt ad Herodem dicens: Senescallus Lord, I haue walkyd be dale and hylle And wayted as it is 3oure wyll. The kyngys iij stelyn awey full styll Thorwe Bedleem londe. They wyl nevyr, so moty the, Com in þe lond of Galylé For to se 3oure fay[r] ceté Ne dedys of 3oure honde. Herodes Rex I ryde on my rowel, ryche in my regne! Rybbys ful reed with rape xal I rende! Popetys and pap-hawkys I xal puttyn in peyne, With my spere prevyn, pychyn, and to-pende! The gomys with gold crownys ne gete nevyr [geyn]! To seke þo sottys sondys xal I sende. Do howlott howtyn, Hoberd and Heyn! Whan here barnys blede vndyr credyl bende, Sharply I xal hem shende! The knaue childeryn þat be In all Israel countré, Thei xul haue blody ble For on I calde vnkende! It is tolde in Grw His name xulde be Jesu Ifownde. To haue hym 3e gon; Hewe þe flesch with þe bon, And gyf hym wownde! Now, kene knyghtys, kythe 3oure craftys, And kyllyth knaue chylderyn and castyth hem in clay! Shewyth on 3oure shulderys scheldys and schaftys, Shapyht amonge schelchownys a shyrlyng shray! Doth rowncys rennyn with rakynge raftys Tyl rybbys be to-rent with a reed ray! Lete no barne beleve onbete baftys Tyl a beggere blede be bestys baye! Mahound þat best may. I warne 3ow, my knyghtys, A barn is born, I plyghtys, Wolde clymbyn kynge and knytys And lett my lordly lay. Knyghtys wyse, Chosyn ful chyse, Aryse, aryse, And take 3oure tolle! And every page Of ij 3ere age, Or evyr 3e swage, Sleyth ilke a fool! On of hem alle Was born in stalle. Folys hym calle Kynge in crowne! With byttyr galle He xall down falle! My myght in halle Xal nevyr go down! Primus Miles I xall sle scharlys And qwenys with therlys; Here knaue gerlys I xal steke! Forth wyl I spede To don hem blede. Thow gerlys grede We xul be wreke! Secundus Miles For swerdys sharpe As an harpe Quenys xul karpe And of sorwe synge! Barnys 3onge, They xul be stunge; Thurwe levyr and lunge We xal hem stynge! Angelus Awake, Joseph, and take þi wyff, Thy chylde also, ryd belyff. For Kynge Herowde with sharpe knyff His knyghtys he doth sende. The Fadyr of Hevyn hath to be sent Into Egypte þat þu be bent, For cruel knyghtys þi childe haue ment With swerd to sle and shende. Joseph Awake, good wyff, out of 3oure slepe, And of 3oure childe takyght good kepe Whyl I 3oure clothis ley on hepe And trus hem on þe asse. Kynge Herowde þe chylde wyl scloo, þerfore to Egypte muste we goo — An aungel of God seyd me soo. And þerfore lete us passe. Tunc ibunt milites ad pueros occidendos, et dicat Prima Femina: Prima Femina Longe lullynge haue I lorn! Alas! Qwhy was my baron born? With swappynge swerde now is he shorn, þe heed ryght fro þe nekke! Shanke and shulderyn is alto-torn! Sorwyn I se behyndyn and beforn, Both mydnyth, mydday, and at morn — Of my lyff I ne recke! Secunda Femina Serteynly I sey þe same: Gon is all my good game! My lytyll childe lyth all lame þat lullyd on my pappys. My fourty wekys gronynge Hath sent me sefne 3ere sorwynge. Mykyl is my mornynge And ryght hard arne myn happys. Primus Miles Lorde in trone, Makyght no mone. Qwenys gyn grone In werdl aboute. Upon my spere A gerle I bere, I dare well swere. Left moderys howte! Secundus Miles Lord, we han spad As 3e bad: Barnis ben blad And lyne in dych! Flesch and veyn Han tholyd peyn. And 3e xul reyne Euyrmore rych! Herodes Rex 3e xul haue stedys To 3oure medys, Londys and ledys, Fryth and fe! Wele haue 3e wrought, My fo is sought, To deth is he brought! Now come up to me. In sete now am I sett as kynge of myghtys most. All þis werd for þer loue to me xul þei lowt, Both of hevyn, and of erth, and of helle cost! For dygne of my dygnyté þei haue of me dowt! þer is no lord lyke on lyve to me wurth a toost, Nother kyng nor kayser in all þis worlde abought! If any brybour do bragge or blowe a3ens my bost, I xal rappe þo rebawdys and rake þem on rought With my bryght bronde! þer xal be neythe[r] kayser nere kynge But þat I xal hem down dynge, Lesse þan he at my byddynge Be buxum to myn honde! Now, my jentyll and curteys knyghtys, herke to me þis stownde: Good tyme sone, methynkygh, at dyner þat we were. Smertly, þerfore, sett a tabyll anon here ful sownde, Couerid with a coryous cloth and with rych wurthy fare — Servyse for be lovelyest lorde þat levynge is on grownde. Beste metys and wurthyest wynes loke þat 3e non spare, þow þat a lytel pynt xulde coste a thowsand pownde! Brynge alwey of þe beste, for coste take 3e no care. Anon þat it be done! Senescallus My lorde, þe tabyl is redy dyght. Here is watyr, now wasch forthryght. Now blowe up, mynstrall, with all 3oure myght! þe servyse comyth in sone. Herodes Rex Now am I sett at mete And wurthely servyd at my degré. Com forth, knyghtys, sytt down and ete And be as mery as 3e kan be. Primus Miles Lord, at 3owre byddynge we take oure sete, With herty wyl obey we the. þer is no lorde of myght so grett Thorwe all þis werde in no countré, In wurchepp to abyde. Herodes I was nevyr meryer herebeforn Sythe þat I was fyrst born Than I am now ryght in þis morn — In joy I gynne to glyde! Mors Ow! I herde a page make preysyng of pride! All prynces he passyth, he wenyth, of powsté. He wenyth to be be wurthyest of all þis werde wyde, Kynge ovyr all kyngys þat page wenyth to be! He sent into Bedlem to seke on every syde, Cryst for to qwelle yf þei myght hym se. But of his wykkyd wyl, lurdeyn, 3itt he lyede! Goddys sone doth lyve! þer is no lord but he. Ouyr all lordys he is kynge. I am Deth, Goddys masangere. Allmyghty God hath sent me here 3on lordeyn to sle, withowtyn dwere, For his wykkyd werkynge. I am sent fro God; Deth is my name. Allthynge þat is on grownd I welde at my wylie: Both man, and beste, and byrdys wylde and tame, Whan þat I come them to, with deth I do them kylle. Erbe, gres, and tres stronge, take hem all in-same; 3a, be grete myghty okys with my dent I spylle. What man þat I wrastele with, he xal ryght sone haue schame — I 3eve hym such a trepett he xal evyrmore ly stylle. For Deth kan no sporte. Wher I smyte þer is no grace, For aftere my strook man hath no space To make amendys for his trespace But God hym graunt comforte. Ow! Se how prowdely 3on kaytyff sytt at mete! Of deth hath he no dowte: he wenyth to leve evyrmore! To hym wyl I go and 3eve hym such an hete þat all be lechis of þe londe his lyf xul nevyr restore. A3ens my dredful dentys it vaylyth nevyr to plete! Or I hym part fro I xal hym make ful pore. All þe blood of his body I xal hym owt swete, For now I go to sle hym with strokys sad and sore, þis tyde. Bothe hym and his knyghtys all, I xal hem make to me but thrall. With my spere sle hem I xall And so cast down his pride! Herodes Rex Now, kende knyghtys, be mery and glad, With all good diligens shewe now sum myrth! For, be gracyous Mahound, more myrth nevyr I had, Ne nevyr more joye was inne from tyme of my byrth! For now my fo is ded and prendyd as a padde. Aboue me is no kynge on grownd nere on gerth. Merthis, þerfore, make 3e, and be ryght nothynge sadde. Spare nother mete nor drynke, and spare for no dyrthe Of wyne nor of brede. For now am I a kynge alone, So wurthy as I may þer be none! þerfore, knyghtys, be mery echone, For now my fo is dede. Primus Miles Whan þe boys sprawlyd at my sperys hende, By Sathanas oure syre, it was a goodly syght! A good game it was þat boy for to shende þat wolde a bene oure kynge and put 3ow from 3oure ryght. Secundus Miles Now trewly, my lorde þe kynge, we had ben vnhende, And nevyr non of us able for to be a knyght, If þat any of us to hem had ben a frende And a savyd any lyff a3en þi mekyl myght, From deth hem to flytt. Herodes Rex Amongys all þat grett rowthte, He is ded, I haue no dowte. þerfore, menstrell, rownd abowte, Blowe up a mery fytt! Hic, dum buccinant, Mors interficiat Herodem et duos milites subito, et Diabolus recipiat eos Diabolus All oure! All oure! þis catel is myn! I xall hem brynge onto my celle. I xal hem teche pleys fyn, And shewe such myrthe as is in helle! It were more bettyr amongys swyn þat evyrmore stynkyn, þerbe to dwelle, For in oure logge is so gret peyn þat non erthely tonge can telle! With 3ow I go my way. I xal 3ow bere forth with me And shewe 3ow sportys of oure gle. Of oure myrthis now xal 3e se And evyr synge "Welaway!" Mors Off Kynge Herowde all men beware, þat hath rejoycyd in pompe and pryde. For all his boste of blysse ful bare, He lyth now ded here on his syde. For 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. All men dwellyng upon þe grownde, Beware of me, be myn councel; For feynt felachep in me is fownde — I kan no curtesy, as I 3ow tel! For, be a man nevyr so sownde, Of helth 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, For whan men make most mery fare, þan sodeynly I cast hem in care, And sle þem evyn in dede! Thow I be nakyd and pore of array And wurmys knawe me al abowte, 3it loke 3e drede me nyth and day; For whan Deth comyth 3e stande in dowte! Evyn lyke to me, as I 3ow say, Shull all 3e be here in þis rowte, Whan I 3ow chalange at my day, I xal 3ow make ryght lowe to lowth And nakyd for to be. Amongys wormys, as I 3ow telle, Vndyr þe erth xul 3e dwelle, And thei xul etyn both flesch and felle, As þei haue don me. Christ Disputes with the Scholars in the Temple Modo de doctoribus disputantibus cum Jesu in templo Primus Doctor Scripture sacre esse dinoscimur doctos, We to bere þe belle of all maner clergyse Secundus Doctor Velud rosa omnium forum flos, Lyke onto us was nevyr clerke so wyse. Primus Doctor Loke what scyens 3e kan devyse Of redynge, wrytynge, and trewe ortografye, Amongys all clerkys we here þe 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 whoso wyll look, Seke no ferther but to oure presens. Of dyaletyk we haue be hy3 excellence, Of sophestrye, logyk, and phylosophye. Ageyn oure argemente is no recystence In metaphesyk ne astronomye. Primus Doctor Of calculacyon and negremauncye, Also of augrym and of asmatryk, O lynyacyon þat longyth to jematrye, Of dyetis and domys þat longyth to phesyk. In all þis scyens is non us lyke In Caton, Gryscysme, nor Doctrynal. And for endytynge with retoryke, þe hyest degré is oure be call. Secundus Doctor In grett canon and in cevyle lawe, Also in scyens of polycye, Is non to us wurthe an hawe. Of all cunnynge we gere þe maystrye. Therfore in þis temple we sytt on hye And of most wurchep kepe þe souereynté. þer is on erthe no man so wurthye þe hy3 stat to holdyn as we tweyn be. Jesus Omnis sciencia a Domino Deo est: Al wytt and wysdam, of God it is lent. Of all 3oure lernynge withinne 3oure brest Thank hyghly þat Lord þat hath 3ow sent. Thorwe host and pryde 3oure soulys may be shent. Of wytt and wysdome 3e haue not so mech But God may make at hese entente Of all 3oure connynge many man 3ow lech. Primus Doctor Goo hom, lytyl babe, and sytt on þi moderys lappe! And put a mokador aforn þi brest, And pray þi modyr to fede þe with þe pappe. Of þe for to lerne we desyre not to lest. Secundus Doctor Go to þi dyner, for þat behovyth the best! Whan þu art athreste, þan take þe a sowke. Aftyr, go to cradyl, þerin to take þi rest, For þat canst þu do bettyr þan for to loke on book. Jesus Stondynge þat 3e be so wytty and wyse, Can 3e owth tellyn how þis werde was wrought? How longe xal it laste can 3e devyse With all þe cunnynge þat 3e han sought? Primus Doctor Nay, all erthely clerkys þat telle can nought: It passyth oure wytt þat for to contryve. It is not possyble abought to be brought: þe worldys endyng no man kan dysscryve. Jesus How it was wrought and how longe it xal endure, þat I telle be good delyberacyon. Not only þerof but of every creature, How it is wrought I knowe be plasmacyon. Secundus Doctor Of þi wurdys I haue skorne and derys[y]on. How schulde a chylde þat nevyr lettyr dude lere Com to be wytt of so hy3 cognysion Of þe grete werkys þat so wundyrfull were? Jesus Allthynge is brought to informacyon Be thre personys, oo God in Trynité. And on of þo thre hath take incarnacyon, Bothe flesch and blood, of a mayd fre. And be þat myght of þo personys thre Hevyn, and erth, and allthynge is wrought. And as it plesyth þat hy3 mageste, Allthynge xal leste, and lenger nowght. Primus Doctor I grawnt weyl allthynge þat God dyde make, And withowtyn hym nothynge may be. But o thynge þu seydyst and þat I forsake: þat oo God alone was personys thre. Ryght onpossyble þat is to me: That on is thre I kannot thynke. If þu canst preve it, anon lett se, For in oure hertys it may nevyr synke. Jesus In þe sunne consydyr 3e thyngys thre: The splendure, þe hete, and þe lyght. As þo thre partys but oo sunne be, Ryght so thre personys be oo God of Myght. Secundus Doctor In very feyth, þis reson is ryght! But 3itt, fayr babe, oo thynge we pray 3ow: What do all þo thre personys hyght? Vs to enforme 3e sey to me now. Jesus The fyrst is calde þe Fadyr of Myght, þe secunde þe Sone of Wysdam and Wytt, þe Holy Gost þe iijde, of grace he is lyght; And in oo substauns all these iij be knyt. Primus Doctor Another questyon I aske 3ow 3itt: 3e seyd on of þese iij toke fiesch and blood, And sche a clene mayde — I kannot beleue it! Clene mayde and modyr nevyr 3it in oo persone stood. Jesus Lyke as be sunne doth perysch be glas, þe glas not hurte of his nature, Ryght so be Godhede entryd has þe Virgynes wombe, and sche mayd pure. That maydonys childe xal do grett cure, Convicte þe devyl in þe opyn felde, And with his bolde berst fecch hom his creature. Mankende to saue, his brest xal be þe shelde. Secundus Doctor This childys doctryne doth passe oure wytt! Sum aungel of hevyn I trowe þat he be. But, blyssyd babe, of oo dowte 3itt We pray 3ow enforme us for charyté: Which toke flesch of þe personys thre Ageyn be fende to holde such batayle? Jesus The secunde persone, forsothe, is he Xal fray þe fende withowte fayle. Primus Doctor Why rather he than any of þat tother? The fyrst or þe thyrde, why come they nowth? Jesus This is þe cawse why, sertys, and non other: Ageyn þe secunde þe trespas was wrought. Whan þe serpent Adam to synne browth, He temptyd hym nowght be þe Faderys myght; Of þe Gostys goodnes spak he ryght nowght; But in connynge he temptyd hym ryght. Myght is þe Faderys owyn propyrté, To þe Gost aproperyd is goodnes. In none of these tweyn temptyd he, Mankende to synne whan he dede dresse. To þe Sone connynge doth longe expres; Therwith þe serpent dyd Adam asay. "Ete of þis appyl," he seyd no lesse, "And þu xalt haue connynge as God verray" þus be secunde person attrybute Was only towchyd be temptacyon. Wherfore hymself wyl holde þe sewte And kepe his propyrté fro maculacion. Secundus Doctor This is an hevynly declaracyon: Oure naturall wytt it doth excede. So 3onge a childe of such informacyon, In al þis werld nevyr er non 3ede. Primus Doctor We be not worthy to kepe þis sete Whyll þat oure mayster is in presens. þe maystry of us þis childe doth gete; We must hym wurchep with hy3 reverens. Come forth, swete babe of grett excellens, þe whysest clerke þat evyr 3ett was born. To 3ow we 3eve þe hy3 resydens, Vs more to teche as 3e haue done beforn. Hic adducunt Jesum inter ipsos et in scanno altiori ipsum sedere faciunt, ipsis in inferioribus scannis sedentibus, et ait ijus doctor: Secundus Doctor So 3onge a chylde suche clergye to reche, And so sadly to sey it, we woundyr sore Who was 3oure mayster, who dede 3ow teche? Of what man had 3e þis wurthy lore? Jesus My wytt and my lernynge is no 3onge store: Or þis worde was wrought all þinge dede I knowe. Fyrst, or 3e wore borne, 3erys many score Thorwe þe myght of my fadyr my wytt in me dede flowe. Primus Doctor Or þat we weryn born? Nay, þat may nat be! þe 3ongest of us tweyn is iij score 3ere of age. And þiselfe art but a chylde, al men may wel se; Late camst out of cradyl, as it semyth be þi vesage. Jesus I am of dobyl byrth and of dobyl lenage: Fyrst be my fadyr I am without gynnynge. And lyke as he is hendeles in his hy3 stage, So xal I also neuyrmor haue endynge. For be my fadyr, Kynge Celestyall Without begynnyng, I am endles. But be my modyr, þat is carnall, I am but xij 3ere of age, þat is expres. My body of 3ough3 doth shewe wyttnes, Which of my modyr here I dude take. But [be] myn hy3 godhede, þis is no lesse, Allthynge in þis worlde, forsothe, dude I make. Secundus Doctor Be 3oure fadyr, þat endles is, Who is 3oure modyr? Telle us we pray. Jesus Be my fadyr, þe hy3 Kynge of Blys, A modyrles chylde I am, veray. Primus Doctor Who was 3oure fadyr, to us than say. Be 3oure modyr a woman þat was? Jesus I am fadyrles As for þat may, Of fleschly luste she dude nevyr trespas. Secundus Doctor Telle us, I pray 3ow, what is 3oure name? What hyght 3oure modyr, telle us also. Jesu Jesu of Nazareth, I am þe same, Born of a clene mayd, prophetys seyd so. Ysaye seyd bus: Ecce virgo, A mayd xal conceyve in clennes a chylde, 3itt ageyn nature and al kende, loo, From all wem of synne pure and vndefylde. Mary, þe chylde ofJoachym and Anne, Ys þat clene mayd, and here childe am I. þe frute of here wombe xal saue euery manne From þe grett dowte of þe fyndys tormentry. Primus Doctor All þe clerkys of þis worlde, trewly, Cannot brynge this to declaracyon Lesse þan þei haue of God Almyghty Sum influens of informacyon. Secundus Doctor No[w], jentyl Jesu, we 3ow pray, Whyl þat we stodye, a whyle to dwelle, In cas mo dowtys þat we fynde may, þe trewth of hem 3e may us telle. Jesu Goo take 3oure stodye and avyse 3ow well, And all 3oure leysere I xal abyde. If any dowtys to me 3e mell, þe trewth þerof I xall vnhyde. Maria Alas, alas, myn hert is wo! My blyssyd babe awey is went. I wott nevyr whedyr þat he is go. Alas, for sorwe myn hert is rent! Jentyl husbond, haue [3ou] hym sent Out on herrande to any place? But yf 3e knowe were [he] ys 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 þat he hens went? What tyme dude 3e 3oure childe last se? Maria Trewly, gode spowse, not þese days thre. þerfore myn herte is cast in care. Hym for to seke wherso he be, In hast, good husbonde, lete us forth fare. Joseph Than to Hierusalem lete us streyte wende, For kynred gladly togedyr wole gon. I hope he [is] þer with sum good frende; þer he hath cosynys ryght many on. Maria I am aferde þat he hath fon For his grett wyttys and werkys good. Lyke hym of wytt forsoth is non; Euery childe with hym is wroth and wood. Alas, my babe, my blys, my blood, Whedyr art þu þus gon fro me? My sowle, my swetyng, my frute, myn food, Send me ssum wurd where þat þu be. Telle me, good serys, for charyté, Jesu, my childe, þat babe of blysse, Amonge þis compayné dude 3e hym se? For Godys hy3 loue, telle where he is. Primus Doctor Of oo qwestyon I am bethought, All of 3oure modyr, þat blyssyd may: In what governauns is she brought? How is sche rewlyd be nyght and day? Jesu An old man, Joseph, as I 3ow say, Here weddyd be meracle onto his wyff, Here for to fede and kepe alway, And bothyn in clennesse be maydonys o lyff. Secundus Doctor What nede was it here to be wedde Onto a man of so grett age Lesse þan þei myght bothe a go to bedde And kept þe lawe of maryage? Jesus To blynde þe devyl of his knowlache, And my byrth from hym to hyde; þat holy wedlok was grett stopage þe 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 fadyr, of his hy3 magesté, Here for to comforte in þe way. These be be cawsys, as 3e may se, Why Joseph weddyd þat holy may. Maria A, dere childe, dere chylde, why hast þu þus done? For þe we haue had grett sorwe and care. Thy fadyr and I thre days haue gone Wyde þe to seke, of blysse ful bare. Jesus Why haue 3e sought me with evy fare? Wete 3e not wele þat I muste ben Amonge hem þat is my faderys ware, His gostly catel for to ovyrsen? Maria 3oure faderys wyl must nedys be wrought, It is most wurthy þat it so be. 3itt on 3oure modyr haue 3e sum thought, And be nevyrmore so longe fro me. As to my thynkynge, these days thre þat 3e absente haue ben away Be more lengere in þer degré þan all be xx space of xij 3ere day. Jesus Now for to plese my modyr mylde I xal 3ow folwe with obedyence. I am 3oure sone and subjecte childe, And owe to do 3ow hy3 reverence. Home with 3ow I wyl go hens, Of 3ow clerkys my leve I take. Euery childe xulde with good dyligens, His modyr to plese, his owyn wyl forsake. Primus Doctor O blyssyd Jesu, with 3ow we wende, Of 3ow to haue more informacyon. Ful blyssyd is 3oure modyr hende, Of whom 3e toke 3oure incarnacyon. We pray 3ow,Jesu, of consolacyon At oure most nede of 3oy to haue. All þat hath herd þis consummacyon Of þis pagent, 3oure grace þem saue. Amen The Baptism of Christ Johannes Ecce vox clamantes in deserto. I am þe voys of wyldirnese þat her spekyth and prechy[t]h yow to. Loke 3e forsake all wrecchidnesse; Forsake all synne þat werkyth woo, And turne to vertu and holynese. Beth clene of levyng in your sowle also. Than xall 3e be savyd from peynfulnese Of fyere brynnyng in hell. If þat 3e forsak synne, Hevyn blysse xall 3e wyne. Drede 3e not be devyllys gynne, With angellys xall yow dwell. Penitenciam nunc agite Appropinquabit regnum celorum: For your trespas penaunce do 3e And 3e xall wyn hevyn Dei Deorum. In hevyn blyse ye xall wyn to be Among þe blyssyd company omnium supernorum, þeras is all merth, joye, and glee Inter agmina angelorum, In blyse to abyde. Baptyme I cowncell yow for to take And do penaunce for your synnys sake. And for your offens amendys 3e make, Your synnys for to hyde. I gyff baptym in watyr puere þat is callyd Flom Jordon. My baptym is but sygnyfure Of his baptym þat his lyke hath non. He is a lord of gret valour; I am not worthy to onbokyll his schon. For he xall baptyze, as seyth Scryptour, þat comyth of hem all euerychone, In þe Holy Goost. He may dampne and he may save, All goodnese of hem we haue. þer may no man his werkys deprave, For he is Lord of myghtys most. Hic accedit Jesus ad Johannem, quem intuens Johannes dicat, digito demonstrans Jesum: Ecce Agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi. Beholde, þe Lombe of God is this þat comyth now here beforne, þe wich xall wasch þe worldys mys And save all þat that was forlorne. This same lombe, forsoth, it is þat of a mayd full clene was borne. Shamfull deth þis lambe, iwys, Xall suffer for us, and be all to-torne And rent on a roode. He xall suffer for mannys sake Lytyll rest and moch gret sorow and wrake: Hys bake xall be bowndyn to a stake And betyn owt all his bloode. Jesus Johan Baptyste, myn owyn good frende þat feythffully doth prech my wylle, I the thanke with all my mende For þat good servyse þu dost me tylle. Thy desyre is synne to shende, All synful lyff þu woldyst spylle. Thyn entente hath a good hende; þe lawe of God þu dost fulffylle þis tyde. Baptym to take I come to the, And conferme þat sacrement þat nowe xal be. In Flom Jordon þu baptyze me, In watyr þat is wyde. Johannes My Lorde God, þis behovyth me nought, With myn hondys to baptyze the. I xulde rather of the haue sought Holy baptym þan þu of me. Jesus Suffyr now, Johan, my wyl were wrought; All ryghtffullnes þus fulfyll we. Me to baptyze take þu no dowth; þe vertu of mekenes here tawth xal be, Euery man to lere And take ensawmple here by me, How mekely þat I come to þe. Baptym confermyd now xal be; Me to baptyze take þu no dwere. Johannes All men may take exaunple, lo, Of lowly mekenes evyn ryght here Be oure Lorde God þat comyth me to, Hese pore servaunt and his su[w]tere. Euery man lere to werke ryght so, Bothe kynge, and caysere, and grett empere; Be meke and lowe þe pore man to, And put out pryde in all manere — God doth here þe same. To þi byddynge, my Lord so dere, I me obey with gladsum chere, And baptyze the with watyr clere. Euyr halwyd be þi name. Spiritus Sanctus hic descendat super ipsum, et Deus, Pater Celestis, dicet in celo: [Deus] This is my wel-belovyd chylde, Ouyr whom my Spryte doth ouyrsprede, Clene, and pure and vndefylyd Of body, of sowle, for thought, for dede. That he is buxhum, meke, and mylde I am wel plesyd, withowtyn drede, Wysly to wysse 3ow from weys wylde. To lysten his lore all men I rede, And 3oure erys to herke. Take good heed what he doth preche And folwyth þe lawys þat he doth teche. For he xal be 3oure altheris leche, To saue 3ow from deuelys derke. Johannes Bap[tyst] Here I se with opyn syght The Sone of God þat þu erte: The Holy Goost ouyr the doth lyght, þi faderys voys I here ful smerte. The childe of God, as I þe plyght, þat þu be, whilys I am qwerte, I xall wyttnes to every whyght And teche it trewly with all myn hert. To sese, it were grett synne. For Goddys sone I wurchypp the, From hevyn þin hy3 magesté. Thu comyst hedyr from dygnité, Mannys sowle to wynne. Jesus Johan Baptyste, þu be wyttnes, The trewth loke þat þu nat hyde. For now I passe forth into wyldernes, The Holy Gost xal be my gyde. esus transit in desertum dicens et cetera: In whylsum place of desertnes XIti days, a terme ful wyde, And fourty nyghtys, both more and lesse, Withowtyn bodyly fode þer to abyde — For man þus do I swynke. Into deserte I passe my way For mannys sake, as I 3ow say. XIti nyghtys and xlti day I xal nowther ete nor drynke. Johan Baptyst In place where I passe wyttnes I bere, The trewth xal I telle wheresoevyr I go: þat Cryst, þe Sone of God, is become oure fere, Clad in oure clothynge to sofer for us wo. I baptyzid with myn owyn handys Cryst Jesu ryght here. And now he is to wyldyrnes, penawns þer to do, Informyng so all us, þat lord þat hath no pere, To do for oure trespace penawnce here also. Of penawnce do I preche. In wyttnes ryght be this þat what man for his mys Doth penawns here, iwys, His sowle he doth wel leche. All men on ground þat be 3itt on lyue, For 3oure grett offens loke 3e be repentaunt. Of all 3oure venym synne, I rede þat 3e 3ow shryve, For God is ful redy mercy for to graunt. Be contryte for 3oure trespas and penauns do belyve; Reconsyle 3oureself and be to God plesaunt. With contryscyon, schryffte, and penauns, þe devil may 3e dryve; Fer fro 3oure felachep he xal not be erraunt, 3ow for to meve. Do penauns and synne forsake, Shryfte of mowth loke þat 3e make; And þan þe fende in helle so blake, He xal 3ow nevyrmore greve. A tre þat is bareyn and wyl bere no frute, þe ownere wyl hewe it down and cast it on þe fyre. Ryght so it be [þe] man þat folwyth þe fowle sute Of þe devyl of helle, and werkyth his desyre. God wyl be vengyd on man þat is both dum and mute, þat Wyl nevyr be shrevyn, but evyrmore doth delyre. Clothe the in clennes, with vertu be indute, And God with his grace he wyl be sone inspyre To amendynge of þi mys. Schryfte of mowthe may best be saue, Penauns for synne what man wyl haue, Whan þat his body is leyd in grave, His sowle xal go to blys. Corne þat is good, men kepe it ful clene; Chaff þat 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 