Part 12

_Secundus doctor._ Telle us, I pray ȝow, what is ȝour name? What hyght ȝoure modyr? telle us also. _Jhesu._ Jhesu of Naȝareth, I am the same, Born of a clene mayd, prophetys seyd so; Ysaye seyd thus,—“Ecce virgo!” A mayd xal conceyve in clennes a chylde: ȝitt ageyn nature and alkende, loo! ffrom alle wenn of synne pure and undefylde.

Mary, the chylde of Joachym and Anne, Ys that clene mayd, and here childe am I; The frute of here wombe xal save every manne ffrom the grett dowte of the ffyndys tormentry. _Primus doctor._ Alle the clerkys of this worlde trewly Cannot brynge this to declaracion; Lesse than thei have of God Almyghty Sum influens of informacion.

_Secundus doctor._ No, jentyl Jhesu, we ȝow pray, Whyl that we stodye a whyle to dwelle; In cas mo dowtys that we fynde may, The trewthe of hem ȝe may us telle. _Jhesu._ Goo, take ȝour stodye and avyse ȝow welle, And alle ȝour leysere I xal abyde; If any dowtys to me ȝe melle, The trewthe therof I xalle unhyde.

_Maria._ Alas! alas! myn hert is wo, My blyssyd babe awey is went; I wott nevyr whedyr that he is go: Alas! for sorwe myn hert is rent! Jentyl hysbond, have yow hym sent Out on herrande to any place? But yf ȝe knowe were he is 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 that he hens went? What tyme dude ȝe ȝour childe last se? _Maria._ Trewly, gode spowse, not these days thre; Therfore myn herte is cast in care: Hym for to seke, wher so he be; In hast, good husbonde, lete us forthe fare.

_Joseph._ Than to Hierusalem lete us streyte wende, ffor kynred gladly togedyr wole gon; I hope he is ther with sum good ffrende; Ther he hath cosyns ryght many on. _Maria._ I am aferde that he hath fon, ffor his grett wyttes and werkys good; Lyke hym of wytt fforsothe is non,— Every childe with hym is wrothe and wood.

Alas, my babe! my blys! my blood! Whedyr art thou thus gon fro me? My sowle! my swetyng! my frute! myn ffood! Send me sum wurd where that thou be! Telle me, good seres, ffor charyté, Jhesu, my childe, that babe of blysse, Among this compayné dude ȝe hym se? ffor Godys love, telle where he is!

_Primus doctor._ Of oo qwestyone I am bethought, Alle of ȝour modyr, that blessed may; In what governauns is she brought? How is sche rewlyd be nyght and day? _Jhesu._ An old man, Joseph, as I ȝow say, Here weddyd be meracle onto his wyff; Here for to fede and kepe alway, And bothyn in clennesse be maydenys olyff.

_Secundus doctor._ What nede was it here to be wedde Onto a man of so grett age? Lesse than thei myght bothe a go to bedde, And kept the lawe of maryage. _Jhesus._ To blynde the devyl of his knowlache, And my byrthe from hym to hyde,— That holy wedlok was grett stopage, The 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 ffadyr, of his hyȝ magesté, Here for to comforte in the way: These be the cawsys, as ȝe may se, Why Joseph weddyd that holy may.

_Maria._ A! dere childe! dere chylde! why hast thou thus done? ffor the we have had grett sorwe and care; Thy ffadyr and I thre days have gone, Wyde the to seke of blysse ful bare. _Jhesus._ Why have ȝe sought me with hevy fare? Wete ȝe not wele that I muste bene Amonge hem that is my faderes ware, His gostly catel for to ovyrsen?

_Maria._ ȝour ffaderes wyl must nedys be wrought, It is most wurthy that it so be; ȝitt on ȝour modyr have ȝe sum thought, And be nevyr more so longe fro me. As to my thynkynge, these days thre, That ȝe absente have ben away, Be more lengere in ther degré Than alle the space of xij. ȝere day.

