Part 13

_Phariseus._ Sere scrybe, in feyth that ypocryte Wyl turne this londe al to his lore; Therfore I councelle hym to indyte, And chastyse hym ryght wel therfore. _Scriba._ On hym beleve many a score, In his prechynge he is so gay; Eche man hym ffolwygh ever more and more, Aȝens that he seyth no man seyth nay.

_Phariseus._ A ffals qwarel if we cowde feyne, That ypocrite to puttyn in blame; Alle his prechynge xulde sone disteyne, And than his wurchepp xuld turne to shame. With sum falshede to spyllyn his name Lett us assay, his lore to spylle; The pepyl with hym yff we cowde grame, Than xulde we sone have al oure wylle.

_Accusator._ Herke, sere pharysew, and sere scrybe, A ryght good sporte I kan ȝow telle, I undyrtake that ryght a good brybe We alle xul have to kepe councelle. A fayre ȝonge qwene here by doth dwelle, Bothe ffresche and gay upon to loke, And a talle man with her dothe melle,— The wey into hyr chawmere ryght evyn he toke.

Lett us thre now go streyte thedyr, The wey fful evyn I xalle ȝow lede; And we xul take them bothe togedyr, Whylle that thei do that synful dede. _Scriba._ Art thou sekyr that we xal spede? Shalle we hym fynde whan we cum there? _Accusator._ Be my trowthe I have no drede, The hare fro the fforme we xal arere.

_Phariseus._ We xal have game and this be trewe! Lete us thre werke by on assent, We wyl here brynge evyn beforn Jhesu, And of here lyff the truthe present; How in advowtrye hyre lyff is lent; Than hym beforn whan she is browth, We xul hym aske the trew jugement, What lawful deth to here is wrouthe?

Of grace and mercy hevyr he dothe preche, And that no man xulde be vengeable; Ageyn the woman if he sey wreche, Than of his prechynge he is unstabyl; And if we fynde hym varyable Of his prechynge that he hath tawth, Than have we cawse, bothe juste and able, ffor a fals man that he be cawth.

_Scriba._ Now, be grete God, ȝe sey fful welle: If we hym fyndyn in varyaunce, We have good reson, as ȝe do telle, Hym for to brynge to foule myschauns. If he holde stylle his dalyauns, And preche of mercy hire for to save; Than have we mater of gret substauns, Hym for to kylle and putt in grave.

Grett reson why I xal ȝow telle; ffor Moyses dothe bydde in oure lawe, That every advowterere we xuld qwelle, And ȝitt with stonys thei xulde be slawe; Ageyn Moyses if that he drawe, That synful woman with grace to helpe, He xal nevyr skape out of oure awe, But he xal dye lyke a dogge whelpe.

_Accusatur._ ȝe tary ovyr longe, seres, I sey ȝow, They wyl sone parte, as that I gesse; Therfore if ȝe wyl have ȝour pray now, Lete us go take them in here whantownnesse. _Phariseus._ Goo thou beforn the wey to dresse, We xal the ffolwe within short whyle; Iff that we may that quene dystresse, I hope we xal Jhesu begyle.

_Scriba._ Breke up the dore, and go we inne, Sett to the shuldyr with alle thi myght; We xal hem take evyn in here synne, Here owyn trespas shal them indite.

_Hic juvenis quidam extra currit indeploydo, calligis non ligatis, et braccas in manu tenens, et dicit accusator_,

_Accusator._ Stow that harlot sum erthely wyght, That in advowtrye here is ffownde. _Juvenis._ ȝiff any man stow me this nyth, I xal hym ȝeve a dedly wownde. If any man my wey doth stoppe Or we departe, ded xal I be; I xal this daggare putt in his croppe, I xal hem kylle or he xal me.

_Phariseus._ Grett Goddys curse mut go with the, With suche a shrewe wylle I not melle. _Juvenis._ That same blyssynge I ȝyff ȝow thre, And qwhethe ȝow alle to the devyl of helle; In feyth I was so sore affrayd Of ȝone thre shrewys, the sothe to say, My breche be nott ȝett welle up teyd, I had such hast to renne away: Thei xal nevyr cacche me in suche affray, — I am fulle glad that I am gon. Adewe! adewe! a xx.ᵗⁱ devyl way, And Goddys curse have ȝe everychon.