3ow to preche ful hertyly do I mene, Shryfft and satysfaccyon evyrmore to haue in thought. What man in good penauns and schryfte of mowth be sene, Of God he is wel-belovyd, þat all þis worlde hath wrought, And allþinge of nowth dede make. Now haue I tawght 3ow good penauns. God graunt 3ow grace at his plesauns To haue of synne delyverauns, For now my leve I take. The Parliament in Hell and the Temptation of Christ in the Desert Sathan Now Belyard and Belzabub, 3e derwurthy devel of helle, And wysest of councel amongys all þe rowte, Herke now what I sey, a tale I xall 3ow telle þat trobelyth sore my stomak; þerof I haue grett dowte. Belyall Syr Sathanas, oure souereyn syre, with þe wol we dwelle. All redy at þi byddynge, to þe do we lowte. If þu haue any nede of oure wyse counselle, Telle us now þi qwestyon all out and oute; Sey al þi dowt beden[e]. Belsabub 3a, sere, telle us þi dowte by and by, And we xul telle þe so sekyrly þat þu xalt knowe verryly What þi dowte doth mene. Sathan The dowte þat I haue, it is of Cryst, iwys. Born he was in Bedleem, as it is seyd, And many a man wenyth þat Goddys sone he is, Born of a woman, and she a clene mayd. And all þat evyr he prechyth, it is of hevyn blys. He wyl lese oure lawe, I am ryght sore afrayd! Fayn wolde I knowe who were fadyr his, For of kis grett dowte I am sore dysmayd, Indede. If þat he be Goddys childe And born of a mayd mylde, Than be we rygh sore begylde, And short xal ben oure spede! Therfore, serys, sumwhat þat 3e shewe In þis grett dowth what is best to do. If he be Goddys sone, he wyl brede a shrewe And werke us mech wrake, both wrech and woo! Sorwe and care he wyl sone strewe; All oure gode days þan xulde sone be goo. And all oure lore and all oure lawe he wyl down hewe, And þan be we all lorn, if þat it be soo — He wyll don vs all tene! He wyll be lorde ouyr hevyn and helle, And feche awey all oure catelle. þerfore shewe now sum good counselle, What comfort may best bene. Belyall The best wytt þat I kan say, Hym to tempte, forsoth, it is. With sotyl whylys, if þat þu may, Asay to make hym to don amys. If þat he synne, þis is no nay, He may nat be Kynge of Blys. Hym to tempte go walke þi way, For best counsell I trowe be this. Go forth now and assay. Belsabub The best wytt I hold it be Hym to tempte in synnys thre, The whiche mankendeis frelté Doth falle sonest alway. Sathan So afftyr 3oure wytt now wyll I werke; I wyll no lengere now here abyde. Be he nevyr so wyse a clerke, I xal apposyn hym withinne a tyde. Belsabub Now, louely Lucyfer in helle so derke, Kynge and lorde of synne and pryde, With sum myst his wyttys to merke, He send þe grace to be þi gyde, And evyrmore be þi spede. Belyall All be deuelys þat ben in helle Shul pray to Mahound, as I þe telle, þat þu mayst spede þis jurney well, And comforte the in þis dede. Jesus Xlti days and xlti nyght Now haue I fastyd for mannys sake. A more grett hungyr had neuyr no wyght Than I myself begynne to take. For hungyr in peyn stronge am I pyght, And bred haue I non myn hungyr for to slake. A lytel of a loof relese myn hungyr myght, But mursele haue I non my comforte for to make. This suffyr I, man, for the. For þi glotenye and metys wronge I suffyr for þe þis hungyr stronge. I am afferde it wyl be longe Or þu do þus for me. Sathan The Sone of God if þat þu be, Be þe grett myght of þi Godhede, Turne these flyntys, anon lett se, From arde stonys to tendyr brede! More bettyr it is, as I telle the, Wysely to werke aftyr my reed And shewe þi myght of grett majesté, Than thorwe grett hungyr for to be dede. These stonys now bred þu make. Goddys sone if þat þu be, Make these stonys bred, lett se; þan mayste þu ete ryght good plenté, Thyn hungyr for to slake. Jesus Nott only be bred mannys lyff 3itt stood, But in þe wurde of God, as I þe say. To mannys sowle is neuyr mete so good As is þe wurd of God, þat prechid is alway. Bred materyal doth norch blood, But to mannys sowle, þis is no nay, Nevynnore may be a betyr food þan þe wurd of God, þat lestyth ay. To here Goddys wurde, þerfore, man, loue. Thi body doth loue materal brede; Withoute þe wurde of God þi soule is but dede. To loue prechynge, þerfore, I rede, If þu wylt duellyn in blysse above. Sathan For no grett hungyr þat I kan se In glotony þu wylt not synne. Now to þe temple com forth with me, And þer xal I shewe þe a praty gynne. Vp to þis pynnacle now go we, I xal be sett on þe hy3est pynne. Ther I preue what þat þu be. Or þat we tweyn part atwynne, I xal knowe what myght þu haue. Hic ascendit Deus pinnaculum templi dum diabolus dicit quod sequitur: Whan þu art sett upon þe pynnacle, þu xalt her pleyn a qweynt steracle, Or ellys shewe a grett meracle; Thysself from hurte þu saue. Hic Satanas ponit Jesum super pinnaculum dicens: Now if þu be Goddys Ssone of Myght, Ryght down to þe erth anon þu falle, And saue þisylf in every plyght From harm, and hurte, and scappys alle. For it is wretyn [þat] aungelys bryght þat ben in hevyn, þi faderys halle, The to kepe both day and nyght Xul be ful redy as þi thralle, Hurt þat þu non haue. þat þu stomele not ageyn þe ston And hurt þi fote as þu dost gon, Aungell be redy all everychon In weys be to saue. Jesus It is wretyn in holy book, þi Lorde God þu xalt not tempte. Allthynge must obeye to Goddys look: Out of his myght is non exempt. Out of þi cursydnes and cruel crook By Godys grace man xal be redempt, Whan þu to helle, þi brennynge brook, To endles peyne xal evyr be dempt, Therin aiwey to abyde. Thi Lorde God þu tempt no more! It is nott syttenge to þi lore. I bydde þe sese anon, þerfore, And tempte God in no tyde. Sathan Ow! In gloteny nor in veynglory it doth ryght nott avayl! Cryst for to tempt it profyteth me ryght nought. I must now begynne to haue a newe travayl: In covetyse to tempt hym it comyth now in my thought. For if I went þus away and shrynkyd as a snayle, Lorn were þe labore all þat I haue wrought. þerfore in covetyse oure syre I xal asayle, And assay into þat synne yf he may be brought Anon forthryght. Syr, 3itt onys I pray to the, To his hy3 hyl com forth with me. I xal þe shewe many a ceté And many a wurthy syght. Tunc Jesus transit cum diabolo super montem, et diabolus dicit: Into be northe loke forth evyn pleyn; The Towre of Babolony þer mayst þu se. The ceté of Jerusalem stondyth her ageyn, And evyn fast þerby stondyth Galylé; Nazareth, Naverne, and þe kyngdom of Spayn; Zabulon and Neptalym, þat is a rych countré; Bothe Zebee and Salmana þu mayst se, serteyn; Itayl and Archage, hat wurthy remys be; Bothe Januense and Jurye; Rome doth stonde before þe ryght; The temple of Salamon, as sylver bryght, And here mayst þu se opynly with syght Both Fraunce and Normandye. Turne þe now on þis syde and se here Lumbardye; Of spycery her growyth many an C balys. Archas, and Aragon, and grett Almonye, Parys, and Portyngale, and be town of Galys; Pownteys, and Poperynge, and also Pycardye, Erlonde, Scottlonde, and be londe of Walys; Grete pylis and castellys þu mayst se with eye, 3a, and all be wyd werde, withoute mo talys. All þis longygh to me. If þu wylt knele down to þe grownde And wurchepp me now in his stownde, All his world þat is so rownd, I xal it gyve to the. Jesus Go abak, þu fowle Sathanas! In Holy Scrypture wretyn it is, Thi Lorde God to wurchipp in every plas As for his thrall, and þu 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 þat he is I kannot se; Whethyr God or man, what þat he be I kannot telle in no degré. For sorwe I lete a crakke. Hic uenient angeli cantantes et ministrantes ei, "Gloria tibi Domine" dicens. Jesus Now all mankende exaunple take By these grete werkys þat þu dost se, How hathe þe devyll of helle so blake In synne was besy to tempte me. For all hise maystryes þat he dyd make, He is ouyrcom and now doth fle. All his I suffyr for mannys sake, To teche þe how þu xalt rewle the Whan þe devylle dothe the assayle. Loke þu concente nevyr to synne For no sleytys ne for no gynne. And þan be victory xalt þu wynne; þe devyl xal lesyn all his travayl. To suffyr temptacyon, it is grett peyn. If þu withstonde it, þu wynnyst grett mede. Of God be more grace þu hast, serteyn, If þu withsett þe devyl in his dede. Thow þat þe fende tempt þe ageyn, Of his power take þu no drede, For God hath the 3ovyn both myght and mayn Hym for to withsytt evyr at nede — þu hast more myght than he! Whan þe devyl doth tempte the thoo, Shewe þi myght a3ens þi foo. Whan þi sowle partyth the froo, In blysse þan xal it be. Amen 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 The Raising of Lazarus Hic incipit de suscitacione Lazari: 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. Systyr Martha, and Mawdelyn eke, With hast helpe me in bedde to dresse. For trewly I am so woundyrly seke I may nevyr schape his grett seknes — My deth is com now, I gesse. Help into chawmere þat I be led. My grett desesse I hope xal lesse If I were leyd upon a bed. 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. Hic portauit corpus ad sepelliendum. 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. Hic iiijus Consolator et Nuncius loquitur Jesu, dicens: 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. But if men walke whan it is nyght, Sone they offende in þat dyrknes. Becawse they may haue no cler syght, They hurte there fete ofte in such myrkenes. But as for this, 3itt nevyrþelesse, The cawse þerfore I thedyr wyl wende Is for to reyse from hedde expresse Lazare, þat slepyth, oure althere frende. 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. Eche man in me þat feythful is, And ledyth his lyff aftere my lore, Of hendeles lyff may he nevyr mys: Euere he xal leve, and deye nevyrmore. The body and sowle I xal restore To endeles joye. Dost þu trowe this? Martha I hope in the, O Cryst, ful sore. þu art þe Sone of God in blys. Thy fadyr is God, of lyff endeles; þiself is sone of lyff and gras. To sese these wordlys wrecchydnes, From hefne to erth þu toke þe pas. 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. Hic Jesus fingit se lacrimari. 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, eleuatis ad celum oculis, dicit: 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, But for his pepyl þat stondyth about And beleue not þe power of þe and me, Them for to brynge clene out of dowt, This day oure myght thei all xul se. Hic Jesus clamat voce magna dicens: Lazare, Lazare, my frende so fre, From þat depe pitt come out anon! Be þe grett myght of þe hy3 magesté, Alyve þu xalt on erth ageyn gon. 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. Hic resurget Lazarus ligatis manibus et pedibus ad modum sepult[i], et dicit Jesus: 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. The First Passion Play: The Prologues of the Lucifer and John the Baptist, Judas and the Conspiracy Against Christ, and Christ's Entry into Jerusalem Demon I am 3oure lord, Lucifer, þat out of helle cam, Prince of his Werd and gret Duke of Helle! Wherefore my name is clepyd Sere Satan, Whech aperyth among 3ow a matere to spelle. I am norsshere of synne to þe confusyon of man, To bryng hym to my dongeon, þer in fyre to dwelle. Hosoevyr serve me, so reward hym I kan þat he xal syng "wellaway" evyr in peynes felle. Lo, þus bountevous a lord þan 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. For I began in hefne synne for to sowe Among all þe angellys þat weryn þere so bryth; And þerfore was I cast out into helle ful lowe, Notwithstandyng I was þe fayrest and berere of lyth. 3et I drowe in my tayle of þo angelys bryth With me into helle — takyth good hed what I say — I lefte but tweyn a3ens on to abyde here in lyth; But be iijde part come with me, þis may not be seyd nay. Takyth hed to 3oure prince, þan, my pepyl euerychon, And seyth what maystryes in hefne I gan þer do play. To gete a thowsand sowlys in an houre, methynkyth it but skorn Syth I wan Adam and Eve on þe 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, For of þe stonys to a mad bred; but sone I had conclusyon; þan upon a pynnacle, but angelys were to hym assystent — His answerys were mervelous, I knew not his intencyon; And at þe last to veynglory, but nevyr I had myn intent. And now hath þe xij dysypulys to his attendauns. To eche town and cety he sendyth hem as bedellys, In dyverce place to make for hym puruyauns. The pepyl of hese werkys ful grettly merveyllys: To þe crokyd, blynd and dowm, his werkys provaylys; Lazare, þat 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 saluacyon. þan xal þe trewth be tryed, and no ferdere be delayd, Whan þe soule fro þe body xal make separacyon. And as for hem þat be vndre my grett domynacyon, He xal fayle of hese intent and purpose also, Be þis tyxt of holde remembryd to myn intencyon: Quia in inferno nulla est redempcio. But whan þe tyme xal neyth of his persecucyon, I xal arere new engynes of malycyous conspiracy! Plenté of reprevys I xal provide to his confusyon. þus xal I false þe wordys þat his pepyl doth testefy. His discipulis xal forsake hym and here maystyr denye; Innovmberabyl xal hese woundys be, of woful grevauns; A tretowre xal countyrfe his deth to fortyfye. þe rebukys þat he gyf me xal turne to his displesauns. Some of hese dyscypulys xal be chef of his ordenawns. þat xal fortefye his term, þat "in trost is treson." þus xal I venge be sotylté at my malycyous grevauns, For nothyng may excede my prudens and dyscrecyon. Gyff me 3oure love, grawnt me myn affeccyon, And I wyl vnclose þe tresour of lovys alyawns, And gyff 3ow 3oure desyrys afftere 3oure intencyon; No poverté xal aproche 3ow fro plentevous abundauns. Byholde þe dyvercyté of my dysgysyd varyauns, Eche thyng sett of dewe naterall dysposycyon, And eche parte acordynge to his resemblauns, Fro þe sool of þe foot to be hyest asencyon: Off fyne cordewan a goodly peyre of long-pekyd schon; Hosyn enclosyd of þe most costyous cloth of crenseyn (þus a bey to a jentylman to make comparycyon), With two doseyn poyntys of cheverelle, þe aglottys of syluer feyn; A shert of feyn Holond (but care not for þe payment!), A stomachere of clere Reynes, þe best may be bowth (þow poverté be chef, lete pride her be present, And all þo þat repreff pride, þu sette hem at nowth); Cadace, wolle, or flokkys, where it may be sowth, To stuffe withal þi dobbelet and make þe of proporcyon Two smale legges and a gret body (þow it ryme nowth, 3et loke þat þu desyre to an þe newe faccyon); A gowne of thre 3erdys (loke þu make comparison Vnto all degrees dayly þat passe þin astat); A purse withoutyn mony, a daggere for devoscyon (And here repref is of synne, loke þu make debat); With syde lokkys I schrewe þin here, to þi colere hangyng down, To herborwe qweke bestys þat tekele men onyth; An hey smal bonet for curying of þe crowne. And all beggerys and pore pepyll, haue hem in dyspyte. Onto þe grete othys and lycherye gyf þi delyte. To maynteyn þin astate lete brybory be present. And yf be lawe repreve þe, say þu wylt fyth And gadere þe a felachep after þin entent. Loke þu sett not be precept nor be comawndement: Both sevyle and canoun sett þu at nowth. Lette no membre of God but with othys be rent — Lo, þus his werd at his tyme to myn intent is browth. I, Sathan, with my felawus þis werd hath sowth, And now we han it at houre plesawns. For synne is not shamfast, but boldnes hath bowth þat xal cause hem in helle to han inerytawns. A beggerys dowtere to make gret purvyauns To cownterfete a jentylwoman, dysgeysyd as she can. And yf mony lakke, þis is þe 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 lechory to hem þat wyl bey; And þei þat wyl not by it, yet mow xal þei han, And telle hem it is for love — she may it not deney. I haue browth 3ow newe namys, and wyl 3e se why? For synne is so plesaunt to ech mannys intent. 3e xal kalle pride "onesté," and "naterall kend" lechory, And covetyse "wysdam" there tresure is present; Wreth, "manhod," and envye callyd "chastement" (Seyse nere sessyon, lete perjory be chef); Glotenye, "rest" (let abstynawnce beyn absent). And he þat wole exorte þe to vertu, put hem to repreff! To rehers al my servauntys, my matere is to breff, But all þese xal eneryth þe dyvicyon eternal. þow Cryst by his sotylté many materys meef, In evyrlastynge peyne with me dwellyn þei xal. Remembre, oure seruauntys whoys sowlys ben mortall, For I must remeffe for more materys to provyde, I am with 3ow at all tymes whan 3e to councel me call; But for a short tyme myself I devoyde. Johannes Baptis[ta] I, Johan Baptyst, to 3ow þus prophesye: þat on xal come aftyr me and not tary longe, In many folde more strengere þan I, Of whose shon I am not worthy to lose þe thonge. Wherefore I councel þe 3e reforme all wronge In 3oure concyens of þe mortall dedys sevyn. And for to do penawns loke þat 3e fonge; For now xal come be kyngdham of hevyn. þe weys of oure Lord cast 3ow to aray, And þerin to walk, loke 3e be applyande. And make his pathys as ryth as 3e may, Kepyng ryth forth, and be not declinande Neyther to fele on ryth nor on lefte hande, But in þe myddys purpose 3ow to holde. For þat in all wyse is most plesande, As 3e xal here whan I have tolde. Of his wey for to make moralysacyon, Be þe ryth syde 3e xal vndyrstonde "mercy;" And on þe lefte syde lykkenyd :dysperacyon;" And þe patthe betwyn bothyn þat may not wry Schal be "hope and drede," to walk in perfectly, Declynyng not to fele for no maner nede. Grete cawsys I xal shove 3ow why þat 3e xal sewe þe patthe of hope and drede. On þe mercy of God to meche 3e xal not holde, As in þis wyse, behold what I mene: For to do synne, be þu no more bolde In trost þat God wole mercyful bene. And yf be sensualyté, as it is ofte sene, Synnyst dedly, þu xalt not þerfore dyspeyre; But þerfore do penawns and confesse þe clene, And of hevyn þu mayst trost to ben eyre. þe pathe þat lyth to þis blyssyd enherytawns Is hope and drede, copelyd be conjunccyon. Betwyx þese tweyn may be no dysseuerawns, For hope withoutyn drede is maner of presumpcyon; And drede withowtyn hope is maner of dysperacyon. So these tweyn must be knyt be on acorde. How 3e xal aray þe wey I haue made declar[acyon], Also þe ryth patthis a3ens þe comyng of oure Lord. Here xal Annas shewyn hymself in his stage beseyn aftyr a busshop of þe hoold lawe in a skarlet gowne, and ouyr þat a blew tabbard furryd with whyte, and a mytere on his hed after þe 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 þe crowne; and on stondyng beforn as a Sarazyn, þe wich xal be his masangere, Annas þus seyng: Annas As a prelat am I properyd to provyde pes, And of Jewys jewge, þe lawe to fortefye. I, Annas, be my powere xal comawnde, dowteles: þe lawys of Moyses no man xal denye! Hoo excede my comawndement, anon 3e certefye; Yf any eretyk here reyn, to me 3e compleyn. For in me lyth þe powere all trewthis to trye, And pryncypaly oure lawys — þo must I susteyn. 3ef I may aspey þe contrary, no wheyle xal þei reyn, But anon to me be browth and stonde present Before here jewge, wich xal not feyn, But aftere here trespace gef hem jugement. Now, serys, for a prose, heryth myn intent: There is on Jesus of Nazareth þat oure lawys doth excede. Yf he procede thus, we xal us all repent, For oure lawys he dystroyt dayly with his dede. Therefore be 3oure cowncel we must take hede What is be[st] to provyde or do in his case. For yf we let hym þus go and ferdere prosede, Ageyn Sesare and oure lawe we do trespace. Primus Doctor Serys, his is myn avyse þat 3e xal do: Send to Cayphas for cowncel, knowe his intent. For yf Jesu proce[de], and þus forth go, Oure lawys xal be dystroyd, thes se we present. Secundus Doctor Sere, remembre þe gret charge þat on 3ow is leyd, þe lawe to ke[pe], which may not fayle. Yf any defawth prevyd of 3ow be seyd, þe Jewys with trewth wyl 3ow asayl. Tak hed whath cownsayl may best provayl. After Rewfyn and Leyon I rede þat 3e sende — They arn temperal jewgys þat knowyth þe perayl — With 3oure cosyn Cayphas þis matere to amende. Annas Now surely þis cowncel revyfe myn herte! 3oure cowncel is best, as I can se. Arfexe, in hast loke þat þu styrte, And pray Cayphas my cosyn come speke with me. To Rewfyn and Leon þu go also, And pray hem þei speke with me in hast. For a pryncipal matere þat haue to do, Wich must be knowe or þis day be past. Arfexe My souereyn, at 3oure intent I xal gon In al þe hast hat I kan hy Onto Cayphas, Rewfyn, and Lyon, And charge 3oure intent þat þei xal ply. Here goth þe masangere forth; and in þe menetyme Cayphas shewyth himself in his skafhald arayd lych to Annas, savyng his tabbard xal be red furryd with white; ij doctorys with hym arayd with pellys aftyr þe old gyse and furryd cappys on here hedys; Cayphas þus seyng: Cayphas As a primat most preudent, I present here sensyble Buschopys of þe lawe with al þe cyrcumstawns. I, Cayphas, am jewge with powerys possyble To distroye all errouris þat in oure lawys make varyawns. All thyngys I convey be reson and temperawnce, And all materis possyble to me ben palpable. Of þe lawe of Moyses I haue a chef governawns; To seuere ryth and wrong in me is termynable. But þer is on Cryst þat [in] oure lawys is varyable; He perverte þe pepyl with his prechyng ill. We must seke a mene onto hym reprevable For yf he procede, oure lawys he wyl spyll! We must take good cowncel in þis case Of þe wysest of þe lawe þat kan þe trewthe telle, Of þe jewgys of Pharasy and of my cosyn Annas. For yf he procede, be prossesse oure lawys he wyl felle. Primus Doct[or] Myn lord, plesyt 3ow to pardon me for to say þe blame in 3ow is, as we fynde, To lete Cryst contenue þus day be day, With his fals wicheraft þe pepyl to blynde. He werkyth fals meraclis ageyns all kende, And makyth oure pepyl to leve hem in. It is 3oure part to take hym and do hym bynde, And gyf hym jugement for his gret syn. Secundus Doctor Forsothe, sere, of trewth this is þe case: Onto oure lawe 3e don oppressyon þat 3e let Cryst from 3ou pace And wyl not don on hym correxion. Let Annas knowe 3oure intencyon, With prestys and jewgys of þe lawe; And do Cryst forsake his fals oppynyon — Or into a preson lete hem be thrawe! Cayphas Wel, serys, 3e 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 þe masangere to Cayphas; and in þe menetyme Rewfyn and Lyon schewyn hem in þe place in ray tabardys furryd, and ray hodys abouth here neckys furryd; þe masangere seyng: Masangere Myn reverent souereyn, and it do 3ow plese, Sere Annas, my lord, hath to 3ou sent. He prayt 3ou þat 3e xal not sese Tyl þat 3e ben with hym present. Cayphas Sere, telle myn cosyn I xal not fayl. It was my purpose hym for to se For serteyn rnaterys þat wyl provayle, þow he had notwth a sent to me. Masager I recomende me to 3oure hey degré. On more massagys I must wende. Cayphas Farewel, sere, and wel 3e be. Gret web my cosyn and my fre[n]de. Here þe masager metyth with þe jewgys, sayng: Masager Heyl, jewgys of Jewry, of reson most prudent! Of my massage to 3ou I make relacyon: My lord, Sere Annas, hath for 3ou sent, To se his presens withowth delacyon. 