_Jhesus._ Now, ffor to plese my modyr mylde, I xal ȝow folwe with obedyence; I am ȝour sone and subjecte childe, And owe to do ȝow hyȝ reverence. Home with ȝow I wyl go hens:— Of ȝow, clerkys, my leve I take. Every childe xulde, with good dyligens; His modyr to plese, his owyn wyl to forsake.

_Primus doctor._ O blyssyd Jhesu! with ȝow we wende, Of ȝow to have more informacion; fful blyssyd is ȝour modyr hende, Of whom ȝe toke ȝour incarnacion! We pray ȝow, Jhesu, of consolacion, At oure most nede of ȝow to have,— All that hath herd this consummacion Of this pagent, ȝour grace them save! _Amen!_

XXI. THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST.

_Johannes._ Ecce vox clamantis in deserto! I am the voyce of wyldernese, That her spekyth and prechyth yow to; Loke ȝe forsake alle wrecchidnesse! fforsake alle synne that werkyth woo, And turne to vertu and holynese! Beth clene of levyng in your sowle also; Than xalle he be savyd from peynfulnese Of fyere brynnyng in helle! If that ȝe forsak synne, Hevyn blysse xalle ȝe wyne, Drede ȝe not the devylles gynne, With angells xalle ȝow dwelle!

Penitenciam nunc agite! Appropinquabit regnum cœlorum! ffor your trespas penaunce do ȝe, And ȝe xalle wyne hevyn Dei deorum! In hevyn blyse ye xalle wyn to be, Among the blyssyd company omnium supernorum; Ther as is alle merth, joye, and glee, Inter agmina angelorum, In blyse to abyde! Baptyme I cowncelle yow for to take, And do penaunce for ys synnys sake, And for your offens amendys ȝe make, Your synnys for to hyde. I gyff baptyme in water puere, That is callyd flom Jordon; My baptyme is but sygnysure Of his baptyme that his lyke hath non! He is a lord of gret valour, I am not worthy to onbokylle his schon; ffor he xalle baptyze, as seyth Scryptour, That comyth of hem alle everychone In the Holy Goost! He may dampne and he may save, Alle goodnesse of hem we have, Ther may no man his werkes deprave, ffor he is Lorde of myghtes most?

_Hic accedit Jhesus ad Johannem, quem intuens Johannes dicat, digito demonstrans Jhesum, “Ecce agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi!”_

Beholde! the lombe of God is this, That comyth now here beforne; The wich xalle wasche the worlds mys, And save alle that that was forlorne: This same lombe forsothe it is, That of a mayd fulle clene was borne; Shamfulle deth this lambe i-wys Xalle suffer for us and be alle to-torne, And rent on a roode! He xalle suffer for mannys sake Lytylle rest, and moche gret sorow and wrake; Hys bake xalle be bowndyn to a stake, And betyn owt alle his bloode!

_Jhesus._ John Baptyste, myn owyn good ffrende, That ffeythffully dothe preche my wylle; I the thanke with alle my mende, ffor that good servyse thou dost me tylle. Thy desyre is synne to shende, Alle synful lyff thou woldyst spylle; Thyn entente hath a good hende, The lawe of God thou dost ffulffylle This tyde. Baptym to take I come to the, And conferme that sacrement that newe xal be, In flom Jordon thou baptyze me, In watyr that is wyde.

_Johannes._ My lorde God, this behovyth me nought, With myn hondys to baptyȝe the; I xulde rather of the have sought Holy baptym, than thou of me. _Jhesus._ Suffyr now, John, my wyl were wrought, Alle ryghtffullenes thus ffulfylle we; Me to baptyȝe take thou no dowthe, The vertu of mekenes here tawthe xal be, Every man to lere. And take ensawmple here by me, How mekely that I come to the, Baptym confermyd now xal be, Me to baptyȝe take thou no dwere.