_Scriba._ Come forthe, thou stotte! com forthe, thou scowte! Come forthe, thou bysmare and brothel bolde! Come fforthe, thou hore, and stynkynge byche clowte! How longe hast thou suche harlotry holde? _Phariseus._ Come forth, thou quene! come forthe, thou scolde! Com forth, thou sloveyn! com forthe, thou slutte! We xal the teche with carys colde, A lytyl bettyr to kepe thi kutte.

_Mulyer._ A! mercy, mercy, seres, I ȝow pray, ffor Goddys love have mercy on me! Of my myslevynge me not bewray, Have mercy on me, for charyté! _Accusator._ Aske us no mercy, it xal not be; We xul so ordeyn ffor thi lot, That thou xalt dye ffor thin advowtrye; Therfore come forthe, thou stynkynge stott!

_Mulier._ Seres, my wurchepp if ȝe wyl save, And helpe I have non opyn shame; Bothe gold and sylvyr ȝe xul have, So that in clennes ȝe kepe my name. _Scriba._ Mede ffor to take, we were to blame, To save suche stottys, it xal not be; We xal brynge the to such a game, That alle advowtereres xul lern be the.

_Mulier._ Stondynge ȝe wyl not graunt me grace, But for my synne that I xal dye; I pray ȝow kylle me here in this place, And lete not the pepyl upon me crye. If I be sclaundryd opynly, To alle my frendys it xal be shame: I pray ȝow kylle me prevyly, Lete not the pepyl knowe my defame!

_Phariseus._ ffy on the, scowte! the devyl the qwelle! Ageyn the lawe xul we the kylle? ffyrst xal hange the the devyl of helle, Or we suche folyes xulde ffulfylle; Thow it lyke the nevyr so ille, Befforn the prophete thou xalt have lawe, Lyke as Moyses doth charge us tylle, With grett stonys thou xalt be slawe.

_Accusator._ Com forthe apase, thou stynkynge scowte! Before the prophete thou were this day; Or I xal ȝeve the suche a clowte, That thou xalt falle downe evyn in the way. _Scriba._ Now, be grett God! and I the pay, Suche a buffett I xal the take, That alle the tethe, I dare wel say, Withinne thin heed ffor who xul shake.

_Phariseus._ Herke, sere prophete, we alle ȝow pray To gyff trewe dome and just sentence Upon this woman, whiche this same day In synfulle advowtery hath don offense.

_Hic Jhesus, dum isti accusant mulierem, continue debet digito suo scribere in terra_,

_Accusator._ Se, we have brought here to ȝour presens, Becawse ȝe ben a wys prophete, That ȝe xal telle be consyens, What dethe to hyre ȝe thynke most mete.

_Scriba._ In Moyses lawe ryght thus we fynde, That suche fals lovers xul be slayn, Streyte to a stake we xul hem bynde, And with grett stonys brest out ther brayn. Of ȝour concyens telle us the playn, With this woman what xal be wrought; Shalle we lete here go qwyte agayn, Or to hire dethe xal she be brought?

_Jhesu nichil respondit, sed semper scrybyt in terra_,

_Mulier._ Now, holy prophete, be mercyable! Upon me, wrecche, take no vengeaunce! ffor my synnys abhomynable, In hert I have grett repentaunce. I am wel wurthy to have myschaunce, Bothe bodyly dethe and werdly shame; But gracyous prophets of socurraunce, This tyme pray ȝow for Goddys name.

_Phariseus._ Ageyn the lawe thou dedyst offens, Therfore of grace speke thou no more; As Moyses gevyth in law sentens, Thou xalt be stonyd to deth therfore. _Accusator._ Ha don, sere prophete, tells us ȝoure lore; Xul we this woman with stonys kylle? Or to hire hous hire home restore? In this mater telle us ȝour wylle.