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 hym we xal come in hast: No delacyon þerin xal be, But to his presens hye us fast. Masager I xal telle my lord, seris, as 3e say, 3e wyl fulfylle al his plesawns. Rewfyn Sere, telle hym we xal make no delay, But come in hast at his instawns. Here þe masangere comyth to Annas, þus seyng: Masan[ger] My lord, and it plese 3ou to haue intellygens, Ser Cayphas comyth to 3ou in hast. Rewfyn and Lyon wyl se 3oure presens, And se 3ow here or þis day be past. Annas Sere, I kan þe thank of þi dyligens. Now ageyn my cosyn I wole walk. Serys, folwyth me onto his presens, For of these materys we must talk. Here Annas goth down to mete with Cayphas, and in þe menetyme þus seyng: Cayphas Now onto Annas let us wende, Ech of vs to knowe otherys intent. Many materys I haue in mende, þe wich to hym I xal present. Primus Doctor C[ayphas] Sere, of all othere thyng, remembre þis case: Loke þatJesus be put to schame. Secundus Doctor C[ayphas] Whan we come present beforn Annas, Whe xal rehers all his gret blame. Here þe buschopys with here clerkys and þe Pharaseus mett [at] þe mydplace, and þer xal be a lytil oratory with stolys and cusshonys, clenly beseyn lych as it were a cownsel hous; Annas þus seyng: Annas Welcome, Sere Cayphas and 3e jewgys alle! Now xal 3e knowe all myn entent: A wondyr case, serys, here is befalle On wich we must gyf jewgement — Lyst þat we aftere þe case repent — Of on Cryst, þat Goddys sone som doth hym calle. He shewyth meraclys and sythe present þat he is prynce of pryncys alle. The pepyl so fast to hym doth falle, Be prevy menys as we aspye, 3yf he procede, son sen 3e xalle þat oure lawys he wyl dystrye. It is oure part þ[i]s to deny. What is 3oure cowncell in þis cas? Cayphas Be reson þe trewth here may we try. I cannot dem hym withouth trespace Because he seyth in every a place þat he [is] Kyng of Jewys in every degré. þerfore he is fals, knowe wel þe 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 3e beholde; He is worthy to dey with mekyl peyn! Leon þe cawse þat we been here present: To fortefye þe lawe; and, trewth to say, Jesus ful nere oure lawys hath shent — þerfore he is worthy for to day! Primius Doctor An[nas] Serys, 3e þat ben rewelerys of þe lawe, On Jesu 3e must gyf jugement. Let hym fyrst ben hangyn and drawe, And þanne his body in fyre be brent. Secundus Now xal 3e here be intent of me: Take Jesu, þat werke us all gret schame, Put hym to deth! Let hym not fle, For than þe comownys, þei wyl 3ow blame. Primus Doctor Cayp [Has] He werke with wechecrafte in eche place, And drawyth þe pepyl to hese intent. Bewhare, 3e jewgys, let hym not passe; þan, be my trowthe, 3e xal repent. Secundus Doctor Cayphas Serys, takyth hede onto þis case, And in 3oure jewgement be not slawe. þer was nevyr man dyd so gret trespace As Jesu hath don ageyn oure lawe. Annas Now, bretheryn, þan wyl 3e here myn intent? These ix days let us abyde. We may not gyf so hasty jugement, But eche man inqwere on his syde: Send spyes abouth þe countré wyde To se, and recorde, and testymonye. And þan hese werkys he xal not hyde, Nor haue no power hem to denye. Cayphas This cowncell acordyth to my reson. Annas And we all to be same. Jesus Frendys, beholde þe tyme of mercy, The whiche is come now, withowt dowth. Mannys sowle in blys now xal edyfy, And þe Prynce of þe Werd is cast owth. Go to 3on castel þat standyth 3ow ageyn, Sum of myn dyscyplis — go forth, 3e to. þere xul 3e fyndyn bestys tweyn: An asse tyed and here fole also. Vnlosne þat asse and brynge it to me pleyn. Iff any ma[n] aske why þat 3e do so, Sey þat I haue nede to þis best, certeyn, And he xal not lett 3ow 3oure weys for to go. þat best brynge 3e to me. Primus Apostolus Holy prophete, we gon oure way; We wyl not 3oure wourd delay. Also sone as þat we may, We xal it brynge to the. Here þei fecch þe asse with þe fole, and þe burgeys seyth: Burgensis Herke, 3e men, who 3aff 3ow leve Thus his best for to take away? But only for pore men to releve This asse is ordayned, as I 3ow say. Phiuppus Good sere, take this at no greff. Oure maystyr us sent hedyr þis day. He hath grett nede, withowt repreff þerfore not lett us, I þe pray, þis best for to lede. Burgensis Sethyn þat it is so þat he hath 3ow sent, Werkyth his wyll and his intent: Take þe beste, as 3e be bent, And evyr wel mote 3e spede. Jacobus Minor This best is brought ryght now here, lo, Holy prophete, at þin owyn wylle. And with his cloth anon also, his bestys bak we xal sone hylle. Philippus Now mayst þu ryde whedyr þu wylt go, Thyn holy purpos to fulfylle. Thy best ful redy is dyth þe to; Bothe meke and tame, þe best is stylle. And we be redy also, Iff it be plesynge to þi ssyght, The to helpe anon forthryght, Vpon his best þat þu were dyght, þi jurney for to do. Here Cryst rydyth out of þe place and he wyl, and Petyr and Johan abydyn stylle; and at þe last, whan þei haue don þer prechyng, ]ei mete with Jesu. Petrus O 3e pepyl dyspeyryng, be glad! A grett cawse 3e haue, and 3e kan se: The Lord, þat allthynge of nought mad, Is comynge 3oure comfort to be. All 3oure langoris salvyn xal be; 3oure helthe is more than 3e kan wete. He xal cawse þe blynde þat þei xal se, þe def to here, þe dome for to speke. þei þat be crokyd, he xal cause hem to goo, In þe wey þat Johan Baptyst of prophecyed. Sweche a leche kam 3ow nevyr non too. Wherfore, what he comawndyth, loke [b]e applyed! þat som of 3ow be blynd, it may not be denyid, For hym þat is 3oure makere, with 3oure gostly ey 3e xal not knowe. Of his comaundementys in 3ow gret necglygens is aspyed; Wherefore def fro gostly heryng clepe 3ow I howe. And some of 3ow may not go, 3e be so crokyd, For of good werkyng in 3ow is lytyl habundawns. Tweyn fete heuery man xuld haue, and it were lokyd, Wyche xuld bere þe body gostly, most of substawns: Fyrst is to love God above all other plesawns; þe secunde is to love þi neybore as þin owyn persone. And yf þese tweyn be kepte in perseverawns, Into þe celestyal habytacyon 3e arn habyl to gone. Many of 3ow be dome. Why? For 3e wole not redresse Be mowthe 3oure Dedys Mortal, but þerin don perdure. Of þe wych but 3e haue contrycyon and 3ow confesse, 3e may not inheryte hevyn, his I 3ow ensure. And of all þese maladyes 3e may haue gostly cure, For be hevynly leche is comyng 3ow for to vicyte. And as for payment, he wole shewe 3ow no red[d]ure, For with þe love of 3owre hertys he wole be aqwhyte. Johannes Apostolus Onto my brotherys forseyd rehersall þat 3e xuld 3eve þe more veray confydens, I come with hym as testymonyall, For to conferme and fortefye his sentens. þis lord xal come without resystens; Onto þe cetyward he is now comyng. Wherefore dresse 3ow with all dew dylygens To honowre hym as 3oure makere and kyng. And to fulfylle þe prophetys prophesé, Vpon an asse he wole hedyr ryde, Shewyng 3ow exawmple of humylyté, Devoydyng þe abhomynable synne of pryde, Whech hath ny conqweryd all þe werd wyde, Grettest cause of all 3oure trybulacyon. Vse it hoso wole, for it is þe best gyde þat 3e may haue to þe place of dampnacyon. Now, brothyr in God, syth we have intellygens þat oure Lord is ny come to þis ceté, To attend upon his precyous presens It syttyth to us, as semyth me. Wherfore to mete whit hym now go we. I wold fore nothyng we where to late. To þe cetéward fast drawyth he; Mesemyth he is ny at be [g]ate. Here spekyth þe iiij ceteseynys, þe fyrst þus seyng: Primus Ciues De Jerusalem Neyborys, gret joye in oure herte we may make þat þis hefly kyng wole vycyte þis cyté! Secundus Ciues Yf oure eerly kyng swech a jorné xuld take, To don hym honour and worchepe besy xuld we be. Tercius Ciues Meche more, þan, to þe hevynly kyng bownd are we For to do þat xuld be to his persone reuerens. Quartus Ci[ues] Late vs þan welcome hym with flowrys and brawnchis of þe tre, For he wole take þat to plesawns becawse of redolens. Here þe iiij ceteseynys makyn hem redy for to mete with oure Lord, goyng barfot and barelegged and in here shyrtys, savyng þei xal have here gownys cast abouth them. And qwan þei seen oure Lord þei xal sprede þer clothis beforn hym, and he xal lyth and go þerupon. And þei xal fall downe upon þer knes all atonys, þe fyrst þus seyng: Primus Clues Now blyssyd he be þat in oure Lordys name To us in any wyse wole resorte. And we beleve veryly þat þu dost þe same, For be þi mercy xal spryng mannys comforte. Here Cryst passyth forth. þer metyth with hym a serteyn of chylderyn with flowrys, and cast beforn hym. And they synggyn "Gloria laus," and beforn on seyt: Thow sone of Davyd, þu be oure supporte At oure last day whan we xal dye! Wherefore we alle atonys to þe exorte, Cryeng mercy! Mercy! Mercye! Jesu Frendys, beholde þe tyme of mercy, þe wich is come now withowtyn dowth. Mannys sowle in blysse now xal edyfy, And þe Prynce of þe Werd is cast owth. As I haue prechyd in placys abowth, And shewyd experyence to man and wyf, Into þis werd Goddys sone hath sowth For veray loue man to revyfe. The trewthe of trewthis xal now be tryede, And a perfyth of corde betwyx God and man, Wich trewth xal nevyr be dyvide — Confusyon onto þe fynd Sathan. Primus Pauper Homo þu sone of Davyd, on vs haue mercye, As we must stedfast belevyn in þe. þi goodnesse, Lord, lete us be nye, Whech lyth blynd here and may not se. Secundus Pauper Homo Lord, lete þi mercy to us be sewre, And restore to us oure bodyly syth! We know þu may us wel recure With þe lest poynt of þi gret myth. Jesu 3owre beleve hath mad 3ou for to se And delyveryd 3ou fro all mortal peyn. Blyssyd be all þo þat beleve on me And se me not with here bodyly eyn. Here Cryst blyssyth here eyn and þei may se, þe fryst seyng: Primus Pauper Homo Gromercy, Lord, of þi gret grace! I þat was blynd now may se. Secundus Pauper Homo Here I forsake al my trespace And stedfastly wyl belevyn on þe. The Last Supper and the Conspiracy with Judas Here Cryst procedyth on fote with his dyscipulys aftyr hym, Cryst wepyng upon, þe cyté, sayng þus: Jesu O Jherusalem, woful is þe ordenawnce Of þe day of þi gret persecucyon! þu xalt be dystroy with woful grevans, And þi ryalté browth to trew confusyon. 3e þat in þe ceté han habytacyon, þei xal course þe tyme þat þei were born, So gret advercyté and trybulacyon Xal falle on hem both evyn and morwyn. þei þat han most chylderyn sonest xal wayle And seyn, "Alas, what may þis meen?" Both mete and drynk sodeynly xal fayle — þe vengeance of God þer xal be seen. þe tyme is comyng hes woo xal ben, þe day of trobyl and gret grevauns. Bothe templys and towrys, they xal down cleen. O ceté, ful woful is þin ordenawns! Petrus Lord, where wolte þu kepe þi Maundé? I pray þe, now lete us haue knowyng, þat we may make redy for þe, þe to serve withowte latyng; Johannes To provyde, Lord, for þi comyng With all þe obedyens we kan atende, And make redy for þe in althyng, Into what place þu wy[lt] us send. Jesu Serys, goth to Syon and 3e xal mete A pore man in sympyl aray Beryng watyr in þe strete. Telle hym I xal come þat way. Onto hym mekely loke þat 3e say þat hese hous I wele come tylle. He wele not onys to 3ow sey nay, But sofre to haue all 3oure wylle. Petrus At þi wyl, Lord, it xal be don; To seke þat place we xal us hye, Johannes In all be hast þat we may go[n], þin comaw[n]dement nevyr to denye. Here Petyr and Johan gon forth, metyng with Symon leprows beryng a kan with watyr, Petyr þus seyng: Petrus Good man, þe prophete, oure Lord, Jesus, þis nyth wyl rest wythin þin halle. On massage to þe he hath sent vs: þat for his sopere ordeyn þu xalle. Johannes 3a, for hym and his dyscipulys alle Ordeyn þu for his Maundé A paschall lomb, whatso befalle, For he wyl kepe his Pasch with the. Symon What, wyl my Lord vesyte my plase? Blyssyd be þe tyme of his comyng! I xal ordeyn withinne short space For my good Lordys welcomyng. Serys, walkyth in at þe begynnyng And se what vetaylys þat I xal take. I am so glad of þis tydyng, I wot nevyr what joye þat I may make. Here þe dyscypulys gun in with Symon to se þe ordenawns; and Cryst comyng thedyrward, þus seyng: Jesus þis path is calsydon be goostly ordenawns, Wech xal conuey us wher we xal be. I knowe ful redy is þe purvyaunce Of my frendys þat lovyn me. Contewnyng in pees, now procede we; For mannys love þis wey I take. With gostly ey I veryly se þat man for man an hende must make. Here þe dyscipulys com ageyn to Cryst, Petyr þus seyng: Petrus All redy, Lord, is oure ordenawns, As I hope to 3ow plesyng xal be. Seymon hath don at 3oure instawns, He is ful glad 3oure presens to se. Johannes Allthyng we haue, Lord, at oure plesyng þat longyth to 3oure Mawndé, with ful glad chere. Whan he herd telle of 3oure comyng, Gret joye in hym þan dyd appere. Here comyth Syrnon owt of his hous to welcome Cryst. Symon Gracyous Lord, welcome þu be! Reverens be to þe, both God and man, My poer hous þat þu wylt se, Weche am þi servaunt as I kan. Jesu There joye of all joyis to be is sewre (Symon, I knowe þi trewe intent), þe blysse of hefne þu xalt recure; þis rewarde I xal be grawnt present. Here Cryst enteryth into þe hous with his disciplis and ete þe paschal lomb and in þe menetyme þe cownsel hous befornseyd xal sodeynly onclose schewyng þe buschopys, prestys and jewgys sytsyng in here astat lych as it were a convocacyon, Annas seyng þus: Annas Behold, it is nowth, al þat we do! In alle houre materys we prophete nowth. Wole 3e se wech peusawns of pepyl drawyth hym to For be mervaylys þat he hath wrowth? Some othyr sotylté must be sowth, For in no wyse we may not þus hym leve. Than to a schrewde conclusyon we xal be browth, For þe Romaynes þan wyl us myscheve, And take oure astat and put us to repreve, And convey all be pepyl at here owyn request. And þus all þe pepyl in hym xal beleve. þerfore I pray sow, cosyn, say what is þe best. Cayphas Attende now, serys, to þat I xal seye: Onto us all it is most expedyent þat o man for þe pepyl xuld deye þan all þe pepyl xuld perysch and be shent. þerfor, late us werk wysely þat we us not repent. We must nedys put on hym som fals dede. I sey for me, I had levyr he were brent þan he xuld us alle þus ouyrlede. þerfore every man on his party help at þis nede, And cowntyrfete all be sotyltés þat 3e kan. Now late se ho kan 3eve best rede To ordeyn sum dystruccyon for þis man. Gamalyel Late us no lenger make delacyon, But do Jesu be takyn in hondys fast, And all here folwerys to here confusyon, And into a preson do hem be cast. Ley on hem yron þat wol last, For he hath wrouth a3ens þe ryth. And sythyn aftyr we xal in hast Jewge hym to deth with gret dyspyth! Rewfyn For he hath trespacyd a3ens oure lawe, Mesemyth his 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, þat he was Kyng of Jewys alle. þat is anow to do hym dey, For treson to Sezar we must it calle. He seyd also to personys þat I know þat he xuld and myth, serteyn, þe gret tempyl mythtyly ovyrthrow, And þe thrydde day reysyn't ageyn! Seche materys þe pepyl doth cons[treyn] To 3eve credens to his werkys alle. In hefne, he seyth, xal be his reyn; Bothe God and man he doth hym calle! Rewfyn And all þis day we xuld contryve What shameful deth Jesu xuld haue. We may not do hym to meche myscheve þe worchep of oure lawe to save. Leyon Vpon a jebet lete hym hongyn be! þis jugement, mesemyth, it is reson þat all þe countré may hym se And beware be his gret treson. Rewfyn 3et O thyng, serys: 3e must aspye And make a ryth sotyl ordenawns Be what menys 3e may come hym bye, For he hath many folwerys at his instawns. Annas Serys, þerof we must have avysement And ben acordyd or þan we go. How we xal han hym at oure entent, Som wey we xal fynd þerto. Maria Magdalen As a cursyd creature closyd all in care, And as a wyckyd wrecche all wrappyd in wo, Of blysse was nevyr no berde so bare, As I mysylf þat here now go. Alas! Alas! I xal forfare For þe grete synnys þat I haue do, Lesse than my Lord God sumdel spare, And his grett mercy receyve me to. Mary Mavdelyn is my name. Now wyl I go to Cryst Jesu, For he is lord of all vertu, And for sum grace I thynke to sew; For of myself I haue grett shame. A mercy, Lord, and salve my synne! Maydenys floure, þu wasch me fre. þer was nevyr woman of mannys kynne So ful of synne in no countré. I haue be fowlyd be fryth and fenne And sowght synne in many a ceté. But þu me borwe, Lord, I xal brenne, With blake fendys ay bowne to be! Wherefore, Kynge of Grace, With his oynement þat is so sote, Lete me anoynte þin holy fote, And for my balys þus wyn sum bote And mercy, Lord, for my trespace. Jesus Woman, for þi wepynge wylle, Sum socowre God xal þe sende. þe to saue I haue grett skylle, For sorwefful hert may synne amende. All þi prayour I xal fulfylle; To þi good hert I wul attende And saue þe fro þi synne so hylle, And fro vij develys I xal þe fende. Fendys, fleth 3oure weye! Wyckyd spyritys, I 3ow conjowre, Fleth out of hire bodyly bowre! In my grace she xal evyr flowre Tyl deth doth here to deye. Maria Magdalene I thanke þe, Lorde, of this grett grace. Now þese vij fendys be fro me flytt, I xal nevyr forffett nor do trespace In wurd, nor dede, ne wyl, nor wytt. Now I am brought from þe fendys brace, In þi grett mercy closyd and shytt, I xal nevyr returne to synful trace þat xulde me dampne to helle pytt. I wurchep the on knes bare. Blyssyd be þe tyme þat I hedyr sowth, And þis oynement þat I hedyr brought. For now myn hert is clensyd from thought þat fyrst was combryd with care. Judas Lord, methynkyth þu dost ryght ylle To lete his oynement so spylle! To selle it, yt were more skylle, And bye mete to poer men. The box was worth of good moné iij C pens fayr and fre! þis myght a bowht mete plenté To fede oure power ken. Jesus Pore men xul abyde — Ageyn þe woman þu spekyst wronge — And I passe forth 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: Jesus Myn herte is ryght sory, and no wondyr is: Too deth I xal go, and nevyr dyd trespas. But 3itt most grevyth myn hert evyr of this: On of my bretheryn xal werke þis manas. On of 3ow here syttynge my treson xal tras — On of 3ow is besy my deth here to dyth. And 3itt was I nevyr in no synful plas Wherefore my deth xuld so shamfully be pyght. Petrus My dere Lord, I pray the þe trewth for to telle, Whiche of vs ys he þat treson xal do? Whatt traytour is he þat his Lord þat wold selle? Expresse his name, Lord, þat xal werke his woo. Johannes If þat her be on þat wolde selle so, Good mayster, telle us now opynly his name. What traytour is hym þat from þe þat wolde go And with fals treson fulfylle his grett shame? Andreas It is ryght dredfull such tresson to thynke, And wel more dredfful to werk þat bad dede! For þat fals treson to helle he xal synke, In endles peynes grett myscheff to lede. Jacobus Major It is not I, Lord! For dowte I haue drede. þis synne to fulfylle cam nevyr in my mende. Iff þat I solde þe, thy blood for to blede, In doyng þat treson my sowle xulde I shende! Matheus Alas, my dere Lord, what man is so wood For gold or for sylvyr hymself so to spylle? He þat þe doth selle for gold or for other good, With his grett covetyse hymself he doth kylle. Bartholomeus What man soevyr he be of so wyckyd wylle, Dere Lord, among vs tell vs his name all owt. He þat to hym tendyth þis dede to fulffille, For his grett treson, his sowle stondyth in dowt. Philippus Golde, sylver, and tresoour sone doth passe away, But withowtyn ende evyr doth laste þi grace. A, Lord, who is that wyll chaffare þe for monay? For he þat sellyth his Lord, to grett is þe trespace! Jacobus Minor That traytour þat doth his orryble manace, Bothe body and sowle I holde he be lorn, Dampnyd to helle pytt fer from þi face, Amonge all fowle fyndys to be rent and torn. Symon To bad a marchawnt, þat traytour he is, And for þat monye he may mornyng make. Alas, what cawsyth hym to selle þe Kyng of Blys? For his fals wynnynge þe devyl hym xal take. Thomas For his fals treson þe fendys so blake Xal bere his sowle depe down into helle pytt. Resste xal he non haue, but evyrmore wake Brennyng in hoot fyre, in preson evyr shytt. Thadeus I woundyr ryght sore who þat he xuld be Amongys vs all bretheryn þat xuld do his synne. Alas, he is lorn, her may no grace be; In depe helle donjeon his sowle he doth pynne. Jesus In my dysche he etyht þis treson xal begynne, Wo xal betydyn hym for his werke of dred. He may be ryght sory swych ryches to wynne, A[n]d whysshe hymself vnborn for þat synful ded. Judas The trewth wolde I knowe as leff as 3e And þerfore, good ssere, þe trewth þu me telle. Whiche of vs all here þat traytour may be? Am I þat person þat þe now xal selle? Jesus So seyst þiselff, take hed att þi spelle. þu askyst me now here if þu xalt do þat treson; Remembyr þiself, avyse þe ryght welle; þu art of grett age and wotysst what is reson. Here Judas rysyth prevely and goth in þe place and seyt "Now cownter..." Judas Now cowntyrfetyd I haue a prevy treson, My maysterys power for to felle: I, Judas, xal asay be some encheson Onto þe Jewys hym for to selle. Som mony for hym 3et wold I telle. Be prevy menys I xal asay; Myn intent I xal fulfylle. No lenger I wole make delay. þe princys of prestys now be present, Vnto 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 þei profyr to my plesyng; For covetyse I wyl with hem wake, And onto my maystyr I xal hem bryng. Heyl, prynsesse and prestys þat ben present! New tydyngys to 3ow I come to telle. 3yf 3e wole folwe myn intent, My maystyr, Jesu, I wele 3ow selle, Hese intent and purpose for to felle. For I wole no lenger folwyn his lawe. Lat sen what mony þat I xal telle, And late Jesu my maystyr ben hangyn and drawe. Gamalye[l] Now welcome, Judas, oure owyn frende! Take hym in, serys, be þe honde. We xal þe both geve and lende, And in every qwarel by þe stonde. Rewfyn Judas, what xal we for þi mayster pay? þi sylver is redy and we acorde. þe payment xal haue no delay, But be leyde down here at a worde. Judas Late þe mony here down by layde, And I xal telle 3ow as I kan. In old termys I haue herd seyde þat "mony makyth schapman." Rewfyn Here is thretty platys of sylver bryth Fast knyth withinne his glove. And we may have þi mayster his nyth, þis xalt þu haue, and all oure love. Judas 3e are resonable chapmen to bye and selle. þis bargany with 3ow now xal I make. Smyth up! 3e xal haue al 3oure wylle, For mony wyl I non forsake. Leyon Now þis bargany is mad ful and fast, Noyther part may it forsake. But, Judas, þu must telle us in hast Be what menys we xal hym take. Rewfyn 3a, þer be many þat hym nevyr sowe Weche we wyl sende to hym in fere. þerfor be a tokyn we must hym knowe þat must be prevy betwyx us here. Leyon 3a, beware of þat for ony thynge. For o dyscypil is lyche þi maystyr in al parayl, And 3e go lyche in all ciothyng; So myth we of oure purpose fayl. Judas As for þat, serys, haue 3e no dowth; I xal ordeyn so 3e xal not mysse. Whan þat 3e cvm hym all abowth, Take þe man þat I xal kysse. I must go to my maystyr ageyn. Dowth not, serys; his matere is sure inow. Gamalyel Farewel, Judas, oure frend, serteyn. þi labour we xal ryth wel alow. Judas Now wyl I sotely go seke my maystyr ageyn, And make good face as I nowth knew. I haue hym solde to wo and peyn; I trowe ful sore he xal it rew. Here Judas goth in sotylly wheras he cam fro. Annas Lo, serys, a part we haue of oure entent For to take Jesu! Now we must provyde A sotyl meny to be present þat dare fyth and wele abyde. Gamalye[l] Ordeyn eche man on his party Cressetys, lanternys, and torchys lyth; And þis nyth to be þer redy With exys, gleyvis, and swerdys bryth. Cayphas No lenger þan make we teryeng, But eche man to his place hym dyth. And ordeyn preuely for his thyng, þat it be don his same nyth. Here the buschopys partyn in þe 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 þan xal þe place þer Cryst is in sodeynly vnclose rownd abowtyn shewyng Cryst syttyng at þe table and hese dyscypulis ech in ere degré; Cryst þus seyng: Jesu Brederyn, þis lambe þat was set us beforn þat we alle haue etyn in þis nyth, It was comawndyd be my fadyr to Moyses and Aaron Whan þei weryn with þe Chylderyn of Israel in Egythp. And as we with swete bredys haue it ete, And also with þe byttyr sokelyng, And as we take þe hed with þe fete, So dede þei in all maner thyng. And as we stodyn so dede þei stond; And here reynes þei gyrdyn, veryly, With schon on here fete and stavys in here hond; And as we ete it, so dede þei, hastyly. þis fygure xal sesse; anothyr xal folwe þerby, Weche xal be of my body, þat am 3oure hed, Weche xal be shewyd to 3ow be a mystery Of my flesch and blood in forme of bred. And with fervent desyre of hertys affeccyon I have enterly desyryd to kepe my Mawndé Among 3ow or þan I suffre my Passyon. For of þis no more togedyr suppe xal we. And as þe paschal lomb etyn haue we In þe eld lawe was vsyd for a sacryfyce, So þe newe lomb þat xal be sacryd be me Xal be vsyd for a sacryfyce most of price. Here xal Jesus take an oblé in his hand lokyng vpward into hefne, to þe Fadyr þus seyng: Wherefore to þe, Fadyr of Hefne þat art eternall, Thankyng and honor I 3eld onto þe, To whom be þe Godhed I am eqwall, But be my manhod I am of lesse degré. Wherefore I as man worchep þe Deyté, Thankyng þe, fadyr, þat þu wylt shew his mystery; And þus þurwe þi myth, fadyr, and blyssyng of me, Of his þat was bred is mad my body. Here xal he spekyn ageyn to his dyscipulys, þus seyng: Bretheryn, be þe [vertu] of þese wordys þat [re]hercyd be, þis þat shewyth as bred to 3oure apparens Is mad þe very flesche and blod of me, To þe weche þei þat wole be savyd must 3eve credens. And as in þe olde lawe it was comawndyd and precepte To ete his lomb to þe dystruccyon of Pharao vnkende, So to dystroy 3oure gostly enmye his xal be kepte For 3oure paschal lombe into þe werdys ende. For his is þe very lombewithowte spot of synne Of weche Johan þe Baptyst dede prophesy Whan his prophesye he dede begynne, Seyng, "Ecce Agnus Dey." And how 3e xal ete his lombe I xal 3eve infformacyon In þe same forme as þe eld lawe doth specyfye, As I shewe be gostly interpretacyon; þerfore to þat I xal sey, 3oure wyttys loke 3e replye. With no byttyr bred his bred ete xal be: þat is to say, with no byttyrnesse of hate and envye, But with þe suete bred of loue and charyté, Weche fortefyet þe soule gretlye. And it schuld ben etyn with þe byttyr sokelyng: þat is to mene, 3yf a man be of synful dysposysyon, Hath led his lyff here with myslevyng, þerfore in his hert he xal haue byttyr contrycyon. Also, þe hed with þe feet ete xal 3e: Be þe hed 3e xal vndyrstand my Godhed, And be þe feet 3e xal take myn humanyté. þese tweyn 3e xal receyve togedyr, indede. This immaculat lombe þat I xal 3ow 3eve Is not only þe Godhed alone, But bothe God and man, þus must 3e beleve; þus þe hed with þe feet 3e xal receyve echon. Of his lombe vnete yf owth belevyth, iwys, Yt xuld be cast in þe clere fyre and brent; Weche is to mene, yf þu vndyrstande nowth al his, Put þi feyth in God and þan þu xalt not be shent. The gyrdyl þat was comawndyd here reynes to sprede Xal be þe gyrdyl of clennes and chastyté. þat is to sayn, to be contynent in word, thought, and dede, And all leccherous levyng cast 3ow for to fle. And þe schon þat xal be 3oure feet vpon Is not ellys but exawnpyl of vertuis levyng Of 3oure form faderys 3ou beforn; With þese schon my steppys 3e xal be sewyng. And þe staf þat in 3oure handys 3e xal holde Is not ellys but þe exawmplys to other men teche; Hold fast 3oure stauys in 3oure handys and beth bolde To every creature myn precepttys for to preche. Also, 3e must ete þis paschall lombe hastyly, Of weche sentens þis is þe very entent: At every oure and tyme 3e xal be redy For to fulfylle my cowmawndement. For þow 3e leve his day, 3e are not sure Whedyr 3e xal leve tomorwe or nowth. þerfor hastyly every oure do 3oure besy cure To kepe my preceptys, and þan þar 3e not dowth. Now haue I lernyd 3ow how 3e xal ete 3oure paschal lombe, þat is my precyous body. Now I wyl fede 3ow all with awngellys mete; Wherfore to reseyve it, come forth seryattly. Petrus Lord, for to receyve þis gostly sustenawns In dewe forme, it excedyth myn intellygens. For no man of hymself may have substawns To receyve it with to meche reverens. For with more delycyous mete, Lord, þu may us not fede þan with þin owyn precyous body. Wherfore what I haue trespacyd in word, thought, or dede, With byttyr contrycyon, Lord, I haske þe mercy. Whan oure Lord 3yvyth his body to his dyscypulys, he xal sey to eche of hem, except to Judas: [Jesus] This is my body, flesch and blode, þat for þe xal dey upon be rode. And whan Judas comyth last, oureLord xal sey to hym: Judas, art þu avysyd what þu xalt take? Judas Lord, þi body I wyl not forsake. And sythyn oure Lord xal sey onto Judas: Jesu Myn body to þe I wole not denye, Sythyn þu wylt presume þerupon. Yt xal be þi dampnacyon, verylye — I 3eve þe warnyng now beforn. And aftyr þat Judas hath reseyvyd, he xal syt þer he was, Cryst seyng: On of 3ow hath betrayd me þat at my borde with me hath ete. Bettyr it hadde hym for to a be Bothe vnborn and vnbegete. Than eche dyscypyl xal loke on other, and Petyr xal sey: Petrus Lord, it is not I. And so all xul seyn tyl þei comyn at Judas, wech xal sey: Judas Is it owth I, Lord? þan Jesus xal sey: Jesu Judas, þu seyst þat word. Me þu ast solde, þat was þi frend; þat þu hast begonne, brenge to an ende. þan Judas xal gon ageyn to þe Jewys. And, yf men wolne, xal mete with hym and sey þis spech folwyng — or levyn't whether þei wyl — þe devyl þus seyng: Demon A, a, Judas, derlyng myn, þu art þe best to me þat evyr was bore! þu xalt be crownyd in helle peyn, And þerof þu xalt be sekyr for evyrmore. Thow hast solde þi maystyr and etyn hym also! I wolde þu kowdyst bryngyn hym to helle every del; But 3et I fere he xuld do her sum sorwe and wo þat all helle xal crye out on me þat sel. Sped up þi matere þat þu hast begonne: I xal to helle for þe to mak redy. Anon þu xalt come wher þu xalt wonne; In fyre and stynk þu xalt sytt me by. Jesu Now þe Sone of God claryfyed is, And God in hym is claryfyed also. I am sory þat Judas hath lost his blysse, Weche xal turne hym to sorwe and wo. But now in þe memory of my Passyon, To ben partabyl with me in my reyn above, 3e xal drynk myn blood with gret devocyon, Wheche xal be xad for mannys love. Takyth þese chalys of þe newe testament, And kepyth his evyr in 3oure mende. As oftyn as 3e do his with trewe intent, It xal defende 3ow fro þe fende. Than xal þe dysciplys com and take þe blod, Jesus seyng: þis is my blood þat for mannys synne Outh of myn herte it xal renne. And þe dyscipulys xul sett þem a3en þer þei wore, and Jesus xal seyn: Takyth hed now, bretheryn, what I haue do: With my flesch and blood I haue 3ow fed. For mannys love I may do no mo þan for love of man to be ded. Werfore, Petyr, and 3e everychon, 3yf 3e loue me, fede my schep, þat for fawth of techyng þei go not wrong; But evyr to hem takyth good kep. 3evyth hem my body, as I haue to 3ow, Qweche xal be sacryd be my worde. And evyr I xal þus abyde with 3ow Into þe ende of þe werde. Hoso etyth my body and drynkyth my blood, Hol God and man he xal me take. It xal hym defende from þe deuyl wood, And at his deth I xal hym nowth forsake. And hoso not ete my body nor drynke my blood, Lyf in hym is nevyr a dele. Kepe wel his in mende for 3oure good, And every man save hymself wele. Here Jesus takyth a basyn with watyr and towaly gyrt abowtyn hym and fallyth beforn Petyr on his o kne. Jesus Another exawmpyl I xal 3ow shewe How 3e xal leve in charyté. Syt here down at wordys fewe, And qwat I do 3e sofre me. Here he takyth þe basyn and þe towaly and doth as þe roberych seyth beforn. Petrus Lord, what wylt þu with me do? þis servyce of þe I wyl forsake. To wassche my feet, þu xal not so — I am not worthy it of þe to take. Jesu Petyr, and þu forsake my servyce all þe weche to 3ow þat I xal do, No part with me haue þu xal, And nevyr com my blysse onto. Petru[s] þat part, Lord, we wyl not forgo; We xal abey his comawndement. Wasche hed and hond, we pray þe so; We wyl don after þin entent. Here Jesus wasshyth his dyscipulys feet by and by, and whypyth he[m], and kyssyth hem mekely, and sythy[n] settyth hym down, þus seyng: Jes[u] Frendys, þis wasshyng xal now prevayll. 