_Johannes._ Alle men may take example, lo! Of lowly mekenes evyn ryght here, Be oure Lorde God, that comyth me to, Hese pore servaunt and his sutere. Every man lere to werke ryght so, Bothe kynge and caysere, and grett empere; Be meke and lowe the pore man to, And put out pryde in alle manere— God dothe here the same! To thi byddynge, my Lord so dere, I me obey with gladsum chere, And baptyȝe the with watyr clere, Ever halwyd be thi name!

_Spiritus Sanctus hic descendat super ipsum, et Deus, Pater Celestis, dicet in cœlo_,

This is my welbelovyd chylde, Over whome my spryte doth oversprede! Clene, and pure, and undefylyd, Of body, of sowle, ffor thought, for dede! That he is buxhum, meke, and mylde, I am wel plesyd withowtyn drede; Wysly to wysse ȝow ffrom weys wylde, To lysten his lore alle men I rede, And ȝoure erys to herke. Take good heede what he dothe preche, And ffolwyth the lawys that he doth teche, ffor he xal be ȝour altheris leche, To save ȝow from develys derke.

_Johannes Baptyst._ Here I se with opyn syght, The Sone of God that thou erte! The Holy Goost over the doth lyght, Thi faderes voys I here fful smerte. The childe of God, as I the plyght, That thou be, whilys I am qwerte, I xalle wyttnes to every whyght, And teche it trewly with alle myn hert; To sese it were grett synne. ffor Goddys sone I wurchypp the, ffrom hevyn, thin hyȝ magesté, Thu comyst hedyr ffrom dygnité, Mannys sowle to wynne.

_Jhesus._ John Baptyste, thou be wyttnes, The trewthe loke that thou nat hyde; ffor now I passe forthe into wyldernes, The Holy Gost xal be my gyde.

_Hic Jhesus transit in desertum, dicens, etc._

In whylsum place of desertnes, XL.ᵗⁱ days, a terme ful wyde, And ffourty nyghtes, bothe more and lesse, Withowtyn bodyly ffode ther to abyde; ffor man thus do I swynke. Into deserte I passe my way, ffor mannys sake, as I ȝow say, XL.ᵗⁱ nyghtes and xl.ᵗⁱ day, I xal nowther ete nor drynke.

_Johan Baptyst._ In place where I passe wyttnes I bere, The trewthe xal I telle wheresoevyr I go, That Cryst, the Sone of God, is become oure fere, Clad in oure clothynge to sofer for us wo! I baptyȝid with myn owyn handys Cryst Jhesu ryght here, And now he is to wyldyrnes penawns ther to do, Informyng so alle us that Lord that hath no pere, To do for oure trespace penawnce here also; Of penawnce do I preche. In wyttnes ryght be this, That what man for his mys, Doth penawns here, i-wys, His sowle he dothe wel leche.

Alle men on ground that be ȝitt on lyve, ffor ȝour grett offens loke ȝe be repentaunt; Of alle ȝour venym synne I rede that ȝe ȝow shryve, ffor God is ful redy mercy for to graunt. Be contryte for ȝour trespas, and penauns do belyve, Reconsyle ȝourself and be to God plesaunt; With contryscion, schryffte, and penauns, the devil may ȝe dryve, ffor fro ȝour felachep he xal not be erraunt, ȝow for to meve. To penauns and synne forsake, Shryfte of mowthe loke that ȝe make, And than the fende in helle so blake, He xal ȝow nevyr more greve.

A tre that is bareyn and wyl here no frute, The ownere wyl hewe it downe and cast it on the fyre; Ryght so it be man that folwyth the fowle sute Of the devyl of helle, and werkyth his desyre. God wyl be vengyd on man that is bothe dum and mute, That wyl nevyr be shrevyn, but evyr more doth delyre; Clothe the in clennes, with vertu be indute, And God with his grace he wyl the sone inspyre To amendynge of thi mys. Schryfte of mowthe may best the save, Penauns for synne what man wyl have, Whan that his body is leyd in grave, His sowle xal go to blys.