3oure lord and mayster 3e do me calle, And so I am, withowtyn fayl; 3et I haue wasschyd 3ow alle. A memory of þis haue 3e xall þat eche of 3ow xal do to othyr. With vmbyl hert submyt egal, As eche of 3ow were otherys brother. Nothyng, serys, so wele plesyth me, Nor no lyf þat man may lede, As þei þat levyn in charyté; In efne I xal reward here mede. þe day is come, I must procede For to fulfylle þe prophecy. his nyth for me 3e xal han drede Whan novmbyr of pepyl xal on me cry. For þe prophetys spoke of me, And seydyn of deth þat I xuld take; Fro whech deth I wole not fle, But for mannys synne amendys make. This nyth fro 3ow be led I xal, And 3e for fer fro me xal fle, Not onys dur speke whan I 3ow call, And some of 3ow forsake me. For 3ow xal I dey and ryse ageyn. Vn þe thrydde day 3e xal me se Beforn 3ow all walkyng playn In þe lond of Galylé. Petrus Lord, I wyl þe nevyr forsake, Nor for no perellys fro þe fle! I wyl rather my deth take þan onys, Lord, forsake þe. Jesu Petyr, yn ferthere þan þu doyst knowe As for þat promese loke þu not make. For or þe cok hath twyes crowe, Thryes þu xal me forsake. But, all my frendys þat am me dere, Late us go; þe tyme drawyth ny. We may no lengere abydyn here, For I must walke to Betany. þe tyme is come, þe day drawyth nere; Onto my deth I must in hast. Now, Petyr, make all þi felawys chere; My flesch for fere is qwakyng fast. The Agony in the Garden and the Arrest of Jesus Here Jesus goth to Betany-ward, and his dyscipulys folwyng with sad contenawns, Jesus seyng: Now, my dere frendys and bretheryn echon, Remembyr þe wordys þat I xal sey. þe tyme is come þat I must gon For to fulfylle þe prophesey þat is seyd of me, þat I xal dey, þe fendys power fro 3ow to flem; Weche deth I wole not deney Mannys sowle, my spovse, for to redem. þe oyle of mercy is grawntyd playn Be þis jorné þat 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 vnkendenesse be no wey. In peynys for hym my body schal schake, And for love of man, man xal dey. Here Jesus and his discipulys go toward þe Mount of Olyvet; and whan he comyth a lytyl þerbesyde in a place lych to a park, he byddyt his dyscipulys abyde hym þer, and seyth to Petyr or he goth: Petyr, with þi felawys here xalt þu abyde And weche tyl I come ageyn. I must make my prayere here 3ou besyde. My flesch qwakyth sore for fere and peyn. Petrus Lord, þi request doth me constreyn; In þis place I xal abyde stylle, Not remeve tyl hat þu comyst ageyn, In comfermyng, Lord, of þi wylle. Here Jesu goth to Olyvet and settyth hym down on his knes, and prayth to his fadyr, þus seyng: Jesu O fadyr, fadyr! For my sake þis gret Passyon þu take fro me, Wech arn ordeyned þat I xal take 3yf mannys sowle savyd may be. And 3yf it behove, fadyr, for me To save mannys sowle þat xuld spylle, I am redy in eche degré þe vyl of þe for to fulfylle. Here Jesus goth to his dyscipulis and fyndyth hem sclepyng, Jesus þus seyng to Petyr: Petyr, Petyr, þu slepyst fast! Awake þi felawys and sclepe no more. Of my deth 3e are not agast — 3e take 3oure rest and I peyn sore. Here Cryst goth ageyn þe second tyme to Olyvet, and seyth knelyng: Fadyr in hevyn, I beseche þe, Remeve my peynes be þi gret grace, And lete me fro his deth fle, As I dede nevyr no trespace. The watyr and blood owth of my face Dystyllyth for peynes þat I xal take. My flesche qwakyth in ferflul case As þow þe joyntys asondre xuld schake. Here Jesus goth a3en to his discipulis and fyndyth hem asclepe; Jesus þus seyng, latyng hem lyne: Fadyr, þe thrydde tyme I come ageyn Fulleche myn erdon for to spede: Delyuere me, fadyr, fro þis peyn, Weche is reducyd with ful gret drede. Onto þi sone, fadyr, take hede; þu wotyst I dede nevyr dede but good. It is not for me, his peyn I lede, But for man I swete bothe watyr and blode. Here an aungel descendyth to Jesus and bryngyth to hym a chalys with an host þerin. Angelus Heyl, bothe God and man indede, The Fadyr hath sent þe his present. He bad þat þu xuldyst not drede, But fulfylle his intent. As þe Parlement of Hefne hath ment þat mannys sowle xal now redemyd be, From hefne to herd, Lord, þu wore sent — þat dede appendyth onto the. þis chalys ys þi blood, þis bred is þi body, For mannys synne evyr offeryd xal be. To þe Fadyr of Heffne þat is almythty þi dyscipulis and all presthood xal offere fore the. Here þe aungel ascendyth a3en sodeynly. Jesu Fadyr, þi wyl fulfyllyd xal be; It is nowth to say a3ens þe case. I xal fulfylle þe prophesye And sofre deth for mannys trespace. Here goth Cryst ageyn to his dyscipulys and fyndyth hem sclepyng stylle. Awake, Petyr, þi rest is ful long! Of sclep þu wylt make no delay. Judas is redy wit h pepyl strong, And doth his part me to betray. Ryse up, serys, I 3ou pray, Onclose 3oure eyne for my sake. We xal walke into þe way And sen hem come þat xul me take. Petyr, whan þu seyst I am forsake Amonge myn frendys, and stond alone, All þe cher þat þu kanst make Geve to þi bretheryn everychone. Here Jesus with his dyscipulis goth into þe place; and þer xal come in a x personys weyl beseen in white arneys and breganderys, and some dysgysed in odyr garmentys,. with swerdys, gleyvys, and other straunge wepoun, as cressettys, with feyr, and lanternys, and torchis lyth; and Judas formest of al, conveyng hem to Jesu be contenawns; Jesus þus s[eyng]: Serys, in 3oure way 3e haue gret hast To seke hym þat wyl not fle. Of 3ow I am ryth nowth agast. Telle me, serys, whom seke 3e? Leyon Whom we seke here I telle þe now: A tretour, is worthy to suffer deth. We knowe he is here among 3ow; His name is Jesus of Nazareth. Jesu Serys, I am here, þat wyl not fle. Do to me all þat 3e kan. Forsothe, I telle 3ow I am he, Jesus of Nazareth, þat same man. Here all þe Jewys falle sodeynly to þe erde whan þei here Cryst speke; and quan [he] byddyth hem rysyn, þei rysyn a3en, Cryst þus seyng: Aryse, serys, whom seke 3e? Fast haue 3e gon. Is howth 3oure comyng hedyr for me? I stond beforn 3ow here echon þat 3e may me bothe knowe and se. Rufyne Jesus of Nazareth we seke, And we myth hym here aspye. Jesu I told 3ow now with wordys meke Beforn 3ou all þat it was I. Judas Welcome, Jesu, my maystyr dere, I haue þe sowth in many a place. I am ful glad I fynd þe here, For I wyst nevyr wher þu wace. Here Judas kyssyth Jesus; and anoon all þe Jewys come abowth hym and ley handys on hym and pullyn hym as þei were wode, and makyn on hym a gret cry all atonys. And aftyr þis Petyr seyth: Petrus I drawe my swerd now þis sel. Xal I smyte, maystyr? 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. Jesus Put þi swerd in þe shede fayr and wel, For he þat smyth with swerd with swerd xal þe smete. A, Judas, þis treson cowntyrfetyd hast þu, And þat þu xalt ful sore repent! þu haddyst bettyr a ben vnborn now; þi body and sowle þu hast shent. Gamalyel Lo, Jesus, þu mayst not þe cace refuse: Bothe treson and eresye in þe is fownde. Stody now fast on þin excuse Whylys þat þu gost in cordys bownde. þu kallyst þe kyng of þis werd rownde; Now lete me se þi gret powere, And saue þiself here hool and sownde, And brynge þe out of þis dawngere. Leyon Bryng forth þis tretoure, spare hym nowth! Onto Cayphas, þi jewge, we xal þe lede. In many a place we haue þe sowth, And to þi werkys take good hede. Rufyne Come on, Jesus, and folwe me! I am ful glad þat I þe haue. þu xalt ben hangyn upon a tre; A melyon of gold xal þe not save! Leyon Lete me leyn hand on hym in heye! Onto his deth I xal hym bryng. Shewe forth þi wychecrafte and nygramansye; What helpyth þe now al þi fals werkyng? Jesu Frendys, take hede 3e don vnryth So vnkendely with cordys to bynd me here, And þus to falle on me be nyth, As thow I were a thevys fere. Many tyme beforn 3ow I dede apere — Withinne þe temple sen me 3e have — þe lawys of God to teche and lere To hem þat wele here sowlys sawe. Why dede 3e not me dysprave, And herd me preche bothe lowd and lowe? But now as woodmen 3e gynne to rave And do thyng þat 3e notwth knove. Gamaly[el] Serys, I charge 3ow, not o word more þis nyth, But onto Cayphas in hast loke 3e hym lede. Have hym forth with gret dyspyte, And to his wordys take 3e non hede. Here þe Jewys lede Cryst outh of þe 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 þe menetyme, Marye Magdalene xal rennyn to oure Lady and telle here of oure Lordys takyng, þus seyng: Maria Magdelene O inmaculate modyr, of all women most meke. O devowtest , in holy medytacyon evyr abydyng. þe cawse, lady, þat I to 3oure person seke Is to wetyn yf 3e heryn ony tydyng Of 3oure swete sone and my reverent Lord, Jésu, þat was 3oure dayly solas, 3oure gostly consolacyon. Marya I wold 3e xuld telle me, Mawdelyn, and 3e knew; For to here of hym, it is all myn affeccyon. Maria Magdalene I wold fayn telle, lady, and I myth for wepyng. Forsothe, lady, to þe Jewys he is solde! With cordys þei haue hym bownde, and haue hym in kepyng. þei hym bety[n] spetously and haue hym fast in holde. Maria Uirgo A! A! A! How myn hert is colde. A, hert hard as ston, how mayst þu lest Whan þese sorweful tydyngys are þe told? So wold to God, hert, þat þu mytyst brest! A, Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, Jesu! Why xuld 3e sofere his trybulacyon and advercyte? How may thei fynd in here hertys 3ow to pursewe þat nevyr trespacyd in no maner degré? For nevyr thyng but þat was good thowth 3e; Wherefore þan xuld 3e sofer his gret peyn? I suppoce veryly it is for þe tresspace of me. And I wyst þat, myn hert xuld cleve on tweyn. For þese langowrys may I [not] susteyn, þe swerd of sorwe hath so thyrlyd my meende! Alas, what may I do? Alas, what may I seyn? þese prongys, myn herte asondyr þei do rende. O Fadyr of Hefne, wher ben al þi behestys þat þu promysy[d] me whan a modyr þu me made? þi blyssyd sone I bare betwyx tweyn bestys, And now þe bryth colour of his face doth fade. A, good Fadyr, why woldyst þat þin owyn dere sone xal sofre al þis? And dede he nevyr a3ens þi precept, but evyr was obedyent; And to every creature most petyful, most jentyl and benyng, iwys; And now for all þese kendnessys is most shameful schent. Why wok bu, gracyous Fadyr, þat it xal be so? May man not ellys be savyd be non other kende? 3et, Lord Fadyr, þan þat xal comforte myn wo Whan man is savyd be my chylde and browth to a good ende. Now, dere sone, syn þu hast evyr be so ful of mercy þat wylt not spare þiself for þe love þu hast to man, On all mankend now have þu pety — And also thynk on þi modyr, þat hevy woman. The Procession of Saints Primus Doctor O thou altitude of al gostly ryches! O þu incomperhensibele of grete excyllence! O þu luminarye of pure lyghtnes, Shete oute þi bemys ontyl þis audyens. Secundus Doctor O fily altissimi clepyd by eternalyté, Hele þis congregacyon with þe salve of þi Passyon. And we prey þe, Spiritus Paraclyte, With þe fyre of þi love to slake all detraccyon. Primus Doctor To þe pepyl not lernyd I stonde as a techer, Of þis processyon to 3eve informacyon; And to them þat be lernyd as a gostly precher, That in my rehersayl they may haue delectacyon. Secundus Welcome of þe apostelys þe gloryous qwere: Fyrst Petyr, 3oure prynce, and eke 3oure presydent; And Andrewe, 3oure half-brother, togedyr in fere, That fyrst folwyd Cryst be on assent. Primus O 3e tweyn luminaryes, Jamys and Jhon, Contynualy brennyng as bryght as þe sonnbem, With þe chene of charyté bothe knyt in on, And offeryd of 3oure modyr to Cryst in Jherusalem. Secundus Welcome, Phelypp, þat conuertyd Samaryan, And conuertyd þe tresorere of þe Qwene Cavdas With Jamys þe Lesser, þat apud Jherosolyman Was mad fyrst patryarke by þe ordenauns of Cephas. Primus Heyl, Mathew the Apostel and also Evangelyst, That was clepyd to þe flok of gostly conuersacyon From thyrknes of concyens þat 3e were in fest, With Bertylmew, þat fled all carnall temptacyon. Secundus Heyl, Symeon Zelotes, þus be 3oure name, And Judas, þat bothe wel lovyd oure Lord. Thereffore 3e haue bothe joye and game Wher nevyr is sstryff, but good acorde. Primus Heyl, Poul, grett doctour of þe feyth, And vessel chosyn be trewe eleccyon. Heyl, Thomas, of whom þe gospel seyth In Crystys wounde was 3oure refeccyon. Secundus Heyl, Johan Baptyst, most sovereyn creature That evyr was born be naturall conseyvyng, And hyest of prophetys, as wytnessyth Scrypture; Heyl, [v]oys þat in desert was allwey cryeng. The Second Passion Play: Herod's Boasting and the Trial Before Annas and Caiphas What tyme þat processyon is enteryd into þe place and þe Herowdys takyn his schaffalde, and Pylat, and Annas and Cayphas here schaffaldys also, þan [xal] come þer an exposytour in doctorys wede, þus seyng: Contemplacio Sofreynes and frendys, 3e mut alle be gret with gode! Grace, love, and charyté evyr be 3ou among. þe maydenys sone preserve 3ou þat for man deyd on rode; He þat is o God in personys thre defende 3ou fro 3oure fon. Be þe leue and soferauns of allmythty God, We intendyn to procede þe matere þat we lefte þe last 3ere. Wherefore we beseche 3ow þat 3oure wyllys be good To kepe þe Passyon in 3oure mende, þat xal be shewyd here. The last 3ere we shewyd here how oure Lord for love of man Cam to þe cety of Jherusalem mekely his deth to take; And how he made his Mawndé, his body 3evyng þan To his apostelys, evyr with us to abydyn for mannys sake. In þat Mawndé he was betrayd of Judas, þat hym solde To þe Jewys for xxxti platys, to delyvyr hym þat nyth. With swerdys and gleyvys [to] Jesu they come with þe tretour bolde, And toke hym amongys his apostelys about mydnyth. Now wold we procede how he was browth þan Beforn Annas and Cayphas, and syth beforn Pylate, And so forth in his Passyon, how mekely he toke it for man; Besekyng 3ou for mede of 3oure soulys to take good hede þeratte. Here þe Herowndys xal shewe hymself and speke: Herowdys Now sees of 3oure talkyng and gevyth lordly audyence! Not o word, I charge 3ou þat ben here present; Noon so hardy to presume in my hey presence To onlose hese lyppys ageyn myn intent! I am Herowde, of Jewys kyng most reverent, þe lawys of Mahownde my powere xal fortefye; Reverens to þat lord of grace moost excyllent, For by his powere allþinge doth multyplye. 3ef 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 þo 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 rend here flesche and bonys onto here sustenauns! Johan þe Baptyst crystenyd Cryst, and so he dede many on; þerfore myself dede hym brynge o dawe. It is I þat dede hym kylle, I telle 3ou everychon, For and he had go forth, he xuld a dystroyd oure lawe. Whereas Crystyn apperyth, to me is gret grevauns; It peynyth myn hert of tho tretowrys to here For þe lawys of Mahownde I have in governawns, þe which I wele kepe — þat lord hath no pere; For he is god most prudent. Now I charge 3ou, my lordys þat ben here, Yf any Crystyn doggys here doth apere, Bryng þo tretorys to my hey powere, And þei xal haue sone jewgement! Primus Miles My sovereyn lord, heyest of excillens, In 3ou all jewgdment is termynabyle. All Crystyn doggys þat do not here dyligens, 3e put hem to peynes þat ben inportable. Secundus Miles Noþing in 3ou may be more comendable As to dysstroye þo traytorys þat erre Ageyn oure lawys, þat ben most profytable. Be rythwysnesse þat lawe 3e must proferre. Rex Herow[de] Now be gloryous Mahownd, my sovereyn savyour, These promessys I make as I am trewe knyth: þoo þat excede his lawys be ony errour, To þe most xamefullest deth I xal hem dyth! But o thyng is sore in my gret delyte: þere is on Jesus of Nazareth, as men me tellyth. Of þat man I desyre to han a sythte, For 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 befallyth. My hert desyryth hym for to se. Serys, yf þat he come in his cowntré, With oure jurresdyccyon loke 3e aspye, And anon þat he be brouth onto me; And he trewth myself þan xal trye. Primus Miles Tomorwe my jorné I xal begynne, To seke Jesus with my dew dilygens. 3yf he come 3oure provynce withinne, He xal not askape 3oure hey presens. Secundus Miles Myn soverdyn, þis is my cowncel þat 3e xal take: A man þat is bothe wyse and stronge Thurwe all Galylé a serge to make Yf Jesu be enteryd 3oure pepyl among. Correcte hese dedys þat be do wronge, For his body is vndyr 3oure baylé — As men talkyn hem among þat he was born in Galylé. Thanne of þese materys, serys, take hede. For a whyle I wele me rest. Appetyde requyryth me so, indede, And fesyk tellyth me it is þe best. Here xal a massanger com into þe place rennyng and criyng, "Tydyngys! Tydyngys!," and so rowndabowth þe place, "Jesus of Nazareth is take! Jesus of Nazareth is take!" and forthwith heylyng þe prynces, þus seyng: Massanger All heyle, my lordys, princys of prestys! Sere Cayphas and Sere Annas, lordys of þe lawe, Tydyngys I brynge 3ou, reseyve hem in 3oure brestys: Jesus of Nazareth is take! þerof 3e may be fawe. He xal be browth hedyr to 3ou anon, I telle 3ou trewly, with a gret rowth. Whan he was take, I was hem among, And [þat I was] ner to kachyd a clowte: Malcus bar a lanterne and put hym in pres; Anoon he had a towche, and of went his ere! Jesus had his dyscyple put up his swerd and ces, And sett Malcus ere ageyn as hool as it was ere. So moty the, methowut it was a strawnge syth. Whan we cam fyrst to hym he cam vs ageyn And haskyd whom we sowth þat tyme of nyth. We seyd, "Jesus of Nazareth; we wolde haue hym fayn," And he seyd, "It is I þat am here in 3oure syth." With þat word we ovyrthrowyn bakward everychon, And some on here bakkys lyeng upryth; But standyng upon fote manly þer was not on. Cryst stod 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 3et methought I was not plesyd with þe newe gyse. Therfore takyth now 3oure cowncel and avyse 3ou ryth weyl, And beth ryth ware þat he make 3ou not amat. For, be my thryfte, I dare sweryn at þis seyl, 3e xal fynde hym a strawnge watt. Here bryng þei Jesus beforn Annas and C[ayphas], and on xal seyn þus: Lo, lo, lordys, here is þe man þat 3e sent vs fore. Annas þerfore we cone 3ou thanke than, And reward 3e xal haue þe more. Jesus, þu are welcome hedyr to oure presens. Ful oftyntymes we han þe besyly do sowth. We payd to þi dyscyple for þe thretty pens, And as an ox or an hors we trewly þe bowth. þerfore now art oure as þu standyst us before. Sey why þu ast trobelyd us and subuertyd oure lawe. þu hast ofte concludyd us, and so þu hast do more; Wherefore it were ful nedful to bryng þe a dawe. Cayphas What arn þi dysciplys þat folwyn þe aboute? And what is þi doctryne þat þu dost preche? Telle me now somewhath and bryng us out of doute þat we may to othere men þi prechyng forth teche. Jes[us] Al tymes þat I haue prcchyd, opyn it was don In þe synagog or in þe temple, where þat all Jewys com. Aske hem what I haue seyd, and also what I haue don; þei con telle þe my wordys, aske hem everychon. Primus Judeus What, þu fela, to whom spekyst þu? Xalt þu so speke to a buschop? þu xalt haue on þe cheke, I make avow, And 3et þerto a knok! Here he xal smyte Jesus on þe cheke. Jesus Yf I haue seyd amys, þerof wytnesse þu mayst bere. And yf I haue seyd but weyl in þis, þu dost amys me to dere. Annas Serys, takyth hed now to þis man, þat he dystroye not oure lawe. And brynge 3e wytnesse a3ens hym þat 3e can, So þat he may be browt of dawe. Primus Doctor Sere, þis I herd hym with his owyn mowth seyn: "Brekyth down þis temple without delay, And I xal settyn't up ageyn As hool as it was be þe thrydde day." Secundus Doctor 3a, ser, and I herd hym seyn also þat he was þe Sone of God. And 3et many a fole wenyth so! I durst leyn þeron myn hod. Tercius Doctor 3a, 3a! And I herd hym preche meche þing And a3ens oure lawe every del, Of wheche it were longe to make rekenyng To tellyn all at þis seel. Cayphas What seyst now, Jesus? Whi answeryst not? Heryst not what is seyd a3ens þe? Spek, man, spek! Spek, þu fop! Hast þu scorn to speke to me? Heryst not in how many thyngys þei þe acuse? Now I charge þe and conjure be þe sonne and þe mone þat þu telle us and þu be Goddys sone. Jesus Goddys sone I am, I sey not nay to þe; And þat 3e all xal se at Domysday, Whan þe Sone xal come in gret powere and magesté And deme þe qweke and dede, as I þe say. Cayphas A! Out! Out! Allas, what is þis? Heryth 3e not how he blasfemyth God? What nedyth us to haue more wytness? Here 3e han herd all his owyn word. Thynk 3e not he is worthy to dey? Et clamabunt omnes: [Omnes] 3ys, 3ys, 3ys! All we seye he is worthy to dey! 3a, 3a, 3[a]! Annas Takyth hym to 3ow and betyth hym somdel For hese blasfemyng at þis sel! Here þei xal bete Jesus about þe hed and þe body, and spyttyn in his face, and pullyn hym down, and settyn hym on a stol, and castyn a cloth ouyr his face; and þe fyrst xal seyn: Primus Judeus A, felawys, beware what 3e do to þis man, For he prophecye weyl kan. Secundus Judeus þat xal be asayd be þis batte. Et percuciet super caput. What, þu Jesus, ho 3aff þe þat? Tercius Judeus Whar, whar! Now wole I Wetyn how he can prophecy — Ho was þat? Quartus Judeus A, and now wole I a newe game begynne þat we mon pley at, all þat am hereinne: Whele and pylle, whele and pylle, Comyth to halle hoso wylle — Ho was þat? Here xal þe woman come to [þe] Jewys and seyn: Prima Ancilla What, serys, how take 3e on with þis man? Se 3e not on of hese dysciplys, how he beheldyth 3ou þan? Here xal þe tother woman seyn to Petyr: Secunda Ancilla A, good man, mesemyth be þe þat þu on of hese dysciplys xulde be. Petrus A, woman, I sey nevyr er his man Syn þat þis werd fyrst began. Et cantabit gallus. Prima Ancilla What? þu mayst not sey nay — þu art on of hese men! Be þi face wel we may þe ken. Petrus Woman, þu seyst amys of me; I knowe hym not, so mote I the. Primus Judeus A, fela myn, wel met, For my cosynys ere þu of smet. Whan we þi maystyr in þe 3erd toke, þan all þi felawys hym forsoke; And now þu mayst not hym forsake, For þu art of Galylé, I vndyrtake. Petrus Sere, I knowe hym not, be hym þat made me! And 3e wole me beleve for an oth, I take record of all his compayné þat I sey to 3ow is soth. Et cantabit gallus. And þan Jesus xal lokyn on Petyr, and Petyr xal wepyn; and þan he xal gon out and seyn: A, weelaway! Weelaway! Fals hert, why whylt þu not brest, Syn þi maystyr so cowardly þu hast forsake? Alas, qwher xal I now on erthe rest Tyl he of his mercy to grace wole me take? I haue forsake my maystyr and my Lord, Jesu, Thre tymes, as he tolde me þat I xuld do þe same. Wherfore I may not haue sorwe anow — I, synful creature, am so mech to blame! Whan I herd þe cok crowyn, he kest on me a loke As who seyth, "Bethynke þe what I seyd before." Alas þe tyme þat I evyr hym forsoke! And so wyl I thynkyn from hens evyrmore. The Death of Judas, and the Trials of Christ Before Pilate and Herod Cayphas Massangere! Massangere! Massangere Here, lord, here! Cayphas Massanger, to Pylat in hast þu xalt gon, And sey hym we comawnde us in word and in dede; And prey hym þat he be at þe mot-halle anoon, For we han a gret matere þat he must nedys spede. In hast now go þi way, And loke þu tery nowth. Massanger It xal be do, lord, be þis day; I am as whyt as thought. Here Pylat syttyth in his skaffald, and þe massanger knelyth to hym, þus seyng: Al heyl, Sere Pylat, þat semly is to se, Prynce of al his Juré and kepere of þe lawe! My lord, Busshop Cayphas, comawndyd hym to þe, And prayd the to be at þe mot-halle by þe day dawe. Pylat Go þi way, praty masanger, and comawnde me also. I xal be þere in hast, and so þu mayst say. Be þe oure of prime I xal comyn hem to; I tery no lenger, no make no delay. Here þe massanger comyth a3en and bryngyth an ansuere, þus seyng: Massanger Al heyl, myn lordys, and buschoppys, and princys of þe lawe! Ser Pylat comawndyth hym to 3ou and bad me to 3ou say He wole be at þe mot-halle in hast sone after þe day dawe; He wold 3e xuld be þer be prime withouth lenger delay. Cayphas Now weyl mote þu fare, my good page. Take þu his for þi massage. Here enteryth Judas onto þe Juwys, þus seyng: Judas I, Judas, haue synnyd, and treson haue don, For I haue betrayd his rythful blood. Here is 3oure mony a3en, all and som. For sorwe and thowth I am wax wood! Annas What is þat to us? Avyse þe now, þu dedyst with us counawnt make: þu seldyst hym us as hors or kow, þerfore þin owyn dedys þu must take. þan Judas castyth down þe mony, and goth and hangyth hymself. Cayphas Now, serys, þe nyth is passyd, þe day is come; It were tyme þis man had his jewgement. And Pylat abydyth in þe mot-halle alone Tyl we xuld þis man present. And þerfore go we now forth with hym in hast. Primus Judeus It xal be don, and þat in short spas. Secundus Judeus 3a, but loke yf he be bownd ryth wel and fast. Tercius Judeus He is saff anow. Go we ryth a good pas. Here þei ledyn Jesu abowt þe place tyl þei come to þe halle. Cayphas Sere Pylat, takyht hede to þis thyng: Jesus we han beforn þe browth, Wheche oure lawe doth down bryng, And mekyl schame he hath us wrowth. Annas From þis cetye into þe lond of Galylé He hath browth oure lawys neyr into confusyon, With hese craftys wrowth be nygramancye Shewyth to þe pepyl be fals symulacyon. Primus Doctor 3a! 3et, sere, another, and werst of alle, A3ens Sesare, oure emperour þat is so fre: Kyng of Jewys he doth hym calle, So oure emperourys power nowth xulde be. Secundus Doctor Sere Pylat, we kannot telle half þe blame þat Jesus in oure countré hath wrowth. þerfore we charge þe in þe emperorys name þat he to þe deth in hast be browth. Pylat What seyst to these compleyntys, Jesu? These pepyl hath þe sore acusyd Because þu bryngyst up lawys newe þat in oure days were not vsyd. Jesus Of here acusyng me rowth nowth, So þat þei hurt not here soulys, ne non mo. I haue nowth 3et founde þat I haue sowth; For my faderys wyl, forth must I go. Pylat Jesus, be þis þan I trowe þu art a kyng. And þe Sone of God þu art also, Lord of erth and of allþing. Telle me þe trowth if it be so. Jesus In hefne is knowyn my faderys intent, And in þis werlde I was born. Be my fadyr I was hedyr sent For to seke þat was forlorn. Alle þat me heryn and in me belevyn And kepyn here feyth stedfastly, þow þei weryn dede, I xal hem recuryn, And xal þem bryng to blysse endlesly. Pilate Lo, serys, now 3e an erde þis man, how thynk 3e? Thynke 3e not all, be 3oure reson, But as he seyth it may wel be, And þat xulde be, be þis incheson? I fynde in hym non obecyon Of errour nor treson, ne of no maner gylt. The lawe wole in no conclusyon Withowte defawth he xuld be spylt. Primus Doctor Sere Pylat, þe lawe restyth in þe, And we knowe veryly his gret trespas. To þe emperour þis mater told xal be, Yf þu lete Jesus þus from þe pas. Pylat Serys, þan telle me o thyng: What xal be his acusyng? Annas Sere, we telle þe al togedyr, For his evyl werkys we browth hym hedyr; And yf he had not an evyl-doere be, We xuld not a browth hym to þe. Pylat Takyth hym þan aftyr 3oure sawe, And demyth hym aftyr 3oure lawe. Cayphas It is not lefful to vs, 3e seyn, No maner man for to slen. þe cawse why we bryng hym to þe, þat he xuld not oure kyng be. Weyl þu knowyst, kyng we have non But oure emperour alon. Pylat Jesu, þu art Kyng of Juré? Jesus So þu seyst now to me. Pylat Tel me þan, Where is þi kyngham? Jesus My kingham is not in þis werld, I telle þe at o word. Yf my kyngham here had be, I xuld not a be delyveryd to þe. Pylat Serys, avyse 3ow as 3e kan; I can fynde no defawth in þis man. Annas Sere, here is a gret record; take hed þerto! And knowyng gret myschef in þis man (And not only in o day or to — It is many 3erys syn he began), We kan telle þe tyme, where and whan, þat many a thowsand turnyd hath he, As all þis pepyll record weyl kan, From hens into þe lond of Galylé. Et clamabunt, "3a! 3a! 3a!" Pilat Serys, of o thyng than gyf me relacyon: If Jesus were outborn in þe lond of Galelye. For we han no poer ne no jurediccyon Of no man of þat contré. Therfore þe trewth 3e telle me And another wey I xal provyde. If Jesus were born in þat countré, þe jugement of Herowdys he must abyde. Cayphas Sere, as I am to þe lawe trewly sworn, To telle þe trewth I haue no fer. In Galelye I know þat he was born; I can telle in what place and where. A3ens þis no man may answere, For he was born in Bedlem Judé. And þis 3e knowe now all, and haue don here, þat it stant in þe lond of Galelye. Pylat Weyl, serys, syn þat I knowe þat it is so, þe trewth of þis I must nedys se. I vndyrstand ryth now what is to do: þe jugement of Jesu lyth not to me. Herowde is kyng of þat countré, To jewge þat regyon in lenth and in brede. þe jurysdyccyon of Jesu now han must he; þerfore Jesu in hast to hym 3e lede. In hall þe hast þat 3e may, spede, Lcde hym to þe Herownde anon present; And sey I comawnde me with worde and dede, And Jesu to hym þat I haue sent. Primus Doctor This erand in hast sped xal be, In all þe hast þat we can do. We xal not tary in no degré, Tyl þe Herowdys presens we com to. Here þei take Jesu and lede hym in gret hast to þe Herowde. And þe Herowdys scafald xal vnclose shewyng Herowdys in astat, all þe Jewys knelyng except Annas and Cayphas; þei xal stondyn, et cetera. Primus Doctor Heyl, Herowde, most excyllent kyng! We arn comawndyd to þin presens. Pylat sendyth þe be us gretyng, And chargyth us be oure obedyens Secundus Doctor þat we xuld do oure dylygens To bryng Jesus of Nazareth onto þe; And chargyth us to make no resystens, Becawse he was born in þis countré. Annas We knowe he hath wrowth gret folé Ageyns þe lawe shewyd present. Therfore Pylat sent hym onto þe þat þu xuldyst gyf hym jugement. Herowde Rex Now be Mahound, my god of grace, Of Pylat þis is a dede ful kende. I forgyf hym now his gret trespace And schal be his frend withowtyn ende, Jesus to me þat he wole sende. I desyred ful sore hym for to se. Gret ese in þis Pylat xal fynde. And, Jesus, þu art welcome to me. Primus Judeus My sovereyn lord, þis is þe case: þe gret falsnesse of Jesu is opynly knawe. þer was nevyr man dede so gret trespas, For he hath almost dystroyd oure lawe. Secundus Judeus 3a, be fals crafte of soserye Wrowth opynly to þe pepyll alle, And þe sotyl poyntys of nygramancye, Many thowsandys fro oure lawe be falle. Cayphas Most excellent kyng, 3e must take hede: He wol dystroye all þis countré, both elde and 3yng, Yf he ten monthis more procede, Be his meraclys and fals prechyng. He bryngyth þe pepyl in gret fonnyng, And seyth dayly among hem alle That he is Lord, and of þe Jewys kyng, And þe Sone of God he doth hym calle. Rex Herowde Serys, alle þese materys I haue herd sayd, And meche more þan 3e me telle. Alle togedyr þei xal be layde, And I wyl take þeron cowncelle. Jesus, þu art welcome to me! I kan Pylat gret thank for his sendyng. I haue desyryd ful longe þe to se, And of þi meracles to haue knowyng. It is told me þu dost many a wondyr thyng; Crokyd to gon and blynd men to sen; And þei þat ben dede, gevyst hem levyng, And makyst lepers fayre and hool to ben. These arn wondyr werkys wrougth of þe, Be what wey I wolde knowe þe trew sentens. Now, Jesu, I pray the, lete me se O meracle wrougth in my presens. In hast now do þi dylygens, And peraventure I wyl shew favour to the. For now þu art in my presens, Thyn lyf and deth here lyth in me. And here Jesus xal not speke no word to þe Herowde. Jesus, why spekyst not to þi kyng? What is þe cawse þu stondyst so stylle? þu knowyst I may deme allthyng, Thyn lyf and deth lyth at my wylle. What! Spek, Jesus, and telle me why þis pepyl do þe so here acuse. Spare not, but telle me now on hey How þu canst þiself excuse. Cayphas Loo, serys, þis is of hym a false sotylté. He wyl not speke but whan he lyst! þus he dysceyvyth þe pepyl in eche degré — He is ful fals, 3e veryly tryst. Rex Herowde What, þu onhangyd harlot, why wylt þu not speke? Hast þu skorne to speke onto þi kyng? Becawse þu dost oure lawys breke, I trowe þu art aferd of oure talkyng. Annas Nay, he is not aferde, but of a fals wyle, Becawse we xuld not hym acuse. If þat he answerd 3ow ontylle, He knowyth he kannot hymself excuse. Rex Hero[wde] What! Spek, I say, þu foulyng! Evyl mot þu fare! Loke up, þe devyl mote þe cheke. Serys, bete his body with scorgys bare, And asay to make hym for to speke. Primus Jude[us] It xal be do withoutyn teryeng. Come on, þu tretour, evyl mot þu þe! Whylt þu not speke onto oure kyng? A new lesson we xal lere þe. Here þei pulle of Jesus clothis and betyn hym with whyppys. Secundus Jude[us] Jesus, þi bonys we xal not breke, But we xal make þe to skyppe. þu hast lost þi tonge, þu mayst not speke — þu xalt asay now of þis whippe! Tercius Judeus Serys, take þese whyppys in 3oure honde, And spare not whyl þei last, And bete his tretoure þat here doth stonde; I trowe þat he wyl speke in hast. And quan þei han betyn hym tyl he is all blody, þan þe Herownd seyth: [Rex Herowde] Sees, serys, I comawnde 3ou be name of þe devyl of helle! Jesus, thynkyst þis good game? þu art strong to suffyr schame; þu haddyst levyr be betyn lame þan þi defawtys for to telle. But I wyl not þi body all spyl, Nor put it here into more peyn. Serys, takyth Jesus at 3oure owyn wyl And lede hym to Pylat hom ageyn. Grete hym weyl and telle hym serteyn All my good frenchep xal he haue. I gyf hym powere of Jesus, þus 3e hym seyn, Whether he wole hym dampne or save. Primus Doctor Sere, at 3oure request it xal be do; We xal lede Jesus at 3oure demaw[n]de, And delyver hym Pylat onto, And telle hym all as 3e comawnde. Satan and the Dream of Pilate's Wife, and Christ's Second Trial Before Pilate Here enteryth Satan into þe place in þe most orryble wyse. And qwyl þat he pleyth, þei xal don on Jesus clothis and ouyrest a whyte clothe, and ledyn hym abowth þe place, and þan to Pylat be þe tyme þat hese wyf hath pleyd. 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 þei lowth, Brennyng in flamys as fyre out of flynt! Hoso serve me, Sathan, to sorwe is he sent, With dragonys in doungenys, and develys ful[l] derke! In bras and in bronston þe brethellys be brent þat wone in þis werd my wyl for to werke! With myschef on moolde here membrys I merke þat japyn with Jesus, þat Judas solde! Be he nevyr so crafty nor conyng clerke, I harry þem to helle as tretour bolde! But þer is o thyng þat grevyth me sore, Of a prophete þat Jesu 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 all weys þat I cow[de] don, And vttyrly he refusyd hem and gan me defye. þat rebuke þat he gaf me xal not be vnqwyt! Somwhat I haue begonne, and more xal be do. For all his barfot goyng, fro me xal he not skyp, But my derk dongeon I xal bryngyn hym to! I haue do made redy his cros þat he xal dye upon, And thre nayles to takke hym with, þat 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 þe herte! And sythyn he xal come to helle, be he nevyr so stowte. And 3et I am aferd and he come he wole do som wrake. þerfore I xal go warnyn helle þat þei loke abowte, þat þei make redy chenys to bynd hym with in lake. Helle, helle, make redy, for here xal come a gest! Hedyr xal come Jesus, þat is clepyd Goddys sone. And he xal ben here be þe oure of none, And with þe here he xal wone, And han ful shrewyd rest. Here xal a devyl spekyn in helle: Demon Out upon þe! We conjure þe þat nevyr in helle we may hym se. For and he onys in helle be, He xal oure power brest. Sathan A, a, than haue I go to ferre! But som wyle help, I have a shrewde torne. My game is wers þan I wend here; I may seyn my game is lorne! Lo, a wyle 3et haue I kast: If I myth Jesus lyf save, Helle gatys xal be sperd fast And kepe stylle all þo I haue. To Pylatys wyff I wele now go, And sche is aslepe abed ful fast, And byd here withowtyn wordys mo To Pylat þat sche send in hast. I xal asay, and his wol be, To bryng Pylat in belef. Withinne a whyle 3e xal se How my craft I wole go pref. Here xal þe devyl gon to Pylatys wyf, þe corteyn drawyn as she lyth in bedde; and he xal no dene make, but she xal sone after þat he is come in makyn a rewly noyse, comyng and rennyng of þe schaffald, and here shert and here kyrtyl in here hand. And sche xal come beforn Pylat leke a mad woman, seyng þus: Vxor Pilaty Pylat, I charge þe þat þu take hede: Deme not Jesu, but be his frende. 3yf þu jewge hym to be dede, þu art dampnyd withowtyn ende. A fend aperyd me beforn As I lay in my bed slepyng fast. Sethyn þe tyme þat I was born Was I nevyr so sore agast. As wylde fyre and thondyrblast He cam cryeng onto me. He seyd þei þat bete Jesu or bownd hym fast, Withowtyn ende dampnyd xal be. þerfore a wey herein þu se And lete Jesu from þe clere pace. þe Jewys, þei wole begyle þe, And put on þe all þe trespace. Pylat Gramercy, myn wyf, for evyr 3e be trewe; 3oure cowncel is good, and evyr hath be. Now to 3oure chawmer 3e do sewe, And all xal be weyl, dame, as 3e xal se. Here þe Jewys bryng Jesus a3en to Pylat. Primus Doctor Sere Pylat, gode tydandys þu here of me: Of Herowd þe kyng þu hast good wyl, And Jesus he sendyth a3en to the, And byddyth þe chese hym to save or spylle. Secundus Doctor 3a, sere, all þe poer lyth now in þe, And þu knowyst oure feyth he hath ner schent. þu knowyst what myschef þerof may be — We charge þe to gyf hym jwgcment. Pylat Serys, trewly 3e be to blame Jesus þus to bete, dyspoyle, or bynde, Er put hym to so gret schame. For no defawth in hym I fynde. Ne Herowdys nother, to whom I sent 3ow, Defawte in hym cowde fynde ryth non, But sent hym a3en to me be 3ow, As 3e knowe wel everychon. Therfore vndyrstande what I xal say: 3e knowe þe custom is in þis londe Of 3oure Pasche day, þat is nerhonde: What þeff or tretore be in bonde For worchep of þat day xal go þe away, Without any price. Now þan methynkyth it were ryth To lete Jesus now go qwyte And do to hym no mo dyspyte. Serys, þis is myn avyse. I wolde wete what 3e say. Here all þei xul cryen: Nay! Nay! Nay! Primus Doctor Delyvere us þe þeff Barabas, þat for mansclawth presonde was! Pylat What xal I þan with Jesu do? Whethyr xal he abyde or go? Secundus Doctor Jesus xal on be cros be don! Crucifigatur, we crye echon! Pylat Serys, what hath Jesus don amys? Populus clamabit: Crucifigatur, we sey atonys. Pylat Serys, syn algatys 3e wolyn so Puttynjesu to wo and peyn, Jcsus a wyle with me xal go; I wole hym examyne betwyx us tweyn. Here Pylat takyth Jesu and ledyth hym into þe cowncel hous and seyth: Jesus, what seyst now, lete se. This matere now þu vndyrstonde: In pes þu myth be for me, But for þi pepyl of þi londe. Busshoppys and prestys of þe lawe, þei love be not, as þu mayst se; And be comoun pepyl a3ens be drawe. In pes þu myth a be for me, þis I telle be pleyn. What seyst,Jcsus? Whispekyst not me to? Knowyst not I haue power on be cros be to do? And also I haue power to lete be forth go. What kanst þu hereto seyn? Jesus On me poer þu hast ryth non But þat my fadyr hath grawntyd beforn. I cam my faderys wyl to fullfylle, þat mankynd xuld not spylle. He þat hath betrayd me to þe at his tyme, His trespas is more þan is þine. Primus Doctor 3e pryncys and maysterys, takyth hed and se How Pylat in þis matere is favorabyl. And þus oure lawys dystroyd myth be, And to vs alle vnrecurabyl. Here Pylat letyth Jesus alone and goth into þe Jewys and seyth: Pylat Serys, what wole 3e now with Jesu do? I can fynde in hym but good It is my cownce[l] 3e lete hym go — It is rewthe to spylle his blood. Cayphas Pylat, methynkyth þu dost gret wrong A3ens oure lawe þus to fortefye. And þe pepyl here is so strong Bryngyng þe lawful testymonye. Annas 3a, and þu lete Jesu fro us pace — þis we welyn upholdyn alle — þu xalt answere for his trespas, And tretour to þe emperour we xal þe kalle! Pylat Now þan, syn 3e wolne non other weye But in alwyse þat Jesus must deye, Artyse, bryng me watyr, I pray þe, And what I wole do 3e xal se. Hic vnus afferet aquam. As I wasche with watyr my handys clene, So gyltles of hese deth I mut ben. Primus Doctor þe blod of hym mut ben on vs, And on oure chyldyr aftyr vs. Et clamabunt, "3a! 3a! 3a!" þan Pylat goth a3en to Jesu and bryng[yth] hym, þus seyng: Pylat Lo, serys, I bryng hym here to 3oure presens, þat 3e may knowe I fynde in hym non offens. Secundus Doctor Dylyuere hym, delyvere hym, and lete us go, On þe crosse þat he were do! Pilat Serys, wolde 3e 3oure kyng I xulde on be cros don? Tercius Doctor Sere, we seyn þat we haue no kyng but þe emperour alon. Pilat Serys, syn algatys it must be so, We must syt and oure offyce do. Brynge forth to be barre þat arn to be dempt, And þei xal haue here jugement. Here þei xal brynge Barabas to þe barre, and Jesu, and ij þewys in here she rtys, bareleggyd, and Jesus standyng at þe barre betwyx them. And Annas and Cayphas xal gon into þe cowncell hous quan Pylat sytty[th] Pylat Barabas, hold up þi hond, For here at þi delyveré dost þu stond. e halt up his bond. Serys, qwhat sey 3e of Barabas, thef and tretour bold? Xal he go fre or [xal he] be kept in holde? Primus Doctor Sere, for þe solennyté of oure Pasche day, Be oure lawe he xal go þe away! Pylat Barabas, þan I dymysse þe, And 3eve þe lycens to go fre. Et curret. Dysmas and Jesmas, theras 3e stondys, þe lawe comawndyth 3ou to hald up 3oure hondys. Sere, what sey 3e of þese thevys tweyn? Secundus Doctor Sere, þei ben both gylty, we seyn. Pylat And what sey 3e of Jesu of Nazareth? Primus Doctor Sere, we sey he xal be put to deth. Pylat And kone 3e put a3ens hym no trespas? Secundus Doct[or] Sere, we wyl all þat he xal be put upon þe crosse. Et clamabunt omnes voce magna, dicentes, "3a! 3a! 3a!" Pylat Jesu, þin owyn pepyl han dysprevyd Al þat I haue for þe seyd or mevyd. I charge 3ou all at þe begynnyng, As 3e wole answere me beforn, þat her be no man xal towch 3oure kyng But yf he be knyght or jentylman born. Fyrst his clothis 3e xal of don, And maken hym nakyd for to be. Bynde hym to a pelere as sore as 3e mon, þan skorge hym with qwyppys þat al men may se. Whan he is betyn, crowne hym for 3oure kyng; And þan to þe cros 3e xal hym bryng. And to þe crosse þu xalt be fest, And on thre naylys þi body xal rest: On xal thorwe þi ryth hand go, Anothyr thorwe þi lyfte hand also; þe thred xal be smet þour bothe þi feet, Whech nayl þerto be mad ful mete. And 3et þu xalt not hange alone, But on eyther syde of þe xal be on. Dysmas, now I deme þe, þat on hese ryth hand þu xalt be. And Jesmas on þe left hand hangyd xal ben, On be Mownth of Caluerye, þat men may sen. Here Pylat xal rysyn and gon to his schaffald, and þe busshoppys with hym; and þe 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 þus: Primus Judeus Doth gladly, oure kyng, For þis is 3oure fyrst begynnyng. And quan he is skorgyd þei put upon hym a cloth of sylk, and settyn hym on a stol and puttyn a keroune of þornys on hese hed with forkys; and þe Jewys knelyng to Cryst, takyng hym a septer, and skornyng hym; and þan þei xulpullyn of þe purpyl cloth and don on ageyn his owyn clothis, and leyn þe crosse in hese necke to beryn't, and drawyn hym forth with ropys. And þan xal come to women wepyng and with here handys wryngyn, seyng þus: The Procession to Calvary and the Crucifixion of Christ Prim[a] Muller Allas, Jesus! Allas, Jesus! Wo is me! þat þu art þus dyspoylyd, allas! And 3et nevyr defawth was fownd in the, But evyr þu hast be fole of grace. Secund[a] Muller A, here is a rewful syth of Jesu so good, þat he xal þus dye a3ens þe ryth. A, wykkyd men, 3e be more þan wood To do þat good Lord so gret dyspyte! Here Jesus turnyth a3en to þe women with his crosse, þus seyng: Jesus Dowterys of Hierusalem, for me wepyth nowth, But for 3oureself wepyth, and for 3oure chyldyr also. For þe days xal come þat þei han aftyr sowth, Here synne and here blyndnesse xal turne hem to wo. þan xal be sayd, "Blyssyd be þe wombys þat bareyn be;" And wo to be tetys tho days þat do 3evyn sokyng And to here faderys þei xul seyn, "Wo to þe tyme þat þu begat me," And to here moderys, "Alias, wher xal be oure dwellyng?" þan to be hyllys and mownteynes they xal crye and calle, "Oppyn and hyde us from þe face of hym syttyng in trone; Or ellys ovyrthrowyth and on us now come falle, þat we may be hyd from oure sorweful mone." Here Jesus turnyth fro þe women and goth forth; and þer þei metyn with Symonem in þe place, þe Jewys seyng to hym: Primus Jude[us] Sere, to þe a word of good: A man is here, þu mayst se, Beryth hevy of a rode Whereon he xal hangyd be. Therfore we prey all the þu take þe crosse of þe man; Bere it with vs to Kalvarye, And ryth gret thank þu xalt han. Symon Serys, I may not in no degré: I haue gret errandys for to do. þerfore I pray 3ow excuse me, And on my herand lete me go. Secundus Judeus What! Harlot, hast þu skorne To bere þe tre whan we þe preye? þu xalt beryn't haddyst þu sworn, And yt were ten tyme þe weye! Symon Serys, I prey 3ou, dysplese 3ou nowth. I wole help to bere þe tre; Into þe place it xal be browth Where 3e wole comawnde me. Here Symon takyth þe cros of Jesus and beryth it forth. Veronica A, 3e synful pepyl, why fare þus? For swet and blood he may not se. Allas, holy prophete, Cryst Jhesus, Careful is myn hert for the. And sche whypyth his face with here kerchy. Jesus Veronyca, þi whipyng doth me ese. My face is clene þat was blak to se. I xal þem kepe from all mysese þat lokyn on þi kerchy and remembyr me. þan xul þei pulle Jesu out of his clothis and leyn them togedyr; and þer þei xul pullyn hym down and leyn hym along on þe cros, and aftyr þat naylyn hym þeron. Primus Judeus Come on, now here we xal asay Yf þe cros for þe be mete. Cast hym down here, in þe devyl way; How long xal he standyn on his fete? Secundus Judeus Pul hym down, evyl mote he the! And gyf me his arm in hast; And anon we xal se Hese good days, þei xul be past. Tercius Judeus Gef hese other arm to me, Another take hed to hese feet, And anon we xal se Yf þe borys be for hym meet. Quartus Judeus þis is mete, take good hede, Pulle out þat arm to þe sore. Primus Judeus þis is short — be deuyl hym sped! — Be a large fote and more. Secundus Judeus Fest on a rop and pulle hym long, And I xal drawe þe ageyn. Spare we not þese ropys strong, þow we brest both flesch and veyn. Tercius Judeus Dryve in þe nayl anon, lete se, And loke and þe flesch and senues well last. Quartus Judeus þat I graunt, so mote I the! Lo, þis nayl is dreve ryth wel and fast. Primus Judeus Fest a rop þan to his feet, And drawe hym down long anow. Secundus Judeus Here is a nayl for both, good and greet; I xal dryve it thorwe, I make avow. Here xul þei leve of and dawncyn abowte þe cros shortly. Tercius Judeus Lo, fela, here a lythe, takkyd on a tre! Quartus Ju[deus] 3a, and I trowe þu art a worthy kyng. Primus Judeus A, good sere, telle me now, what helpyth þi prophecy þe? Secundus Judeus 3a, or any of þi fals prechyng? Tercius Judeus Serys, set up þe cros on þe hende þat we may loke hym in þe face. Quartus Judeus 3a, and we xal knelyn onto oure kyng so kend, And preyn hym of his gret grace. Here quan þei han set hym up, þei xuln gon before hym seyng eche affter other þus: Primus Judeus Heyl, Kyng of Jewys, yf þu be! Secundus Judeus 3a, 3a, sere, as þu hangyst þere flesche and bonys, Tercius Judeus Com now down of þat tre, Quartus Judeus And we wole worchepe þe all atonys! Here xul poer comonys stand and loke upon þe jewys iiij or v; and þe Jewys xul come to them and do them hange þe þevys. Primus Judeus Come on, 3e knavys, and set up þise ij crosses ryth, And hange up þese to thevys anon. Secundus Jud[eus] 3a, and in þe worchep of his worthy knyth, On eche syde of hym xal hangyn on. Here þe sympyl men xul settyn up þese ij crossys and hangyn up þe thevys be þe armys. And þerwhylys xal þe Jewys cast dyce for his clothis, and fytyn and stryvyn. And in þe menetyme xal oure Lady come with iij Maryes with here and Sen Johan with hem, settyng hem down asyde afore þe cros, oure Lady swuonyng and mornyng, and [be] leysere seyng: Maria A, my good Lord, my sone so swete! What hast þu don? Why hangyst now þus here? Is þer non other deth to þe now mete But þe most shamful deth among þese thevys fere? A, out on my hert — whi brest þu nowth? And þu art maydyn and modyr, and seyst þus þi childe spylle! How mayst þu abyde þis sorwe and þis woful þowth? A, deth, deth, deth! Why wylt þu not me kylle? Here oure Lady xal swonge a3en, and ore Lord xal seyn þus: Jesus O Fadyr Almythy, makere of man, Forgyff þese Jewys þat don me wo. Forgeve hem, fadyr, forgeve hem þan, For thei wete notwh what þei do. Primus Judeus 3a! Vath! Vath! Now here is he þat bad us dystroye oure tempyl on a day, And withinne days thre He xulde reysyn't a3en in good aray. Secundus Judeus Now and þu kan do swech a dede, Help now þiself, yf þat þu kan; And we xal belevyn on þe withoutyn drede, And seyn þu art a mythty man.. Tercius Judeus 3a, yf þu be Goddys sone, as þu dedyst teche, From þe cros come now down. þan of mercy we xal þe beseche And seyn þu art a lord of gret renown. Jestes Yf þu be Goddys sone, as þu dedyst seye, Helpe here now both þe and vs. But I fynde it not al in my feye þat þu xuldyst be Cryst, Goddys sone Jesus. Dysmas Do wey, fool! Why seyst þu so? He is þe Sone of God, I beleve it wel! And synne dede he nevyr, lo, þat he xuld be put his deth tyl. But we ful mech wrong han wrowth. He dede nevyr þing amys! Now mercy, good Lord, mercy, and forgete me nowth Whan þu comyst to þi kyngham and to þi blysse! Jesus Amen, amen, þu art ful wyse. þat þu hast askyd I grawnt þe: þis same day in paradyse With me, þi God, þu xalt þer be. Maria O my sone, my sone, my derlyng dere! What! Haue I defendyd be? þu hast spoke to alle þo þat ben here, And not o word þu spekyst to me. To þe jewys þu art ful kende: þu hast forgove al here mysdede. And be thef þu hast in mende: For onys haskyng mercy, hefne is his mede. A, my sovereyn Lord, why whylt þu not speke To me þat am þi modyr, in peyn for þi wrong? A, hert, hert, why whylt þu not breke, þat I wore out of his sorwe so stronge! Jesus A, woman, woman, beheld her þi sone, And þu, Jon, take her for þi modyr. I charge þe to kepe here as besyly as þu kone; þu, a clene mayde, xal kepe another. And, woman, þu knowyst þat my fadyr of hefne me sent To take his manhod of þe, Adamys rawnsom to pay. For þis is be wyl and my faderys intent, þat I xal þus deye to delyuere man fro þe develys pray. Now syn it is þe wyl of my fadyr, it xuld þus be. Why xuld it dysplese þe, modyr, now my deth so sore? And for to suffre al þis for man I was born of the, To þe blys þat man had lost, man a3en to restore. Her oure Lady xal ryse, and renne, and halse þe crosse. Maria Magdalene A, good lady, why do 3e þus? 3oure dolfol cher now cheuyth us sore. And for þe peyne of my swete Lord Jesus, þat he seyth in 3ou, it peyneth hum more. Maria Virgo I pray 3ow alle, lete me ben here, And hang me up here on þis tre Be my frend and sone þat me is so dere, For her he is, þer wold I be. Johannes Jentyl lady, now leve 3oure mornyng, And go with us now, we 3ou pray; And comfort oure Lord at hese departyng, For he is almost redy to go his way. Here þei xal take oure Lady from þe crosse. And here xal Pylat come down from his shaffald with Cayphas and Annas and all here mené and xul come and lokyn on Cryst. AndAnnas and Cayphas xul skornfully sey[n]: Cayphas Lo, serys, lo, beheldyth and se, Here hangyth he þat halpe many a man. And now yf he Goddys sone be, Helpe now hymself, yf þat he kan! Annas 3a, and yf þu Kyng of Israel be, Come down of þe cros among us alle. And lete þi God now delyuere the, And þan oure kyng we wole þe calle. Here xal Pylat askyn penne and inke, and a tabyl xal be take hym wretyn afore "Hic est Jesus Nazarenus, Rex Judeorum." And he xal make hym to wtyte, and þan gon up on a leddere and settyn þe tabyl abovyn Crystys hed. And þan Cayphas xal makyn hym to redyn and seyn: Cayphas Sere Pylat, we merveylyth of þis, þat 3e wryte hym to be