Corne that is good, men kepe it ful clene; Chaff that 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 ȝow to preche ful hertyly do I mene, Shryfft and satysfaccion evyrmore to have in thought; What man in good penauns and schryfte of mowthe be sene, Of God he is welbelovyd, that alle this worlde hath wrought, And alle thinge of nowth dede make. Now have I tawght ȝow good penauns, God graunt ȝow grace, at his plesauns To have of synne delyverauns, ffor now my leve I take!

XXII. THE TEMPTATION.

_Sathan._ Now Belyard and Belȝabub, ȝe der wurthy devele of helle, And wysest of councel amonges alle the rowte! Herke now what I sey, a tale I xalle ȝow telle, That trobelyth sore my stomak: therof I have grett dowte. _Belyalle._ Syr Sathanas, owre sovereyn, syre, with the wol we dwelle, Alle redy at thi byddynge to the do we lowte; If thou have any nede of oure wyse counselle, Telle us now thi qwestyon alle out and oute; Sey al thi dowt be-dene. _Belsabub._ ȝa, sere, telle us thi dowte by and by, And we xul telle the so sekyrly, That thou xalt knowe verryly What thi dowte dothe mene.

_Sathan._ The dowte that I have it is of Cryst i-wys; Born he was in Bedleem, as it is seyd, And many a man wenyth that Goddes sone he is, Born of a woman and she a clene mayd. And alle that evyr he prechyth, it is of hevyn blys, He wyl lese oure lawe, I am ryght sore afrayd; ffayn wolde I knowe who were ffadyr his, ffor of this grett dowte I am sore dysmayd Indede. If that he be Goddys childe, And born of a mayd mylde, Than be we rygh sore begylde, And short xal ben oure spede.

Therfore, seres, sumwhat that ȝe shewe, In this grett dowth what is best to do; If he be Goddys sone he wyl brede a shrewe, And werke us meche wrake, bothe wreche and woo: Sorwe and care he wyl sone strewe, Alle oure gode days than xulde sone be goo; And alle oure lore and alle oure lawe he wyl downe hewe, And than be we alle lorn, if that it be soo, He wylle don us alle tene. He wylle be Lorde over hevyn and helle, And ffeche awey alle oure catelle, Therfor shewe now sum good counselle, What comfort may best bene.

_Belyalle._ The best wytt that I kan say, Hym to tempte forsothe it is; With sotyl whylys, if that thou may, Asay to make hym to don amys. If that he synne, this is no nay, He may nat be kynge of blys: Hym to tempte, go walke thi way, ffor best counselle I trowe be this; Go forthe now and asay! _Belsabub._ The best wytt I hold it be, Hym to tempte in synnys thre, The whiche mankende is frelté Doth ffalle sonest alway.

_Sathan._ So afftyr ȝour wytt now wylle I werke, I wylle no lengere now here abyde; Be he nevyr so wyse a clerke, I xal apposyn hym withinne a tyde.

_Belsabub._ Now, lovely Lucyfer, in helle so derke, Kynge and Lorde of synne and pryde; With sum myst his wittys to merke, He send the grace to be thi gyde, And evyr more be thi spede! _Belyalle._ Alle the develys, that ben in helle, Shul pray to Mahound, as I the telle, That thou mayst spede this jurney welle, And comforte the in this dede.

_Jhesus._ Xl.ᵗⁱ days and xl.ᵗⁱ nyght Now have I fastyd for mannys sake; A more grett hungyr had nevyr no wyght, Than I myself begynne to take; ffor hungyr in peyn stronge am I pyght, And bred have I non myn hungyr for to slake, A lytel of a loof relese myn hungyr myght, But mursele have I non my comforte for to make; This suffyr I, man, for the. ffor thi glotenye and metys wronge, I suffyr for the this hungyr stronge, I am afferde it wyl be longe Or thou do thus for me.

_Sathan._ The Sone of God if that thou be, Be the grett myght of thi godhede, Turne these flyntes, anon lett se, ffrom arde stonys to tendyr brede. More bettyr it is, as I telle the, Wysely to werke aftyr my reed, And shewe thi myght of grett majesté, Than thorw grett hungyr ffor to be dede. These stonys now bred thou make, Goddys Sone if that thou be, Make these stonys bred, lett se, Than mayste thou ete ryght good plenté, Thyn hungyr for to slake.

_Jhesus._ Nott only be bred mannys lyff ȝitt stood, But in the wurde of God, as I the say, To mannys sowle is nevyr mete so good, As is the wurd of God that prechid is alway. Bred materyal dothe norche blood, But to mannys sowle, this is no nay, Nevyr more may be a betyr food, Than the wurd of God, that lestyth ay. To here Goddys wurde therfore man love. Thi body doth love materal brede, Withoute the wurde of God thi soule is but dede, To love prechynge therfore I rede, If thou wylt duellyn in blysse above.

_Sathan._ ffor no grett hungyr that I kan se, In glotony thou wylt not synne; Now to the temple come forthe with me, And ther xal I shewe the a praty gynne. Up to this pynnacle now go we, I xal the sett on the hyȝest pynne, Ther I preve what that thou be, Or that we tweyn part a twynne, I xal knowe what myght thou have.

_Hic ascendit Deus pinnaculum templi, dum diabolus dicit quoque sequitur_,

Whan thou art sett upon the pynnacle, Thou xalt ther pleyn a qweynt steracle, Or ellys shewe a grett meracle, Thysself ffrom hurte thou save.

_Hic Satanas ponit Jhesum super pinnaculum, dicens_,

Now if thou be Goddys ssone of myght, Ryght down to the erthe anon thou ffalle, And save thisylf in every plyght ffrom harm and hurte, and scappys alle; ffor it is wretyn with aungelys bryght That ben in hevyn, thi faderes halle, The to kepe bothe day and nyght, Xul be ful redy as thi tharalle, Hurt that thou non have. That thou stomele not ageyn the ston, And hurt thi fote as thou dost gon, Aungelle be redy alle everychon, In weys the to save.

_Jhesus._ It is wretyn in holy book, Thi Lorde God thou xalt not tempte; Alle thynge must obeye to Goddys look, Out of his myght is non exempt; Out of thi cursydnes and cruel crook, By Godys grace man xal be redempt:— Whan thou to helle, thi brennynge brook, To endles peyne xal evyr be dempt, Therin alwey to abyde. Thi Lorde God thou tempt no more, It is nott syttenge to thi lore, I bydde the sese anon therfore, And tempte God in no tyde.

_Sathan._ Ow! in gloteny nor in veynglory it dothe ryght nott avayl Cryst for to tempt, it profyteth me ryght nought; I must now begynne to have a newe travayl,— In covetyse to tempt hym it comyth now in my thought, ffor if I went thus away and shrynkyd as a snayle, Lorn were the labore alle that I have wrought; Therfore in covetyse oure syre I xal asayle, And assay into that synne yf he may be brought, Anon forthe ryght. Syr, ȝitt onys I pray to the, To this hyȝ hyl com forthe with me, I xal the shewe many a ceté, And many a wurthy syght.

_Tunc Jhesus transit cum diabolo super montem et diabolus dicit_,

Into the northe loke fforthe evyn pleyn, The towre of Babylony ther mayst thou se; The ceté of Jerusalem stondyth ther ageyn, And evyn ffast therby stondyth Galylé. Nazareth, Naverne, and the kyngdom of Spayn, ȝabulon, and Neptalym, that is a ryche countré, Both ȝebee and Salmana, thou mayst se serteyn, Itayl and Archage that wurthy remys be, Bothe Jannense and Jurye. Rome doth stonde before the ryght, The temple of Salamon as sylver bryght, And here mayst thou se opynly with syght Bothe ffraunce and Normandye.