Kyng of Jewys. þerfore we wolde þat 3e xuld wryte þus, þat he namyd hymself Kyng of Jewus. Pylat þat I haue wretyn, wretyn it is. And so it xal be for me, iwys. And so forth all þei xal gon a3en to þe skaffald and Jesus xal cryen: [Jesus] Heloy, Heloy, lamazabathany? My fadyr in hevyn on hy, Why dost þu me forsake? The frelté of my mankende, With stronge peyn yt gynnyth to peynde! Ha, dere fadyr, haue me in mende, And lete deth my sorwe slake. Secundus Judeus Methynkyth he this doth calle Hely. Lete us go nere and aspy, And loke yf he come preuely, From cros hym down to reve. Jesus So grett a thrust dede nevym man take As I haue, man, now for þi sake; For thrust asundyr my lyppys gyn crake, For drynes þei do cleve. Tercius Judeus 3oure thrust, Sere Hoberd, for to slake, Eyzil and galle here I þe take. What! Methynkyth a mowe 3e make. Is not þis good drynk? To crye for drynke 3e had gret hast, And now it semyth it is but wast; Is not þis drynk of good tast? Now telle me how 3e thynk. Quartus Judeus On lofte, Sere Hoberd, now 3e be sett, We wyl no lenger with 3ou lett. We grete 3ou wel on þe newe gett, And make on 3ou a mowe. Primus Judeus We grete 3ou wel with a scorn And pray 3ou bothe evyn and morn, Take good eyd to oure corn, And chare awey þe crowe. Jesus In manus tuas, Domine, Holy Fadym in hefly se, I comende my spyryte to þe, For here now hendyth my fest. I xal go sle þe fende, þat freke, For 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 3et 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 — For sorwe myn hert doth twynne! Johannes A, blyssyd mayde, chaunge 3oure thought, For þow 3oure sone with sorwe be sought, 3itt by his owyn wyl his werk is wrought, And wylfully his deth to take. 3ow to kepe he chargyd me here, I am 3oure servaunt, my lady dere; Wherfore I pray 3ow, be of good chere, And merthis þat 3e make. Maria Thow he had nevyr of me be born, And I sey his flesch þus al xxxto torn, On bak behyndyn, on brest beforn, Rent with woundys wyde, Nedys I must wonyn in woo, To se my frende with many a fo All torent from top to too, His flesch withowtyn hyde. Johannes A, blyssyd lady, as I 3ow telle, Had he not deyd, we xuld to helle, Amongys fendys þer evyr to dwelle, In peynes þat ben smert. He sufferyth deth for oure trespace, And thorwe his deth we xal haue grace To dwelle with hym in hevyn place. þerfore beth mery in hert! Maria A, dere frende, weel woot I this, þat he doth bye us to his blys. But 3itt of myrth evyrmor I mys Whan I se his syght. Johannes Now, dere lady, þerfore I 3ow pray, Fro þis dolful dolour wende we oure way; For whan þis syght 3e se nought may, 3oure care may waxe more lyght. Maria Now sythe I must parte hym fro, 3it lete me kysse, or þat I go, His blyssyd feyt þat sufferyn wo Naylid on his tre. So cruelly with grett dyspyte þus shamfully was nevyr man dyghte. þerfore in peyn myn hert is pyghte — Al joyedepartyth fro me. Hic quasi semi-[m]ortua cadat prona in terram. Et dicit Johannes: Johannes Now, blyssyd mayd, com forthe with me, No lengere his syght þat 3e se. I xal 3ow gyde in his countré Where þat it plesyth 3ow best. Maria Now, jentyl Johan, my sonys derlyng, To Goddys temple þu me brynge þat I may prey God with sore wepynge And mornynge þat is prest. Johannes All 3oure desyre xal be wrought; With herty wyll I werke 3oure thought. Now, blyssyd mayde, taryeth nowth, In þe temple þat 3e ware. For holy prayere may chaunge 3oure mood And cawse 3oure chere to be more good. Whan 3e se not3 3oure childys blood, þe lasse may be 3oure care. Tunc transiet Maria ad templum cum Johanne, et cetera. Maria Here in þis temple my lyff I lede, And serue my Lord God with hertyly drede. Now xal wepynge me fode and fede, Som comforte tyll God sende. A, my Lord God, I þe pray, Whan my childe ryseth þe iijde day, Comforte thanne thyn handmay, My care for to amende. The Harrowing of Hell A Christi Now all mankende in herte be glad With all merthis þat may be had! For mannys sowle, þat was bestad In þe logge of helle, Now xal I ryse to lyve agayn, From peyn to pleys of paradyse pleyn. þerfore, man, in hert be fayn, In merthe now xalt þu dwelle! I am þe sowle of Cryst Jesu, þe which is kynge of all vertu. My body is ded — þe Jewys it slew — þat hangyth 3itt on þe rode. Rent and torn al blody red, For mannys sake my body is deed. For mannys helpe my body is bred, And sowle-drynk my bodyes blode. þow my body be now sclayn, þe thrydde day, þis is certayn, I xal reyse my body agayn To lyve, as I 3ow say. Now wole I go streyth to helle And feche from þe fendys felle All my frendys þat þerin dwelle, To blysse þat lestyth ay. The sowle goth to helle gatys and seyth: "Attollite portas principes vestras, et eleuamini, porte eternales, et introibit Rex Glorie." Ondothe 3oure 3atys of sorwatorie! On mannys sowle I haue memorie. Here comyth now þe Kynge of Glorye, These gatys for to breke. 3e develys þat arn here withinne, Helle gatys 3e xal vnpynne. I xal delyvere mannys kynne; From wo I wole hem wreke. Belyall Alas, alas! Out and harrow! Onto þi byddynge must we bow. þat þu art God now do we know — Of þe had we grett dowte! A3ens þe may nothynge stonde; Allthynge obeyth to thyn honde; Bothe hevyn and helle, watyr and londe, Allthynge must to þe lowte. Anima Christi A3ens me it wore but wast To holdyn or to stondyn fast. Helle logge may not last A3ens þe Kynge of Glorye. þi derke dore down I throwe; My fayr frendys now wele I knowe. I xal hem brynge reknyd be rowe Out of here purcatorye. The Burial of Christ and the Guarding of the Sepulchre Centurio In trewth, 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 The very childe of God I suppose þat he be, And so it semyth wele be his wundyrful werk: þe erth sore qwakyth, and þat agresyth me; With myst and grett wedyr it is woundyr dyrk. Alius Miles 3 Soch merveylis shewe may non erthely man! þe eyr is ryght derke þat fyrst was ryght clere; The erthqwave is grett, þe clowdys waxe whan. These tokenys preue hym a lorde without any pere. Centurio His fadyr is pereles kyng of most empere, Bothe Lorde of þis World and Kynge of Hevyn hy3e. 3it out of all synne to brynge us owt of daungere, He soferyth his dere sone for us all to dye. Nichodemus Alas, alas, what syght is this, To se þe Lorde and Kynge of Blys, þat nevyr synnyd ne dede amys, þus naylid vpon a rode! Alas, 3ewys, what haue 3e wrought? A, 3e wyckyd wytys, what was 3oure thought? Why haue 3e bobbyd and þus betyn owth All his blyssyd blood? Senturyo A, now trewly telle weyl I kan þat þis was Goddys owyn sone. I knowe he is both God and man Be þis wark þat here is done. þer was nevyr man but God þat cowde make þis werk þat evyr was of woman born, Were he nevyr so gret a clerk; It passeth hem all, þow þei had sworn. Hese lawe was trewe, I dare wel saye, þat he tawth us here amonge. þerfore I rede 3e, turne 3oure faye, And amende þat 3e han do wronge. Joseph of Ara[mathie] O good Lord Jesu, þat deyst now here on rode, Haue mercy on me and forgyf me my mys. I wold þe worchep here with my good, þat I may come to þi blysse. To Pylat now wole I goon And aske þe body of my Lord Jesu. To bery þat now wold I soon In my grave, þat is so new. Heyl, Sere Pylat, þat syttyth in sete! Heyl, justyce of Jewys men do þe calle! Heyl, with helthe I do þe grete! I pray þe of a bone whatso befalle. To bery Jesuis body I wole þe pray, þat he were out of mennys syth. For tomorwyn xal be oure holy day; þan wole no man hym bery, I þe plyth. And yf we lete hym hange þer stylle, Some wolde seyn þerof anow. þe pepyl þerof wold seyn ful ylle þat nother xuld be 3oure worchep nor prow. Pylat Sere Joseph of Baramathie, I graunt þe; With Jesuis body do þin intent. But fyrst I wole wete þat he ded be, As it was his jugement. Sere knytys, I comawnd 3ow þat 3e go In hast with Josepht of Baramathie; And loke 3e take good hede þerto þat Jesu suerly ded be. Se þat þis comawndement 3e fulfylle Without wordys ony mo. And þan lete Joseph do his wylle, What þat he wyl with Jesu do. Here come to knytys beforn Pylat atonys, þus seyng: Primus Miles Sere, we xal do oure dylygens, With Joseph goyng to Caluerye. Be we out of þi presens, Sone þe trewth we xal aspye. Joseph [Aramathie] Gramercy, Pylat, of 3oure jentylnesse, þat 3e han grawntyd me my lyst. Anythyng in my province 3e xal haue at 3oure [request]. Pylat Sere, all 3oure lest 3e xal haue. With Jesuis body do 3oure intent. Whethyr 3e bery hym in pyt or grave, þe powere I grawnt 3ow here present. The ij knygtys go with Joseph to Jesus, and stande and heldyn hym in þe face. Secundus Miles Methynkyth Jesu is sewre anow — It is no ned his bonys to breke. He is ded, how þinkyth 3ow? He xal nevyr go nor speke. Primus Miles We wyl be sure or þan we go. Of a thyng I am bethowth; 3ondyr is a blynd knyth I xal go to, And sone a whyle here xal be wrowth. Here þe knyth goth to blynde Longeys and seyth: Heyl, Sere Longeys, þu gentyl knyth. þe I prey now ryth hertyly þat þu wylt wend with me ful wyth. It xal be for þi prow, veryly. Longeus Sere, at 3oure comawndement with 3ow wyl I wende In what place 3e wyl me haue. For I trost 3e be my frend; Lede me forth, sere, oure Sabath 3ou save. Primus Miles Lo, Sere Longeys, here is a spere Bothe long and brood, and sharp anow. Heve it up fast þat it wore þere, For here is game. Show, man, show! Here Longeys showyth þe spere warly; and þe blood comyth rennyng to his hand, and he auantotysly xal wype his eyn. Longeys O good Lord, how may þis be, þat I may se so bryth now? þis thretty wyntyr I myth not se And now I may se, I wote nevyr how! But ho is þis þat hangyth here now? I trowe it be be [maydonys] sone. And þat he is. Now I knowe wel how þe jewys to hym þis velany han don. Here he fallyth down on his knes. Now, good Lord, forgyf me that þat I to þe now don have. For I dede I wyst not what. þe Jewys of myn ignorans dede me rave. Mercy! Mercy! Mercy, I crye! [þan] Joseph doth set up þe lederys, and Nychodemus comyth to help hym. Nicodemus Joseph ab Aramathy, blyssyd þu be, For þu dost a fol good dede. I prey the, lete me help þe, þat I may be partenere of þi mede. Joseph Nychodemus, welcome indede. I pray 3ow 3e wole help þerto. He wole aqwyte us ryth weyl oure mede, And I haue lysens for to do. Here Joseph and Nychodemus takyn Cryst of þe cros, on on o ledyr and þe tother on another leddyr. And quan [he] is had down, Joseph leyth hym in oure Ladys lappe, seyng þe knytys turnyng hem, and Joseph seyth: Joseph Lo, Mary, modyr good and trewe, Here is þi son, blody and bloo. For hym myn hert ful sore doth rewe. Kysse hym now onys eer he go. Maria Virgo A, mercy! Mercy, myn owyn son so dere, þi blody face now I must kysse. þi face is pale, withowtyn chere; Of meche joy now xal I mysse. þer was nevyr modyr þat sey this, So here sone dyspoyled with so gret wo. And my dere chylde nevyr dede amys. A, mercy, Fadyr of Hefne, it xulde be so. Joseph Mary, 3oure sone 3e take to me; Into his grave it xal be browth. Maria Joseph, blyssyd evyr mot þu be For þe good dede þat 3e han wrowth. Here þei xal leyn Cryst in his grave. Joseph I gyf þe þis syndony þat I have bowth To wynde þe in whyl it is new. Nichodemus Here is an onyment þat I haue browth To anoynt withall myn Lord Jhesu. Joseph Now Jesu is withinne his grave, Wheche I ordeyn somtyme for me. On þe, Lord, I vowche it save; I knowe my mede ful gret xal be. Nichodem[us] Now lete us leyn on þis ston ageyn, And Jesu in þis tombe stylle xal be. And we wyl walke hom ful pleyn; þe day passyth fast I se. Farewel, Joseph, and wel 3e be; No lengere teryeng here we make. Joseph Sere, almythy God be with þe; Into his blysse he mote 3ou take. Maria Farewel 3e jentyl princys kende. In joye evyr mote 3e be. þe blysse of hefne withowtyn ende I knowe veryly þat 3e xal se. Here þe princys xal do reuerens to oure Lady and gon here way, and leve þe Maryes at þe sepulcre. Cayphas goth to Pylat, seyng þus: Cayphas Herk, Sere Pylat, lyst to me. I xal þe telle tydyngys new. Of o thyng we must ware be, Er ellys hereafter we myth it rewe. þu wotyst weyl þat Jesu, He seyd to us with wordys pleyn, He seyd we xuld fynd it trew, þe thryd day he wold ryse agey[n]. Yf þat hese dyscyplys come, serteyn, And out of his graue stele hym away, þei wyl go preche and pleyn seyn þat he is reson þe thryd day. þis is þe cowncel þat I gyf here: Take men and gyf hem charge þerto To weche þe grave with gret power Tyl þe thryd day be go. Pylat Sere Cayphas, it xal be do, For as 3e say, þer is peryl in. And it happend þat it were so, It myth make oure lawys for to blyn. 3e xal se, sere, er þat 3e go, How I xal þis mater saue, And what I xal sey þerto, And what charge þei xal haue. Come forth 3e, Sere Amorawnt And Sere Arphaxat; com ner also, Sere Cosdram and Sere Affraunt, And here þe charge þat 3e must do. Serys, to Jesuis grave 3e xal go Tyl þat þe thryd day be gon, And lete nother frend nor fo In no wey to towche þe ston. Yf ony of hese dyscipelys com þer To fech þe body fro 3ou away, Bete hym down! Have 3e no fere — With shamful deth do hym day! In payn of 3oure godys and 3oure lyvys þat 3e lete hem nowth shape 3ou fro, And of 3oure chyldere and 3oure wyfys — For al 3e lese and 3e do so. Primus Miles Sere Pylat, we xal not ses. We xal kepe it strong anow. Secundus Miles 3a, and an hunderyd put hem in pres, þei xal dey, I make avow! Tercius Miles And han honderyd? Fy on an C and an C þerto! þer is non of hem xal us withstonde. Quartus Miles 3a, and þer com an hunderyd thowsand and mo, I xal hem kylle with myn honde! Pylat Wel, serys, þan 3oure part 3e do. And to 3oure charge loke 3e take hede, Withowtyn wordys ony mo, Wysly now þat 3e procede. Here þe knytys gon out of þe place. Lo, Sere Cayphas, how thynkyth 3ow? Is not þis wel browth abowth? Cayphas In feyth, sere, it is sure anow. Hardely, haue 3e no dowth. Arfaxat ij Let se, Ser Amaraunt, where wele 3e be? Wole 3e kepe þe feet or þe hed? Ameraunt At þe hed, so mote I the. And hoso come here, he is but ded. Arfaxat ij And I wole kepe þe feet þis tyde, þow þer come both Jakke and Gylle. Cosdram iij And I xal kepe þe ryth syde; And hoso come, I xal hym kylle. Affraunt 4 And I wole on þe lefte hand ben, And hoso come here, he xal nevyr then. Ful sekyrly his bane xal I ben With dyntys of dowte. Syr Pylat, haue good day! We xul kepyn þe body in clay. And we xul wakyn wele þe way, And wayten all abowte. Pylatus Now, jentyl serys, wele 3e vowchsaffe To go with me and sele þe graffe, þat he ne ryse out of þe grave þat 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 haue of hym no dred. Tunc ibunt ad sepulcrum Pilatus, Cayphas, Annas, et omnes milites, et dicit: Annas Loo, here is wax ful redy dyght; Sett on 3oure sele anon ful ryght. þan be 3e sekyr, I 3ow plyght, He xal not rysyn agayn. Pilatus On þis corner my seal xal sytt, And with þis wax I sele þis pytt. Now dare I ley he xal nevyr flytt Out of þis grave, serteayn. Annas Here is more wax ful redy, loo. All þe cornerys 3e sele also, And with a lokke loke it too. Than lete us gon oure way. And lete þese knytys abydyn þerby; And yf hese dysciplys com preuyly To stele awey þis ded body, To vs they hem brynge without delay. Pilatas On every corner now is sett my seale; Now is myn herte in welthe and wele. Th[er] may no brybour awey now stele þis body from vndyr ston. Now, syr buschopp, I pray to the, And Annas also, com on with me. Evyn togedyr all we thre, Homward þe wey we gon. As wynde wrothe, Knyghtys, now goht Clappyd in cloth, And kepyth hym well! Loke 3e be bolde With me for to holde. 3e xul haue gold And helme of stele. Pylat, Annas, and Cayphas go to þer skaffaldys, and þe knyghtys sey[n]: Affraunt 4 Now in þis grownnde He lyth bounde þat tholyd wounde For he was fals. þis lefft cornere I wyl kepe here, Armyd clere, Bothe hed and hals. Cosdram 3 I wyl haue þis syde Whatso betyde. If any man ryde To stele þe cors, I xal hym chyde With woundys wyde, Amonge hem glyde With fyne fors. Ameraunt/primus 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/secundus I xal not lete To kepe þe fete; They ar ful [wete], Walterid in blood. He þat wyll stalke Be brook or balke Hedyr to walke, þo wrecchis be wood. Primus Miles Myn heed dullyth, Myn herte fullyth Of slepp. Seynt Mahownd, þis beryenge grownd þu kepp! Secundus Miles I sey þe same; For any blame, I falle. Mahownd whelpe, Aftyr þin helpe I calle. Tercius Miles I am hevy as leed; For any dred, I slepe. Mahownd of myght, þis ston tonyght þu kepe! Quartus Miles I haue no foot To stonde on root By brynke. Here I aske To go to taske A wynke. The Harrowing of Hell B, Christ's Appearance to Mary; Pilate Berates the Soldiers Tunc dormyent milites, et ueniet Anima Christi de inferno cum Adam et Eua, Abraham, Johan Baptist, et aliis. Anima Christi Come forthe, Adam, and Eue with the, And all my fryndys þat herein be! To paradys come forthe with me, In blysse for to dwelle. þe fende of helle, þat is 3oure foo, He xal be wrappyd and woundyn in woo. Fro wo to welthe now xul 3e go, With myrthe evyrmore to melle. Adam I thanke þe, Lord, of þi grett grace, That now is for3ovyn my grett trespace. Now xal we dwellyn in blysful place, In joye and endeles myrthe. Thorwe my synne man was forlorn, And man to saue þu wore all torn, And of a mayd in Bedlem born, þat evyr blyssyd be þi byrthe. Eua Blyssyd be þu, Lord of Lyff! I am Eue, Adamis wyff. þu hast soferyd strok and stryff For werkys þat we wrought. þi mylde mercy haht all for3[e]vyn; Dethis dentys on þe were drevyn. Now with þe, Lord, we xul levyn — þi bryght blood hath us bowth. Johannes Baptista I am þi cosyn, my name is Johan. þi woundys hath betyn be to þe bon. I baptyzid þe in Flom Jordon, And 3aff þi body baptyze. With þi grace now xul we gon From oure enmyes everychon And fyndyn myrthis many on In pley of paradyse. Abraham I am Abraham, fadyr trowe þat reyned after Noes flowe. A sory synne Adam gan sowe, þat clad us all in care. A sone þat maydenys mylk hath sokyn, And with his blood oure bonde hath brokyn. Helle logge lyth vnlokyn — Fro fylth with frende we fare. Anima Christi Fayre frendys, now be 3e wunne, On 3ow shyneth þe sothfast sunne. þe gost þat all grevaunce hath gunne, Ful harde I xal hym bynde. As wyckyd werme þu gunne apere To tray my chylderyn þat were so dere. þerfore, traytour, heuyrmore here Newe peynes þu xalt evyr fynde. Thorwe blood I took of mannys kynde, Fals devyl, I here þe bynde! In endles sorwe I þe wynde, þerin evyrmore to dwelle. Now þu art bownde, þu mayst not fle. For þin envyous cruelté, In endeles dampnacyon xalt þu be, And nevyr comyn out of helle. Beliall Alas! Herrow! Now am I bownde In helle gonge to ly on grounde. In hendles sorwe now am I wounde, In care evyrmore to dwelle. In helle logge I ly3 alone. Now is my joye awey al gone, For all fendys xul be my fone. I xal nevyr com from helle. Anima Christi Now is 3oure foo boundyn in helle, þat evyr was besy 3ow for to qwelle. Now wele I rysyn flesch and felle, þat rent was for 3oure sake. Myn owyn body þat hynge on rode, And, be þe Jewys nevyr so wode, It xal aryse, both flesch and blode. My body now wyl I take. Tunc transiet Anima Christi ad resuscitandum corpus, quo resuscitato dicat Jesus: Jesus Harde gatys haue I gon And peynes sofryd many on, Stomblyd at stake and at ston Ny3 thre and thretty 3ere. I lyght out of my faderys trone For to amende mannys mone. My flesch was betyn to þe bon, My blood I bledde clere. For mannys loue I tholyd dede, And for mannys loue I am rysyn up rede. For man I haue mad my body in brede, His sowle for to fede. Man, and þu lete me þus gone And wylt not folwyn me anone, Such a frende fyndyst þu nevyr none To help be at þi nede. Salue, sancta parens, my modyr dere! All heyl, modyr, with glad chere. For now is aresyn with body clere þi sone þat was dolve depe. þis is þe thrydde day þat I 3ow tolde I xuld arysyn out of þe cley so colde. Now am I here with brest ful bolde; þerfore no more 3e wepe. Maria Welcom, my Lord! Welcom, my grace! Welcome, my sone and my solace! I xal þe wurchep in every place. Welcom, Lord God of Myght! Mekel sorwe in hert I leed Whan þu were leyd in dethis beed. But now my blysse is newly breed; All men may joye þis syght. Jesus All þis werlde þat was forlorn Shal wurchepe 3ou bothe evyn and morn. For had I not of 3ow be born, Man had be lost in helle. I was deed and lyff I haue, And thorwe my deth man do I saue. For now I am resyn out of my graue, In hevyn man xal now dwelle. Maria A dere sone, þese wurdys ben goode. þu hast wel comfortyd my mornyng moode. Blyssyd be þi precyous bloode þat mankende þus doth saue. Jesus Now, dere modyr, my leve I take. Joye in hert and myrth 3e make. For deth is deed and lyff doth wake, Now I am resyn fro my graue. Maria Farewel, my sone! Farewel, my childe! Farewel, my Lorde, my God so mylde! Myn hert is wele þat fyrst was whylde. Farewel, myn owyn dere love! Now all mankynde, beth glad with gle! For deth is deed, as 3e may se, And lyff is reysed, endles to be, In hevyn dwellynge above. Whan my sone was naylyd on tre, All women myght rewe with me; For grettere sorwe myght nevyr non be Than I dede suflyr, iwys. But þis joy now passyth all sorwe þat my childe suffryd in þat hard morwe. For now he is oure alderers borwe, To brynge us all to blys. Tunc evigilabunt milites sepulcri, et dicit Primus Miles: Primus Miles Awake, awake! Hillis gyn quake And tres ben shake Ful nere atoo! Stonys clevyd, Wyttys ben revid, Erys ben devid — I am servid soo. Secundus Miles He is aresyn, þis is no nay, þat was deed and colde in clay! Now is he resyn belyve þis day, Grett woundyr it is to me! He is resyn by his owyn myght, And forth he goth his wey ful ryght. How xul we now us qwytte Whan Pylat doth us se? Tercius Miles Lete us now go Pilat ontoo, And ryght evyn so As we han sayn, þe trewth we sey: þat out of clay He is resyn þis day þat Jewys han slayn. Quartus Miles I holde it best. Lete us nevyr rest, But go we prest, þat it were done. All heyl, Pilatt, In þin astat! He is resyn vp latt þat þu gast dome. Pilat What? What? What? What? Out upon the! Why seyst þu þat? Fy vpon the, harlat, How darst þu so say? þu dost myn herte ryght grett greff! þu lyest vpon hym, fals theff! How xulde he rysyn ageyn to lyff þat lay deed in clay? Primus Miles 3a, þow þu be nevyr so wroth, And of these tydandys nevyr so loth, 3itt goodly on ground on lyve he goth, Qwycke and levynge man. Iff þu haddyst a ben þer we ware, In hert þu xuldyst han had gret care, And of blysse a ben ryght bare, Of colore bothe pale and whan. Pilatus Or 3e come there 3e dede all swere To fyght in fere And bete and bynde. All þis was trayn, 3oure wurdys wore vayn. þis is sertayn — 3ow fals I fynde! Secundus Miles Be þe deth þe devyl deyd, We were of hym so sore atreyd, þat for fer we us down leyd Ryght evyn vpon oure syde. Whan we were leyd upon þe grounde, Stylle we lay as we had be bounde. We durst not ryse for a thowsand pounde, Ne not for all þis worlde so wyde. Pilatus Now fy upon 3oure grett bost! All 3oure wurchep is now lost! In felde, in town, and in every cost, Men may 3ou dyspravyn. Now all 3oure wurchep, it is lorn, And every man may 3ow we[l] scorn, And bydde 3ow go syttyn in þe corn And chare awey þe ravyn. Tercius Miles 3a, it was hy3 tyme to leyn oure bost. For whan þe body toke a3en þe gost, He wold a frayd many an ost, Kynge, knyght, and knave. 3a, whan he dede ryse out of his lake, þan was þer suche an erthequake þat all þe worlde it gan to shake! þat made us for to rave! Quartus Miles 3a, 3a, herke, felawys, what I xal say: Late us not ses be nyght nor day, But telle þe trewth ryght as it lay In countré where we goo. And than I dare ley myn heed þat þei þat Crystys lawys leed, They wyl nevyr ses tyl they be deed His deth þat brought hym too. Primus Miles Be Belyall, þis was now wele ment. To þis cowncell lete us consent. Lett us go tellyn with on assent He is resyn up þis day. Secundus Miles I grawnt þerto, and þat forthryght, þat he is resyn by his owyn myght. For þer cam non be day nor nyght To helpe hym owte of clay. Pilatus Now, jentyl serys, I pray 3ow all, Abyde stylle a lytyl thrall Whyll þat I myn cowncel call, And here of þer councell. Primus Miles Syr, att 3oure prayour we wyl abyde Here in þis place a lytel tyde. But tary not to longe, for we must ryde — We may not longe dwelle. Pilatus Now, jentyl serys, I pray 3ow here Sum good cowncel me to lere. For sertys, serys, without dwere, We stonnde in ryght grett dowte. Cayphas Now trewly, sere, I 3ow telle, þis matere is both fers and felle. Combros it is þerwith to melle, And evyl to be browth abowte. Annas Syr Pylat, þu grett justyse, þow þu be of wittys wyse, 3it herke ful sadly with good devyse What þat þu xalt do: I counsel þe, be my reed, þis wundyrful tale pray hem to hede; And upon þis 3eve hem good mede, Bothe golde and sylver also. And, sere, I xall telle 3ow why In 3oure erys prevyly Betweyn us thre serteynly; Now herk, serys, in 3oure erys. Hic faciant Pilatus, Cayphas, et Annas priuatim inter se consilium, quo finito dicat: Annas For mede doth most in every qwest, And mede is maystyr bothe est and west. Now trewly, serys, I hold þis best — With mede men may bynde berys. Cayphas Sekyr, sere, þis counsell is good. Pray þese knyhtys to chaunge þer mood. 3eve them golde, feste, and food, And þat may chaunge þer wytt. Pylatt Sere, 3oure good councel I xall fulfylle. Now, jentyl knyhtys, come hedyr me tylle. I pray 3ow, serys, of 3oure good wylle, No ferther þat 3e flytt. Jentyl knyhtys, I 3ow pray, A bettyr sawe þat 3e say. Sey þer he was cawth away With his dyscyplis be nyght. Sey he was with his dyscyplis fett. I wolde 3e worn in 3oure sadelys ssett. And haue here gold in a purs knett, And to Rome rydyth ryght. Quartus Miles Now, Syr Pylatt, We gon oure gait. We wyll not prate No lengere now. Now we haue golde, No talys xul be tolde To whithtys on wolde, We make þe avow. Pilatus Now, 3e men of myth, As 3e han hyght, Euyn so forthryght, 3oure wurdys not falle. And 3e xul gon With me anon, All 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 Wheresoevyr we dwell. We xul no talys tell — Be not dysmayd. The Announcement of the Angel to the Three Marys, and Peter and John at the Sepulchre Hic uenient ad sepulcrum Maria Magdalene, Maria Jacobi, et Maria Salomé, et dicit Maria Magdalene: Magdalen Swete systeryn, I 3ow besech, Heryght now my specyal speche: Go we with salvys for to leche Cryst, þat tholyd wounde. He hath us wonnyn owt of wreche. The ryght wey God wyl us teche For to seke my Lorde, my leche; His blood hath me vnbownde. Vij develys in me were pyght. My loue, my Lord, my God almyght, Awey he weryd þe fyndys wight With his wyse wurde. He droff fro me þe fendes lees, In my swete sowle his chawmere I ches, In me belevyth þe Lorde of Pes. I go to his burryenge boorde. Maria Jacobi My systerys sone I woot he was. He lyth in here as sunne in glas. þe childe was born by oxe and asse Vp in a bestys stall. Thow his body be gravyd vndyr gres, þe grete Godhede is nevyr þe lasse. þe Lord xal rysyn and gon his pas, And comfortyn his frendys all. Maria Salome My name is Mary Salomé. His modyr and I, systerys we be; Annys dowterys we be all thre, Jesu, we be þin awntys. The naylis gun his lemys feyn, And þe spere gan punche and peyn. On þo woundys we wold haue eyn; þat grace now God graunt vs. Maria Magdalen Now go we stylle With good wyll þer he is leyd. He deyd on crowch, We wolde hym towch, As we han seyd. Tunc respicit Maria Magdalene in sepulcro, dicens: Where is my Lord, þat was here, þat for me bledde bowndyn in brere? His body was beryed rygh by þis mere, þat for me gan deye. þe Jewys, fekyll and fals fownde, Where haue þei do þe body with wounde? He lyth not upon þis grownde — þe body is don aweye! Maria Jacobi To my Lorde, my love, my frende, Fayn 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 myghtiful God omnypotent I bere a boyst of oynement. I wold han softyd his sore dent, His sydys al abowte. Lombe of Love withowt loth, I fynde þe not, myn hert is wroth! In þe sepulcre þer lyth a cloth, And jentyl Jesu is owte. Angelus Wendyth forth, 3e women thre, Into þe strete of Galylé. 