Turne the now on this syde and se here Lumbardye, Of spycery ther growyth many an c. balys; Archas and Aragon, and grett Almonye, Parys and Portyngale, and the towne of Galys: Pownteys and Poperynge, and also Pycardye, Erlonde, Scottlonde, and the londe of Walys. Grete pylis and castellys thou mayst se with eye, ȝa, and alle the wyd werde without mo talys, Alle this longygh to me. If thou wylt knele down to the grownde, And wurchepp me now in this stownde, Alle this world, that is so rownd, I xal it gyve to the!

_Jhesus._ Go a bak, thou fowle Sathanas! In holy Scrypture wretyn it is, Thi Lorde God to wurchipp in every plas, As for his thralle and thou 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 that he is I kannot se, Whethyr God or man, what that he be I kannot telle in no degré: ffor sorwe I lete a crakke.

_Hic venient angeli cantantes et ministrantes ei:—“Gloria tibi, Domine!” Dicens._

_Jhesus._ Now, alle mankende, exaumple take By these grete werkys that thou dost se, How that the devylle of helle so blake In synne was besy to tempte me; ffor alle hise maystryes that he dyd make, He is overcom and now doth ffle; Alle this I suffyr ffor mannys sake, To teche the how thou xalt rewle the, Whan the devylle dothe the assayle. Loke thou concente nevyr to synne, For no sleytys, ne for no gynne, And than the victory xalt thou wynne, The devyl xal lesyn alle his travayl.

To suffyr temptacion it is grett peyn, If thou withstonde it thou wynnyst grett mede, Of God the more grace thou hast serteyn, If thou with-sett the devyl in his dede. Thow that the fende tempt the ageyn, Of his power take thou no drede; ffor God hath the ȝovyn bothe myght and mayn, Hym for to with-sytt evyr at nede, Thou hast more myght than he. Whan the devyl doth tempte the thoo, Shewe thi myght aȝens thi ffoo, Whan thi sowle partyth the froo, In blysse than xal it be. _Amen!_

XXIII. THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY.

_Hic de muliere in adulterio deprehensa._

_Jhesus._ Nolo mortem peccatoris! Man for thi synne take repentaunce, If thou amende that is amys, Than hevyn xal be thin herytaunce; Thow thou have don aȝens God grevauns, ȝett mercy to haske loke thou be bolde, His mercy doth passe in trewe balauns, Alle cruel jugement be many folde.

Thow that ȝour synnys be nevyr so grett, ffor hem be sad and aske mercy; Sone of my ffadyr grace ȝe may gett, With the leste teer wepynge owte of ȝour ey. My ffadyr me sent the, man, to bye, Alle thi raunsom mysylfe must pay; ffor love of the mysylfe wyl dye, Iff thou aske mercy, I sey nevyr nay.

Into the erthe ffrom hevyn above, Thi sorwe to sese and joy to restore, Man, I cam down, alle ffor thi love, — Love me ageyn, I aske no more! Thow thou myshappe and synne ful sore, ȝit turne aȝen and mercy crave; It is thi fawte and thou be lore, Haske thou mercy and thou xalt have.

Uppon thi neybore be not vengabyl, Ageyn the lawe if he offende; Lyke as he is, thou art unstabyl, Thyn owyn frelté evyr thou attende. Evermore thi neybore helpe to amende, Evyn as thou woldyst he xulde the; Ageyn hym wrathe if thou accende, The same in happ wylle falle on the.

Eche man to othyr be mercyable, And mercy he xal have at nede; What man of mercy is not tretable, Whan he askythe mercy he xal not spede. Mercy to graunt I com indede; Whoso aske mercy he xal have 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, Jhesu be name, That of a sheppherdis dowtir was born, Wyl breke oure lawe and make it lame. He wyl us werke ryght mekyl shame, His fals purpos if he upholde; Alle oure lawys he dothe defame, That stynkynge beggere is woundyr bolde.