3oure Savyour þer xul 3e se Walkynge in þe waye. 3oure fleschly Lorde now hath lyff, þat deyd on tre with strook and stryff. Wende forth, þu wepynge wyff, And seke hym, I þe saye. Now goth forth fast, all thre, To his dyscyplys fayr and fre. And to Petyr þe trewth telle 3e — þerof haue 3e no dreed. Spare 3e not þe soth to say: He þat was deed and closyd in clay, He is resyn þis same day, And levyth with woundys reed. Maria Magdalen A, myrthe and joye in herte we haue, For now is resyn out of his graue He levyth now oure lyff to saue, þat dede lay in þe clay. Maria Jacoby In hert I was ryght sore dysmayd The aungel to us whan þat he sayd þat Cryst is resyn; I was affrayd, þe aungel whan I say. Maria Salome Now lete us all thre fulfylle þe angelys wurde and Goddys wylle; Left us sey with voys wul shrylle, Cryst, þat Jewys dede sle, Oure Lord, þat naylyd was on þe rode, And betyn out was his bodyes blode, He is aresyn! þough they ben wode, A, Lorde, 3itt wele þu be. Maria Magdalene dicit Petro et ceteris apostolis: [Maria Magdalene] Bretheryn all, in herte be glad, Bothe blythe and joyful, in herte ful fayn. For ryght good tydandys haue we had þat oure Lord is resyn agayn! An aungel us bad ryght þus, sertayn, To þe, Petyr, þat we xulde telle How Cryst is resyn, þe which was slayn, A levynge man evyrmore to dwelle. Maria Jacobi To lyve is resyn ageyn þat Lorde, The qwych Judas to Jewys solde. Of þis I bere ryght trewe recorde By wurdys þat þe aungel tolde. Now myrth and joye to man on molde; Euery man now myrth may haue. He þat 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 þat 3e say? Is Cryst resyn ageyn to lyve þat was ded and colde in clay? Maria Salome 3a, trostyth us truly, it is no nay! He is aresyn, it is no les. And so an aungel us tolde þis day With opyn voys and speche expres. Johannes 3a, þese be tydyngys of ryght gret blys, þat oure maystyr resyn xulde be! I wyl go renne in hast, iwys, And loke my Lord yf I may se. Petrus For joye also I renne with the, My brothyr Johan, as I þe say. In hast anon evyn forth go we; To his grave we renne oure way. Hic currunt Johannes et Petrus simul ad sepuicrum, et Johannes prius venit ad monumentum, sed non intrat. Johannes The same shete here I se þat Crystys body was in wounde. But he is gon! Wheresoever he be, He lyth not here upon þis grownde. Petrus intrat monumentum, et dicit Petrus: Petrus In þis cornere þe shete is fownde; And here we fynde þe sudary In þe whiche his hed was wounde Whan he was take from Calvary. Hic intrat Johannes monumentum dicens: Johannes The same sudary and þe same shete Here with my syth I se both tweyn. Now may I wele knowe and wete þat he is rysyn to lyve ageyn! Onto oure bretheryn lete us go seyn þe trewth ryght hevyn as it is: Oure maystyr lyvyth, þe whech was slayn, Allmyghty Lorde and Kynge of Blys. Petrus No lengere here wyll we dwelle; To oure bretheryn þe wey we take. The trewth to them whan þat we telle, Grett joye in hert þan wul þei make. Hic Petrus loquitur omnibus apostolis simul collectis: Beth mery, bretheryn, for Crystys sake! þat man þat is oure mayster so good, From deth to lyve he is awake, þat sore was rent upon þe rood. Johannes As women seyd, so haue we fownde: Remevyd awey we saw þe ston! He lyth no lengere vndyr þe grownde; Out of his graue oure maystyr is gon. [Omnibus congregatis.] Thomas We haue grett woundyr, everychon, Of þese wurdys þat 3e do speke. A ston ful hevy lay hym vpon — From vndyr þat ston how xulde he breke? Petrus The trewth 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, For in his graue he is nowth. We cannot tellyn in what plyght Out of his graue þat he is browth. Christ's Appearance to Mary Magdalene Maria Magdalen goth to þe graue and wepyth, and seyth: Maria Magdalen For hertyly sorwe myn herte doth breke. With wepynge terys I wasch my face. Alas, for sorwe I may not speke — My Lorde is gon þat hereinne wase. Myn owyn dere Lorde and Kynge of Gras þat vij deuelys fro me dyd take. I kannat se hym, alas! Alas! He is stolyn awey owt of þis lake. Aungelus Woman þat stondyst here alone, Why dost þu wepe, and morne, and wepe so sore? What cawse hast þu to make such mone? Why makyst þu such sorwe, and wherefore? Maria Magdalen I haue 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 haue. 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 þis lake. Jesus Woman, suche mornynge why dost þu make? Why is þi chere so hevy and badde? Why dost þu sythe so sore and qwake? Why dost þu wepe so sore and sadde? Maria Magdalen A grettyr cawse had nevyr woman For to wepe bothe nyth and day Than I myself haue, in serteyn, For to sorwyn evyr and ay. Alas, for sorwe myn hert doth blede — My Lorde is take fro me away. I musts nedys sore wepe and grede. Where he is put I kannot say. But, jentyl gardener, I pray to the, If þu hym took out of his graue, Telle me qwere I may hym se, þat I may go, my Lorde to haue. Spectans: Jesus M.A.R.I.A.! Maria Magdalen A, maystyr and Lorde! To þe I crave, As þu art Lord and Kynge of Blys, Graunt me, Lord, and þu vowchesave, Thyn holy fete þat I may kys. Jesus Towche me not as 3ett, Mary, For to my fadyr I haue not ascende. But to my bretheryn in hast þe hy3, With these gode wurdys here care amende: Sey to my bretheryn þat I intende To stey to my fadyr and to 3owre, To oure Lord, both God and frende; I wyl ascende to hevyn towre. In hevyn to ordeyn 3ow a place, To my fadyr now wyl I go; To merth, and joye, and grett solace, And endeles blys to brynge 3ow to. For man I sufferyd both schame and wo — More spyteful deth nevyr man dyd take. 3it wyl I ordeyn for al this, lo, In hevyn an halle for mannys sake. Maria Magdaly[n] Gracyous Lord, at 3oure byddyng To all my bretheryn I xal go telle How þat 3e be man levynge, Quyk and qwethynge, of flesch and felle. Now all hevynes I may expelle, And myrth and joy now take to me! My Lord, þat I haue louyd so wele, With opyn syght I dede hym se. Whan I sowght my Lord in grave, I was ful sory and ryght sad, For syght of hym I myght non haue; For mornynge sore I was nere mad. Grettere sorwe 3it nevyr whith 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 haue Than se þat Lorde with opyn syght, The whiche my sowle from synne to saue From develys sefne he mad me qwyght. There kan no tounge my joye expres Now I haue seyn my Lorde on lyve. To my bretheryn I wyl me dresse, And telle to hem anon-ryght belyve. With opyn speche I xal me shryve, And telle to hem with wurdys pleyn How þat Cryst from deth to lyve, To endles blys is resyn ageyn. Bretheryn, all blyth 3e be, For joyful tydyngys tellyn I kan! I saw oure Lord Cryst, lyste wel to me, Of flesch and bon quyk levynge man. Beth glad and joyful as for-than, For, trost me trewly, it is ryght thus: Mowth to mowth, þis [is] sertayn, I spak ryght now with Cryst Jesus. Petrus A woundyrful tale, forsothe, is this. Evyr onowryd oure Lorde mote be. We pray þe, Lord and Kynge of Blys, Onys þi presence þat we may se. Ere thu ascende to thi magesté, Gracyous God, if þat 3e plese, Late us haue sum syght of the, Oure careful hertys to sett in ease. Amen Explicit Apparicio Marie Magdale[n] Christ's Appearance to Cleophas and Luke on the Way to Emmaus, and Thomas' Doubt Hic incipit Aparicio Cleophe et Luce. Cleophas My brothir Lucas, I 3ow pray, Plesynge to 3ow if þat it be, To þe castel of Emawus a lytyl way þat 3e vowchesaf to go with me. Lucas All redy, brother, I walke with the To 3one castell with ryght good chere. Euyn 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, þe Jewys, þei were to blynde Hym for to kylle þat was so good. Lucas Brothyr Cleophas, 3e sey ful soth: They were to cursyd and to cruell. And Judas, þat traytour, he was to loth, For golde and sylvyr his maystyr to selle. The Jewys were redy hym for to qwelle, With skorgys bete out all his blood. Alas, þei were to fers and felle; Shamfully thei henge hym on a rood. Cleophas 3a, betwen to thevys — alas, for shame — They henge hym up with body rent. Alas, alas, they were to blame! To cursyd and cruel was þer intent. Whan for thurste he was nere shent, Eyzil and galle þei 3ovyn hym to drynke. Alas, for ruthe, his deth thei bent In a fowle place of horryble stynke. Lucas 3a, and cawse in hym cowde they non fynde. Alas, for sorwe, what was here thought? And he dede helpe bothe lame and blynde, And all seke men þat were hym browght. A3ens vice alwey he wrought; Synfull dede wold he nevyr do. 3it hym to kylle þei sparyd nought. Alas, alas, why dede they so? Jesus Well ovyrtake, 3e serys in-same. To walke in felachep with 3ow I pray. Lucas Welcom, ser[e], in Goddys name; Of good felachep we sey not nay. Jesus Qwat is 3oure langage, to me 3e say, That 3e haue togedyr, 3e to? Sory and evysum 3e ben aiway — 3oure myrthe is gon; why is it so? Cleophas Sere, methynkyth þu art a pore pylgrym Here walkynge be þiselfe alone, And in þe ceté of Jerusalem, þu knowyst ryght lytyl what þer is done. For pylgrymys comyn and gon ryth sone; Ryght lytyl whyle plygrymes do dwelle. In all Jerusalem, as þu hast gone, I trowe no tydyngys þat þu canst telle. Jesus Why, in Jherusalem what thynge is wrought? What tydyngys fro thens brynge 3e? Lucas A, ther haue 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 þe pepyl his name gan sprede. He hyght Jesu of Nazareth, A man he was of ryght grett fame. The Jewys hym kylde with cruel deth, Without trespas or any blame. Hym to scorne they had grett game, And naylid hym streyte ontyll a tre. Alas, alas, methynkyth grett shame Without cawse þat this xulde be. Cleophas 3a, sere, and ryght grett troste in hym we had, All Israel countré þat he xulde saue. The thrydde day is this þat he was clad In coold cley and leyd in grave. 3itt woundyrful tydyngys of hym we haue Of women þat sought hym beforn daylyth. Wethyr they sey truthe or ellys do raue, We cannot telle þe trewe verdyth. Whan Cryst in grave þei cowde not se, They comyn to us and evyn thus tolde: How þat an aungell seyd to them thre That he xuld leve with brest ful bolde. 3itt Petyr and Johan preve this wolde: To Crystys graue they ran, thei tweyne. And whan they come to þe graue so coolde, They fownde þe women ful trewe, serteyne. Jesus A, 3e fonnys and slought of herte For to beleve in Holy Scrypture! Haue not prophetys with wurdys smerte Spoke be tokenys in signifure That Cryste xuld deye for 3oure valure And syth entre his joye and blys? Why be 3e of herte so dure And trust not in God, þat myghtful is? Bothe Moyses and Aaron, and othyr mo — In Holy Scrypture 3e may rede it — Of Crystis deth thei spak also, And how he xuld ryse out of his pitt. Owt of feyth than why do 3e flitte Whan holy prophetys 3ow teche so pleyne? Turne 3oure thought and chaunge 3oure witte, And truste wele þat Cryst doth leve ageyne. Lucas Leve ageyn? Man, be in pes. How xulde a ded man evyr aryse? I cowncell þe such wurdys to ses For dowte of Pylat, þat hy3 justyce. He was slayn at þe gre[t] asyse Be councell of lordys many on. Of suche langage take bettyr avise In every company þer þu dost gon. Christus Trewth dyd nevyr his maystyr shame. Why xulde I ses than trewth to say? Be Jonas þe prophete I preve þe same, þat was in a whallys body iij nyghtis and iij day. So longe Cryst in his grave lay As Jonas was withinne þe se. His grave is brokyn, þat was of clay; To lyff resyn a3en now is he. Cleophas Sey nott so, man! It may not be, Thow thyn exaunple be sumdele good. For Jonas on lyve evyrmore was he, And Cryst was slayn vpon a rood. The Jewys on hym, they wore so wood þat to his herte a spere they pyght! He bled owt all his herteblood. How xulde he thanne ryse with myght? Christus Take hede at Aaron and his dede styk, Which was ded of his nature. And 3it he floryschyd with flowrys ful thyk And bare almaundys of grett valure. The dede styk was signifure How Cryst, þat shamfully was deed and slayn, As þat dede styk bare frute ful pure, So Cryst xuld ryse to lyve ageyn. Lucas That a deed styk frute xulde bere, I merveyle sore þerof, iwys. But 3itt hymsylf fro deth to rere And leve ageyn, more woundyr it is. That he doth leve, I trost not this, For he hath bled his blood so red. But 3itt of myrthe evyrmoor I mys Whan I haue mende þat he is ded. Christus Why be 3e so harde of truste? Dede not Cryste reyse thorwe his owyn myght Lazare, þat deed lay vndyr þe duste And stynkyd ryght foule, as I 3ow plyght? To lyff Cryst reysid hym a3en ful ryght Out of his graue, þis is serteyn. Why may nat Cryste hymself þus qwyght, And ryse from deth to lyve ageyn? Cleophas Now trewly, sere, 3oure wurdys ben good, I haue in 3ow ryght grett delyght. I pray 3ow, sere, with mylde mood, To dwelle with vs all þis nyght. Christus I must gon hens anon ful ryght For grett massagys I haue to do. I wolde abyde yf þat I myght, But at þis tyme I must hens go. Lucas 3e xal not gon fro us þis nyght. It waxit all derke, gon is þe day; þe sonne is downe, lorn is þe lyght. 3e xal not gon from vs away. Christus I may not dwelle, as I 3ow say; I must þis nyght go to my frende. þerfore, good bretheryn, I 3ow pray, Lett me not my wey to wende. Cleophas Trewly, from vs 3e xal not go! 3e xal abyde with us here stylle. 3oure goodly dalyaunce plesyth us so, We may nevyr haue of 3ow oure fylle. We pray 3ow, sere, with herty wylle, All nyght with us abyde and dwelle, More goodly langage to talkyn vs tylle, And of 3oure good dalyaunce more for to telle. Lucas 3a, brothyr Cleophas, by myn assent, Lete us hym kepe with strenth and myght! Sett on 3owre hand with good entent And pulle hym with us þe wey well ryght. The day is done, sere, and now it is nyght. Why wole 3e hens now from us go? 3e xal abyde, as I 3ow plyght — 3e xal not walke þis nyght vs fro. Cleophas This nyght fro us 3e go not away! We xal 3ow kepe betwen us tweyne. To vs, þerfore, 3e sey not nay, But walke with us; þe wey is pleyne. Christus Sythyn 3e kepe me with myght and mayn, With herty wyll I xal abyde. Lucas Of 3oure abydyng we be ful fayn, No man more welkom in þis werd wyde. Cleophas Off oure maystyr, Cryst Jesu, For 3e do speke so mech good, I loue 3ow hertyly, trust me trew. He was bothe meke and mylde of mood, Of hym to speke is to me food. If 3e had knowe hym, I dare wel say, And in what plyght with hym it stood, 3e wold haue thought on hym many a day. Lucas Many a day 3a, 3a, iwys. He was a man of holy levynge. Thow he had be be childe of God in blys, Bothe wyse and woundyrfull was his werkynge. But aftere 3oure labour and ferre walkynge, Takyth þis loff and etyth sum bred. And than wyl we haue more talkynge Of Cryst, oure maystyr, þat is now ded. Christus Beth mery and glad with hert ful fre, For of Cryst Jesu, þat was 3oure frende, 3e xal haue tydyngys of game and gle Withinne a whyle, or 3e hens wende. With myn hand þis bred I blys, And breke it here, as 3e do se. I 3eve 3ow parte also of þis, This bred to ete and blythe to be. Hic subito discedat Christus ab oculis eorum. [Cleophas] A, mercy, God! What was oure happ? Was not oure hert with loue brennynge Whan Cryst, oure mayster, so nere oure lapp Dede sitt and speke such suete talkynge? He is now quyk and man lyvenge þat fyrst was slayn and put in grave! Now may we chaunge all oure mornynge, For oure Lord is resyn his seruauntys to saue. Lucas Alas, for sorwe, what hap was this? Whan he dyd walke with vs in way, He prevyd by Scripture ryght wel, iwys, þat he was resyn from vndyr clay. We trustyd hym not, but evyr seyd nay — Alas, for shame, why seyd we so? He is resyn to lyve þis day; Out of his grave oure Lord is go! Cleophas Latt us here no lengere dwelle, But to oure bretheryn þe wey we wende. With talys trewe to them we telle That Cryst doth leve, oure maystyr and frende. Lucas I graunt þerto with hert ful hende: Lete us go walke forthe in oure way. I am ful joyfull in hert and mende þat oure Lord levyth, þat fyrst ded lay. Cleophas Now, was it not goodly don Of Cryst Jesu, oure mayster dere? He hath with us a large wey gon, And of his vprysyng he dede us lere. Whan he walkyd with us in fere, And we supposyd hym bothe deed and colde, þat he was aresyn from vndyr bere Be Holy Scripture þe trewth he tolde. Lucas Ryght lovyngely don, forsothe, this was. What myght oure mayster tyl us do more Than us to chere, þat forth dede pas? And for his deth we murnyd ful sore; For loue of hym oure myrthe was lore; We were for hym ryght hevy in herte. But now oure myrth he doth restore, For he is resyn bothe heyl and qwert. Cleophas That he is þus resyn I haue grett woundyr! An hevy ston ovyr hym þer lay. How shulde he breke þe ston asoundyr þat was deed and colde in clay? Euery man þis mervayle may, And drede þat Lorde of mekyl myght. But 3it of þis no man sey nay, For we haue seyn hym with opyn syght. Lucas That he doth leve, I woot wel this; He is aresyn with flesch and blood. A levynge man, forsothe, he is, þat rewly was rent upon a rood. All heyl, dere brothyr, and chaunge 3oure mood, For Cryst doth levyn and hath his hele! We walkyd in wey with Cryst so good And spak with hym wurdys fele. Cleophas Evyn tyll Emawus, þe grett castell, From Jerusalem with hym we went. Syxti furlonge, as we 3ow telle, We went with hym evyn passent. He spak with us with good entent; þat Cryst xuld leve he tolde tyll us, And previd it be Scripture, verament. Trust me trewe, it is ryght thus. Lucas 3a, and whan he had longe spokyn vs tylle, He wold from vs a gon his way. With strenght and myght we keptyn hym stylle, And bred we tokyn hym to etyn, in fay. He brak þe loff as evyn on tway As ony sharpe knyff xuld kytt breed. þerby we knew þe trewth þat day: þat Cryst dede leve and was not deed. Petrus Now trewly, serys, I haue grett woundyr Of these grete merveylis þat 3e vs telle! In brekynge of bred ful evyn asoundyr Oure mayster 3e knew and Lord ryght well. 3e sey Cryst levith, þat Jewys dyd qwelle. Tyll us glad tydyngys þis is, serteyn! And þat oure maystyr with 3ow so longe dede dwelle, It doth wel preve þat he levith ageyn. A, brother Thomas, we may be ryght glad Of these gode novell þat we now haue. þe grace of oure Lorde God is ouyr vs all sprad; Oure Lord is resyn his se[r]uauntys to saue. Thomas Be in pes, Petyr, þu gynnyst to rave! Thy wurdys be wantowne and ryght vnwyse. How xulde a deed man þat deed lay in grave With qwyk flesche and blood to lyve ageyn ryse? Petrus 3is, Thomas, dowte þe not oure maystyr is on lyve. Record of Mawdelyn and of here systerys too; Cleophas and Lucas, þe trewthe for to contryve, Fro Jerusalem to Emaws with hym dede they go Thomas I may nevyr in hert trust þat it is so! He was ded on cros and colde put in pitt, Kept with knyhtys iiij, his grave sealyd also. How xulde he levyn ageyn þat so streyte was shitt? Petrus Whan Mawdelyn dede tell us þat Cryst was aresyn, I ran to his graue, and Johan ran with me. In trewth, þer we fownde he lay not in presyn — Gon out of his grave and on lyve þan was he. Therfore, dere brother Thomas, I wole rede the, Stedfastly þu trust þat Cryst is not deed. Feythffully beleve a qwyk man þat he be, Aresyn from his deth by myght of his godhed. Thomas I may nevyr beleve these woundyr merveles Tyl þat I haue syght of euery grett wounde, And put in my fyngyr in place of þe nayles. I xal nevyr beleve it ellys for no man on grownnde. And tyll þat myn hand be sperys pytt hath fownnde, Which dede cleve his hert and made hym sprede his blood, I xal nevyr beleue þat he is qwyk and sownde, In trewth whyl I knowe þat he was dede on rood. Petrus Cryst be þi comforte and chawnge þi bad witt, For feyth but þu haue, þi sowle is but lorn. With stedfast beleve God enforme þe 3itt, Of a meke mayde as he was for us born. Christus Pees be amonge 3ow! 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, for my grett trespas! Christus Beholde wele, Thomas, my woundys so wyde, Which I haue sufferyd for all mankynde. Put þin hool hand into my ryght syde, And in myn hertblood þin hand þat þu wynde. So feythffull a frend were mayst þu fynde? Be stedfast in feyth, beleve wel in me. Be þu not dowtefful of me in þi mynde, But trust þat I leve, þat deed was on a tre. Thomas My Lord and my God, with syght do I se þat þu art now quyk, which henge deed on rode. More feythful þan I ther may no man be, For myn hand haue I wasch in þi precyous blode. Christus For þu hast me seyn, þerfore þi feyth is good. But blyssyd be tho of þis þat haue no syght And beleve in me. They, for here meke mood, Shall com into hefne, my blysse þat is so bryght. Thomas As a ravaschyd man whos witt is all gon, Grett mornynge I make for my drediful dowte. Alas, I was dowteful þat Cryst from vndyr 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 þat God so hath wrought: Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit. He þat was bothe deed and colde put in grave To lyve is aresyn by his owyn myght. In his dere herteblood myn hand wasch I haue, Where þat þe spere-poynt was peynfully pyght. I take me to feyth, forsakynge all vnryght; þe dowte þat I had ful sore me avexit. For now haue I seyn with ful opyn syght: Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit. I trustyd no talys þat were me tolde Tyl þat myn hand dede in his hertblood wade. My dowte doth aprevyn Cryst levynge ful bolde And is a grett argument in feyth us to glade. þu, man þat seyst þis, from feyth nevyr þu fade. My dowte xal evyr chere the, þat sore me avexit. Truste wele in Cryst; þat such meracle hath made. Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit. The prechynge of Petir myght not conuerte me Tyll I felyd þe wounde þat þe spere dyde cleve. I trustyd nevyr he levyd, þat deed was on a tre, Tyll þat his herteblood dede renne in my sleve. Thus be my grett dowte oure feyth may we preve. Behold my blody hand, to feyth þat me avexit; Be syght of þis myrroure, from feyth not remeve Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit. Thow þat Mary Magdalyn in Cryst dede sone beleve - And I was longe dowteful, 3itt putt me in no blame. For be my grett dowte oure feyth may we preve A3ens all þo eretykys þat speke of Cryst shame Truste wel Jesu Cryst, þe Jewys kyllyd the sam The fende hath he feryd, oure feyth þat evyr avexit. To hevyn 3ow brynge, and saue 3ow all in-same That mortuus et sepultus iterum resurrexit. Amen. The Ascension of Christ and the Selection of Matthias as the Twelfth Disciple Hic incipit Ascencio Domini nostri, cum Maria, et vndecim discipulis, et duobus angelis sedentibus in albis; et Jesus dicit discipulis suis et cetera: Jesus Pax vobis Amonge 3ow pes, Bothe love, and reste, and charyté. Amonge all vertues lete it not ses, For amonge all vertues prynspal his he. 3e be to blame I may wel preve, For Iwyl vse to 3ow wordys pleyn þat 3e be so hard of herte to beleve þat from deth to lyve I am resyn ageyn. Nottwithstondynge as 3e knowe, serteyn, To 3ow viij sythys aperyd haue I Be soundry tymes, the trewth to seyn; And þis is þe ix tyme, sothly, Evyn and no mo. But now sum mete Anon doth gete; For I wyl ete With 3ow and goo. My dyscyplis, here what I sey, And to my wourdys 3evyth attencyon. From Jerusalem loke 3e go not awey, But mekely abydyth my fadyres promiscyon, Off whiche be my mowth 3e haue had informacyon Whyll bodyly with 3ow I was dwellynge. For Johan, sothly, for mannys saluacyon Onlye in watyr was me baptysynge. But I 3ow behete Withinne fewe days þat 3e In þe Holy Goost xul baptyzid be. Therfore rysyth up and folwyht me Onto þe Mownte of Olyvete. Jacobus Major O Lord, vowchesaff vs for to telle Iff þu wylt now, withowte more delay, Restoryn þe kyngdam of Israell And 3eve vs þe joye, Lord, þat lestyth ay. Jesus Serys, þe tymes and þe monthis knowe 3e ne may Whiche my fadyr hath put in his owyn power. But 3e xul take within short day Of þe Holy Goost þe vertu cler, Thorwe whiche xul 3e In Jerusalem and in Jury, And moreovyr also in Samary, And to þe worldys ende vttyrly, My wyttnes only be. Lovyth no wrath nor no wronge, But levyth in charyté with mylde stevyn, With myrthe, and melody, and aungell-songe. Now I stey streyte from 3ow to hevyn. Hic ascendit ab oculis eorum, et in celo cantent et cetera. Angelus Returnyth ageyn to 3oure loggynge, To Jerusalem, for he wyl thus, His promys mekely þer abydynge; For dowteles þis forseyd Jesus, Whiche from 3ow is take In a clowde, as 3e hym seyn Steyng vp, so xal comyn ageyn. Of al mankynde, þis is serteyn, Jugement xal he make. [Petrus] O 3e bretheryn, attendyth to me, And takyth good hede what I xal seyn: It behovyth þe scripture fulfyllyd to be þat of Dauyd was seyd with wourdys pleyn Of Judas, whiche was þe gyde, serteyn, Of hem þat Cryst slow cruelly; Which aftyr from deth ros vp ageyn, And hath abedyn in erthe ful days fourty. And aftyr all this, Before oure eye In a bryght skye He dede up stye To hevyn blys. This seyd Judas was amongys us Noumbryd apostyll, and had lych dygnyté. But whan he betrayd oure Lord Jesus, He hynge hymself vpon a tre; In whos sted muste nedys ordeyned be Another, oure noumbre for to restore, On of þo whiche, as weel knowe we, Han be conuersaunt 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, et cetera. O sovereyn Lorde, whiche of every man The hertys dost knowe most inwardly, With all þe lowlyness we may or kan, To þe we prey ful benygnely That þu vowchesaff thorwe þi mercy Vs hym to shewe whiche in þis cas þu lykyst to chesyn effectuously To ocapye þe lot of Judas plas. Hic dabunt sortes, et cadet super Mathiam, et cetera. Now gramercy, Lord! And to fulfylle þin holy wylle, As it is skylle, We all accorde. Pentecost Modo de die Pentecostes. Apostoli dica[n]t genuflectentes; Spiritus Sanctus descendat super eos, et cetera. Petrus Honowre, Andreas wurchipp, Jacobus Major and reverens, Johannes Glorye, Philippus grace, Jacobus Minor and goodnes, Thomas Dygnité, Bartholomeus vertu, Symon and excellence, Matheus Bewté, - Judas blyssynge, Matheas and bryghtnes Petrus Be to þat Lord [of] heye wurthynes, Andreas Whiche hath performyd þat he vs hyght, Jacobus Major And vs enbawmyd with suche swetnes, Johannes Whiche to dyscrye fer passyth oure myght. Philippus This we all wel kenne. Jacobus Minor Now, gracyous Lord Jesu, Thomas Conferme us in þi vertu, Bartholomeus And graunt us grace evyr it to sew. Symon Sey we all togedyr, amen Amen. Et omnes osculant terram. Primus Judeus Now, felawys, take hede, for be my trewthe, 3ondyr syttyth a dronkyn felachepp. Secundus Judeus To don hem good, it were grett ruthe. Tercius Judeus 3a, I prey God 3eve hem all shenschepp! Primus Judeus Muste in here brayn so sclyly doth creppe þat þei cheteryn and chateryn as they jays were. Secundus Judeus 3a, were they ony wel browth asclepe, It wore almes to þe revere hem to bere, There hem to baptyze! Primus Judeus þat were, as thynkyth me, A jentyl sporte to se; A bettyr game to be Cowde no man devyse. Petrus Serys, alas, what do 3e mene? Why scorne 3e now þus Goddys grace? It is nothynge as 3e do wene: þer is no drunke man in þis place. Wherefore ryght grett is 3owre trespace. But, syrys, lyst what it doth sygnyfye: Fulfyllyd is now to mannys solace Of Johel þe pregnaunt prophecye, In whiche þat he That 3e han seyn In wourdys pleyn Declaryth serteyn. Now blyssyd God be. Amen. The Assumption of Mary Ad mea facta pater assit Deus et sua mater. Doctor Ryht worchepful souereynes, liketh yow to here Of the Assumpcion of the gloryous Moder Mary That Seynt Jhon the Euangelist wrot and tauht, as I lere, In a book clepid apocriphum, wythoutyn dyswary. At fourten yer sche conseyved Cryste in hire matere clere, And in the fiftene yer sche childyd, this avowe dar 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, honouryng the Godhed. Ferste to the place there Criste cristenyd was, clepid Flum Jordon; 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 manhed. Thus was sche ocupyed, 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. Miles Pes now youre blaberyng, in the develis name! What, lousy begchis, mow ye not se, Owre worthy prynsis, lo, are gaderid in-same That are statis of this lond, hye men of degré. By there hye wisdam they schal now attayne How alle Juré beste gouernyd may be. And of this pillid prechouris that oure lawis defame, They schul ben slayn as they say, or fayn for to fle! Wherfore in pes be ye, And herkenyth onto hem moste stilly. For what boy bragge outh, hym spill[e] I! As knave wyth this craggyd kna[g], hym kylle I! Now herkenyth oure pryncis alle kneland on kne. Episcopus Legis Now, ye pry[n]sis, I, prest of the lave, Of this demaunde responcyon: I aske here anon, Ys there ony renogat among vs, fer as ye knawe, Or ony that peruertyth the pepil wyth gay eloquens alon? Yif there be, we muste onto hem set awe, For they feyne falsly oure feyth — hem preve I houre fon! Sweche schul ben bounden vp be the beltys til flyes hem blawe, And gnaggyd vp by the gomys tyl the deuyl 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 owre lawys now telle on. Primus Princeps Sere, syn we slew hym that clepid hym oure kyng And seyde he was Goddis sone, lord ouyr all, Syn his deth I herd of no maner rysyng. And lo, yif he hadde levyd, he had mad vs his thrall. Episcopus Therfore oure wysdam was to schortyn his endyng; Whoso clyme ouyrhie, he hath a foule fall. Secundus Princeps Ya, yit of on thing I warne yow at the gynnyng: His dame is levyng, Mary that men call; 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 vs sche schall. Episcopus A, sere, ye ben bolde inow! Art thou ferd of a wenche? What trowyste thou sche myht don vs agayn? Tercius Prince[ps] Sere, there are other in the contré that clenche And prechyn he is levyng that we slewe, they seyn. And yif they ben sufferyd thus, this will bredyn a stench, For thorow here fayre speche oure lawys they steyn. And therfore devyse we now vpon this pleyn bench What is beste for to do, hem for to atteyn. We are but loste yif they reyn. Episcopu[s] Why, let se, than; sey me youre ententis. Prim[us] Let vs preson hem til here myht schent is! Secund[us] Bettyr is to slen hem wyth dentis! Terc[ius] Nay, best is to hang hem wyth peyn! Episcopus Nay, seris, nowth so [You] bettyr avyse; Haue 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 abi[de]. But be that seustere ded, Mary, that fise, We shal brenne here body and the aschis hide, And don here all 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 Wyth youre wysdam, sere, we are wel payed. Episcopus Than, ye knyhtis, I charge yow, beth arayed; And ye turmentouris, redy that tyde Whan 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 saluacyon. That it lyst you of me, sympilest, to take here humanité, Wyth dew obeschyauns I make you gratulacyon. And, gloryous Lord and sone, yif it like youre benygnyté Nouth to ben displesid wyth my desideracyon, Me longith to youre presense, now conj[u]nct to the Vnyté, Wyth all myn herte and my sowle, be natures excitacyon, To youre domynacyon. For all creaturis in you don affye. And myche more owe I, youre moder be alye, Syn ye wern born God and man of my bodye, To desyre yowre 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, Resseyuynge here to joye from worldly perplexité. And in tokyn therof, this palme now pretende, Seyinge here sche fere no maner of diuercyté. Angelus I By youre myth I dissende to youre moder in virginité. Angelus Ii For qwyche message injoyeth the hefnely consorcyté. Hic discendet angelus ludentibus citharis, et dicet Marie: Primus A[ngelus] Heyl, excellent prynces, Mary moste pure! Heyl, radyant sterre, the sunne not so bryth [is]! Heyl, Moder of Mercy and mayde most mure! The blessyng that God yaf Jacob vpon you now lyth[is]. Maria Now wolcom, bryth berde, Goddis aungyl I seuer! Ye ben messager of Allmyhty; wolcom wyth my myhtis. I beseke you now, say me, vpon 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 yis, 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 presense there my God, youre sone, is. Ma[ria] Mercy and gromercy, God, now may I be seyand, Thankyng you, suete aungyl, for this message, iwys. Ang[elus] In tokenyng whereof, lady, I am here presentand A braunce of a palme — owth of paradis com this. Before youre bere God biddith it be bore. Mari[a] Now thanke be to that Lord of his mercy euyrmore. Angel[us] 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. Mar[ia] 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, methynkyth it nyl be. Angelus A yis, lady, inpossible to God nothyng trowe ye. For 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, [B]e 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 dar 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, moste excellent in sithis, And wyth this ageyn 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 seruauntis 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 Virg[o] We schal, gracyous lady, wyth alle oure mythis. Schul ye from vs 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 prynces, in all vertu that dith is, Alle hefne and erthe, lady, you doth honure. We schal wachyn and wake, as oure dewe ryth is, Into the tyme ye passe to that hye toure Wyth.... Ma[ria] 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 Jesu, oure Savyoure. Hic subito apparet Sanctus Johannes Euangelista ante portam Marie. Johannes A, myrable God, meche is thy myth! Many wonderis thou werkyst, evyn as thi wyll 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 comyn that mayde tyll [is]. I wyl go saluse that berde that in vertu [is] moste brith. And of my sodeyn comyng wete what the skele [is]. Hic pulsabit super portam intrante domum Marie, sibi dicente: Heyl, Moder Mary, maydyn perpetuall! Maria A, wolcome, mayde Johan, wyth all myn herte in specyall! For joye of youre presence myn herte gynnyth sweme. Thynke ye not, Johan, how my child eternall When he hynge on cros sayd vs this teme: 'Lo, here thy sone, woman', so bad he me you call, And you me moder, eche othir to queme. He betok you the gouernayl there of my body terestyall, On mayde to another, as 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 Johan, so wyll 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 aungyl to haue you present. Johannes A, holy moder, schul ye from vs gone? My brether of this tydyngis sore wyl repent [þat 3e schuld ben absent]! Euyr trybulacyon, Lord, meche þu vs sendyst: Thou, oure maystyr and oure comfort, fro[m] vs ascendist, And now oure joye, thy moder, to take thou pretendist. Thanne all oure comfort is from vs detent. But what seyde [the] 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. For, Johan, I haue 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 liste is, To brenne my body and schamly it quelle, For Jesu was of me born, that they slew wyth here fistis. And therfore I beseke you, Johan, both flech and felle Helpe I be beryed, for yn yow my tryst is. Johannes Fere 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 port[a]m mira[n]tes. Petrus 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 vpon yow? Preye to God for vs all we may haue relacyon. Paulus Good brother Peter, how schuld I here pray now, That am lest and most vnworthy of this congregacy[o]n? I am not worthy to ben clepyd apostle, sothly I say yow, For as a woodman ageyn Holy Cherche I mad persecucyon. But neuyrtheles, I am [by] the grace of God that þat I am, lo. Petrus A, gret is youre lownesse, Powle, brother, euyrmo. Paulus The keyes of hevene, Peter, God hath you betake, And also ye ben peler of lith and prynce of vs all. It is most sittyng to you this preyere to make, And I, vnworthy, wyth yow preyen here schall. Petr[us] I take this vpon me, Poule, for youre sake. Now almythty God that sittiste aboue cherubyn halle, In sygne of thyn holy cros oure handis we make, Besekyng thy mercy may vpon vs falle; And why we ben thus met, yif it lyke, vs lare. Johannes A, holy brether alle, welcom ye are. Why ye be met here I schal you declare: For Mary, Goddys moder, by message is sent That from this wrechid world to blysse sche schal fare, And at here deying sche desyryth to haue vs present. Petru[s] A, brother Johan, we may syhyn and care, Yif it displese not God, for these tydyngis ment. Paulus Forsothe, so we may, Peter, hevyin euyrmare That oure moder and oure comfort schuld ben vs absent. But neuyrtheles, 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. For anon to the Jewys it schuld than notyd be That we were ferd of deth, and that is ageyn that we teche. For we seyn all tho belevyn in the hol Trynyté, They schul euyr leve and nouth deye; this truly we preche. And yif we make hevynesse for here, than wyl it seyd be, "Lo, yone prechouris to deye they fere hem ful meche." And therfore in God now beth glad euerychon. Petrus We schal don as ye sey vs, holy brother Johan. Now we beseke you, let vs se oure moder Marie. Johannes Now in Goddys name, to here than all let vs gon. Sche wyl ben ful glad to se this holy companye. Petrus Heyl, moder and maydyn! So was neuyr non, But only ye, most blissid treulye. Paulus Heyl, incomparabil quen, Goddis holy tron! Of you spreng salvacyon and all oure glorye. Heyl, mene for mankynde and mendere of mys! Maria A, wyth all myn hol herte, brether, ye are wolcom, iwys. I beseke you now to telle me of youre sodeyne metyng. Petrus In dyueris contreys we prechid of youre sone and his blis, Diueris clowdys eche of vs was sodeynely curyng. W[e] in on were brouth before youre yate here, iwys; The cause why, no man cowde telle of oure comyng. Maria Now I thanke God of his mercy An hy merakle is this! Now Iwyl 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 Jesu 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 haue 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 allthyng 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 now rithis, And bith hem in haste whil oure moder doth dure. And bisyli let vs wachyn in this virgyne sythis, That when oure Lord comyth in his spoused pure He may fynde vs wakyng and redy wyth oure lithtis. For we knowe not the hour of his comyng now sure, And yn clennesse alle loke ye be redy. Maria A, swete sone Jesu, now mercy I cry. Ouyr alle synful thy mercy let sprede. issendet Dominus cum omni celest[i] curia et dicet: Dominus The voys of my moder me nyhith ful ny. I am dyssend onto here of whom I dede sede. Hic cantabunt organa. Maria A, wolcom, gracyous Lord Jesu, 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 concupiuit rex speciem tuam. Maria Paratum cor meum, Deus, paratum cor meum, Cantabo et psalmum dicam Domino. Apostoli Hec est que nesciuit thorum in delictis, Habebit requiem in respectu animarum sanctarum. Maria Beatam me dicent omnes generaciones, Quia fecit michi magna qui potens est, et sanctum nomen eius. Dominus Veni de Libano, sponsa mea; veni, coronaberis. Ecce, venio quia in capite libri scriptum est de me, Vt facerem voluntatem tuam, Deus meus, Quia exultauit spiritus meus in Deo salutari me[o]. Hic exiet anima Marie de corpore in sinu[m] Dei. Dominus Now com, my swete soule in clennesse most pure, And reste in [m]y 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 wyth all youre solempnité; And bydyth me there stylle thre dayes severe, And I schal pere ageyn to yow to comfort youre aduercyté. Wyth this swete soule now from you I assende. Petrus In oure tribulacyouns, Lord, thou vs defende; We haue no comfort on erthe but of the alon. O swete soule of Mary, prey thy sone vs defende; Haue mynde of thy pore brether when thou comyst to þi tron. Chorus Que est ista que assendit de deserto Martyrum Deliciis affluens, innixa super dilectum suum? Ordo Angel[orum] Ista est speciosa inter filias Jerusalem sicut vidistis eam, Plenam caritate et dilectione; sicque in celum gaudens suscipitur, Et a dextris filii in trono gloorie collocatur. Hic cantabit omnis celestis curia. Prima Virgo Now, suster, I beseke you, let vs do oure attendaunce And wasche this gloryous body that here in oure sith is, As is the vse among vs, wythoutyn ony varyaunce. Now blessid be this persone that bar God of Mythtis. Secunda Virgo I am redy, suster, wyth all myn hol affyaunce, To wesche and worschepe this body that so brith is. Alle creaturys therto owyn dew obeschaunce, For this body resseyred the Holy Gostis flithtis. Et osculabunt corpus Marie. Johannes Now, holy brother Peter, I hertely you pray To bere this holy palme before this gloryous body. For 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 all celestly; Ye are Goddis clene mayde, wythoutyn ony nay. This observaunce is most like you to do dewly; Wherfore tak it vpon 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 vp here, Seyng oure observaunce wyth devouth sound. Hic portabunt corpus versus sepulturam cum eorum luminibus. Petru[s] Exiit Israel de Egipto, domus Jacob de populo barbaro. Alleluia! Apostoli Facta est Judea sanctificacio eius, Israel potestas eius. Alleluia! Hic angeli dulciter cantabunt in celo, "Alleluia!" Episcopus Herke, sere princys, what noyse is all this? The erthe and the eyer is ful of melodye! I herde neuyr er swyche a noyse now, iwys. Con ye outh say what they signefye? I not, be my God, that of myht meche is. Princeps Whatsumeuyr they be, hougely they crye! I am aferd there wyll be sumthyng amys; It is good prevely among vs we spye Wythowte. Secundus Princeps Now I haue levyd this thre skore yer, But sweche another noyse herd I neuyr er. Myn herte gynnyth ogyl and quake for fer — There is sum newe sorwe sprongyn, I dowte. Tercius Prin[ceps] 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 Fy on yon lousy doggys, they were bettyr nay! Outh! Harrow! The devyl is in myn hed! Ye dodemvsyd prynces, faste yow aray, Or I make avow to Mahound, youre bodyes schul blede, Now that quene is ded! Ye coward knytys in plate, And ye tormentours, thryfe schul ye late! Faste, harlotys, go youre gate, And brynge me that bychyd body, I red! Primus Princeps Dowte you not, sere byschop; in peyne of repref, We schal don schame to that body and to tho prechours. Secundus Princeps Sere, I schal geyne tho glabereris or gramly hem gref! Tho teynt tretouris schul tene yif my loke on hem louris. Tercius Princeps To hurle wyth tho harlotys me is ful leff. I schal snarle tho sneveleris wyth rith scharp schouris. Episcopus Hens than, a devylis name, and take me that thef, And br[y]nge me that bygyd body evyn tofore these touris! And here disciplis ye slo! Hye you hens, harlotis, atonys! 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 vt feroci percucientes petras cum eorum capitibus. Secundus Princeps, What dewyl, where is this mené? I here here noyse but I se ryth nouth. Allas, I haue clene lost my posté; I am ful wo, mad is my þowth! Tercius Princeps I am so ferd I wold fayn fle! The devyl hym spede hedyr me brouth! I renne, I rappe, so wo is me, Wyndand wod wo hath me wrouth! To deye I ne routh. Primus Princeps A, cowardis, vpon 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 a[d] feretrum Marie 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 thy 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 medycyn me lere. Petrus I may not tend to the, sere, at this hour For ocupacyon of this body of honour. But neuyrtheles, beleue in Jesu Criste, oure Saveyour, And that this was his moder that we bere on bere. [Primus Princeps] I beleue in Jesu, mannys saluacyon. Petrus In Goddis name, go doun than, and this body honure. Primus Princeps Now mercy, God, and gromency of this savacyon! In Jesu and his moder to beleve euyr I seuere. Petrus Than take yone holy palme and go to þi nacyon, And bid hem beleve in God yif they wyl be pure. And towche hem therwyth, both hed, hand, and facyon, And of her sekenesse they schal haue cure — And ellis in here peynys indure. Primus Princeps Gromercy, holy fader Peter. I schal do as ye me teche her, Thankyng God euyr in my speche her, Wyth hye repentaunce and herte most mure. Hic portabunt feretrum ad locum sepulture. Petrus Now, holy brether, this body let vs take, And wyth alle the worschepe we may, ley it in the graue, Kyssyng it alle atonys 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 vnanimiter benedicent corpus in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. The fruth that it bar oure soules schal saue. Now reste we vs, brether, vpon this pleyn lake. Tyl from oure God and oure Lord tydyngis we haue, Here muste we belave. Paulus So muste we, Johan, as ye say. Thanne byde we here and pray, Besekyng hym of comfort that best may, Restyng here abowtyn this graue. Hic vadit princeps ad Judeos cum palma. Primus Princeps Ye Jewys that langour in this gret infyrmyté, Belevyth in Crist Jesu and ye schal haue helthe. Throw vertu of this holy palme that com fro the Trinyté, Yowur sekenesse schal aswage and restore you to welthe. Secundus Princeps I beleve in Crist Jesu, Goddis sone in vnyté, And forsake my mavmentryes, 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 foul belthe. Tercius Princeps What, harlotys, forsake oure lawe? Secundus Princeps So hald I beste 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, Sene Sathan in the herne, Vs fettyn oure servauntis to this preson! Blow flamys of fer to make hem to brenne; Mak redy ageyn we com to this, demon! Secundus Demon Faste for tho harlotis now let vs renne, To caste hem in this pet here that depe is adon. They schul brenne, and boyle, and chille in oure denne! Go we now, a dewelys name, as faste as we mon. Harrow, harrow, we com to town! Primus Demon Drag we these harlotis in hye Into the pet of helle for to lye! Secundus Demon Go we now, helle houndis, ye crye; Sere Sathan may heryn oure son! Dominus Now, aungyl and alle this court celestyall, Into herthe now discendith wyth me To reyse the body of my moder terestyall, And bryng we it to the blysse of my deyté. Assent ye hereto now [in] vnyté? 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. A, wolcom, 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 hytht is? Johannes Lord, as thou rese from deth and regnyst in thyn empere, So reyse thou this body to thy blysse that lyth is. Vs semyth this ryth is. Mychael Ya, gloryous God, lo, the sowle here prest now To this blissid body likyth it you to fest now; Hefne and erthe wold thynke this the best now Inasmyche as sche bare you, God in youre mythtis. Hic vadit anima in corpus Marie. 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 haue the blysse wyth me, moder, that hath non ende. For as ye were clene in erthe of alle synnys greyn, So schul ye reyne in hefne clennest in mend. Maria A, endles worchepe be to you, Jesu, relesere of peyn. I and alle erthe may blisse ye, com of owre kend. Lo me, redy wyth yow for to wend. Dominus Abouen hefnys, moder, assende than we, In endles blysse for to be. Michael Hefne and erthe, now injoye may ye, For God throw Mary is mad mannys frend. Et hic assendent in celum cantantibus organis. Assumpta es, Maria, in celum. Dominus Yow to worchepe, moder, it likyth the hol Trinyté. Wherfore I crowne you here in this kyndam of glory. Of alle my chosyn, thus schul ye clepyd be: Qwen of Hefne and Moder of Mercy. Michael Now blysid be youre namys, we cry! For this holy assumpcyon alle hefne makyth melody. Deo gracias. The Last Judgment Hic incipit Dies Judicii, et Jesu descendente cum Michaele et Gabriele Archangelis; et Michael dicit et cetera: Michael Svrgite! All men aryse! Venite ad Judicium! For now is sett þe hy3 justyce And hath assygnyd þe Day of Dom. Rape 3ow redyly to þis grett assyse, Bothe grett and small, all an sum! And of 3oure answere 3ow now avyse, What 3e xal sey whan þat 3e cum, 3owre ansuere for to telle. For whan þat God xal 3ow appose, Then is non helpe of no glose. The trewth ful trewlye he wyl tose And send 3ow to hevyn or helle. Gabryell Bothe pope, prynce, and prysste with crowne, Kynge, and caysere, and knyhtys kene, Rapely 3e renne, 3oure resonys to rowne! For this xal be þe day of tene. Nowther pore ne ryche of grett renowne, Ne all be develys in helle þat bene, From þis day 3ow hyde not mowne; For all 3oure dedys here xal be sene Opynly in syght. Who þat is fowndyn in deedly gylte, He were bettyr to ben hylte! In hendeles helle he xal be spylte. His dedys his deth xal dyght. Omnes resurgentes subtus terram clamau [erunt], "Haaa, haaa, haaa!" Deinde surgentes dica[n]t, "Haaa," et cetera: Haaa! Cleue asundyr, 3e clowdys of clay, Asundyr 3e breke and lete us pas! Now may oure songe be "weleaway," þat 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 þis þat day To endles peyne þat vs must pas? Alas, harrow, and owt, we crye! Omnes anime resurgentes dicant et cetera: A, mercy, Lorde, for oure mysdede, And lett þi mercy sprynge and sprede! But, alas, we byden in drede — It is to late to aske mercye. Deus Venite, benedicti, my bretheryn all, Patris mei 3e childeryn dere! Come hedyr to me, to myn hy3 hall, All þo myn suterys and servauntys [were]! All þo fowle wyrmys from 3ow falle. With my ryght hand I blysse 3ow here. My blyssynge burnyschith 3ow as bryght as berall; As crystall clene it clensyth 3ow clere, All fylth from 3ow fade. Petyr, to hevyn 3atys þu wende and goo; þe lokkys þu losyn and hem vndo. My blyssyd childeryn þu brynge me to, Here hertys for to glade. Petrus The 3atys of hevyn I opyn þis tyde. Now welcome, dere bretheryn, to hevyn, iwys! Com on and sytt on Goddys ryght syde Where myrthe and melody nevyr may mys. Omnes Saluati On kne we crepe, we gon, we glyde To wurchepp oure Lorde, þat mercyfful is. For thorwe his woundys, þat be so wyde, He hath brought us to his blys. Holy Lorde, we wurchepp þe! Deus Welcome 3e be in hevyn to sitt! Welcum, fro me xul 3e nevyr flitt, So sekyr of blys 3e xul be 3itt; To myrth and joye welcum 3e be. Anime 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 þis nede. Deus How wolde 3e wrecchis any mercy haue? Why aske 3e mercy now in þis nede? What haue 3e wrought 3oure sowle to saue? To whom haue 3e don any mercyful dede, Mercy for to wynne? Primus Diabolus Mercy? Nay, nay, they xul haue wrake! And þat on here forehed wyttnes I take. For þer is wretyn with letteris blake Opynly all here synne. Deus To hungry and thrusty þat askyd in my name Mete and drynke wolde 3e 3eve non; Of nakyd men had 3e no shame; 3e wold nott vesyte men in no preson; 3e had no peté on seke nor lame — Dede of mercy wold 3e nevyr don. Vnherborwed men 3e servyd þe same; To bery the deed pore man wold 3e not gon. These dedys doth 3ow spylle! For 3oure love was I rent on rode, And for 3oure sake I shed my blode. Whan I was so mercyfull and so gode, Why haue 3e wrought a3ens my wylle? Secundus Diabolus I fynde here wretyn in þin forheed þu wore so stowte and sett in pryde þu woldyst nott 3eve a pore man breed, But from þi dore þu woldyst hym chyde. Tercius Diabolus And in þi face here do I rede þat if a thrysty man com any tyde, For thrust þow he xulde be deed, Drynk from hym þu woldyst evyr hyde. On covetyse was all thy thought. Primus Diabolus In wratth þi neybore to bakbyte, Them for to hangere was þi delyte. þu were evyr redy them to endyte. On þe seke man rewyst þu nought. Secundus Diabolus Evyrmor on envye was all þi mende: þ[u] woldyst nevyr vesyte no presoner; To all þi neyborys þu were vnkende; þu woldyst nevyr helpe man in daunger. Tercius Diabolus The synne of slauth þi sowle xal shende! Masse nore mateynes woldyst þu non here, To bery þe deed man þu woldyst not wende. þerfore þu xalt to endles fere. To slowth þu were ful prest. Primus Diabolus Thou haddyst rejoyse in glotonye, In dronkeshepp and in rebawdye! Vnherborwyd with velonye þu puttyst from here rest. Secundus Diabolus Sybile Sclutte, þu ssalte sewe, All 3oure lyff was leccherous lay. To all 3oure neyborys 3e wore a shrewe, All 3oure plesauns was leccherous play. Goddys men 3e lovyd but fewe; Nakyd men and febyl of array 3e wolde nott socowre with a lytel drewe, Nott with a thred, þe soth to say, Whan they askyd in Godys name. Omnes Dampnandi A, mercy, Lord, mekyl of myght, We aske þi mercy and not þi ryght; Not after oure dede so us quyth. We haue synnyd. We be to blame. Deus [The manuscript breaks off here.]