_Scriba._ In a colde stodye me thynkyth ȝe sytt; Good sere, awake, telle us ȝour thought: Xal she be stonyd? telle us ȝour wytt,— Or in what rewle xal sche be brought? _Jhesus._ Loke whiche of ȝow that nevyr synne wrought, But is of lyff clennere than she, Cast at here stonys, and spare here nowght, Clene out of synne if that ȝe be.

_Hic Jhesus iterum se inclinans scribet in terra, et omnes accusatores quasi confusi separatim in tribus locis se disjungent._

_Phariseus._ Alas! alas! I am ashamyd! I am afferde that I xal deye; Alle myn synnys evyn propyrly namyd ȝon prophete dede wryte befor myn eye. Iff that my felawys that dude aspye, They wylle telle it bothe ffer and wyde; My sunfulle levynge if thei out crye, I wot nevyr wher myn heed to hyde.

_Accusator._ Alas! for sorwe myn herte doth blede, Alle myn synnys ȝon man dude wryte; If that my felawys to them toke hede, I kannot me ffrom deth acquyte. I wold I wore hyd sumwhere out of syght, That men xuld me no where se ne knowe; Iff I be take I am afflyght In mekyl shame I xal be throwe.

_Scriba._ Alas! the tyme that this betyd, Ryght byttyr care doth me embrace! Alle my synnys be now unhyd, ȝon man befor me hem alle doth trace. If I were onys out of this place, To suffyr deth gret and vengeauns able; I wyl nevyr come befor his face, Thow I xulde dye in a stable.

_Mulier._ Thow I be wurthy ffor my trespas To suffyr dethe abhomynable, ȝitt, holy prophete, of ȝour hyȝ grace In ȝour jugement be mercyable. I wyl nevyr more be so unstable, O, holy prophete! graunt me mercy! Of my synnys unresonable, With alle myn hert I am sory.

_Jhesus._ Where be thi fomen that dude the accuse? Why have thei lefte us to alone? _Mulier._ Bycawse they cowde nat hemself excuse, With shame they ffled hens everychone; But, gracyous prophete, lyst to my mone! Of my sorwe take compassyon! Now alle myn enmyes hens be gone, Sey me sum wurde of consolacion. _Jhesus._ ffor tho synnys that thou hast wrought, Hath any man condempnyd the? _Mulier._ Nay forsothe that hathe ther nought, Butt in ȝour grace I putt me. _Jhesus._ ffor me thou xalt nat condempnyd be; Go hom ageyn and walke at large: Loke that thou leve in honesté, And wyl no more to synne, I the charge. _Mulier._ I thanke ȝow hyȝly, holy prophete, Of this grett grace ȝe have me graunt; Alle my lewde lyff I xal doun lete, And ffonde to be Goddys trewe servaunt. _Jhesus._ What man of synne be repentaunt, Of God if he wyl mercy crave, God of mercy is so habundawnt, That what man haske it he xal it have.

Whan man is contrite, and hath wonne grace, God wele not kepe olde wrethe in mynde, But bettyr love to hem he has, Very contryte whan he them fynde. Now God, that dyed ffor alle mankende, Save alle these pepyl, both nyght and day! And of oure synnys he us unbynde, Hyȝe Lorde of hevyn, that best may! _Amen._

XXIV. LAZARUS.

_Hic incipit de suscitatione Laȝari._

_Laȝarus._ God, that alle thynge dede make of nowth, And puttyst eche creature to his fenaunce, Save thyn handwerke that thou hast wrought, As thou art lord of hiȝ substauns! O, gracyous God! att thi plesauns, Of my dysese now comforte me, Whiche thorowe syknes hath suche penawnce, On ethys ffor heed-ache may I now se.

Systyr Martha and Mawdelyn eke, What hast helpe me in bedde to dresse; ffor trewly I am so woundyrly seke, I may nevyr schape this grett seknes. My deth is com now I gesse, Help into chawmere that I be led, My grett desesse I hope xal lesse, If I were leyd upon a bed.

_Martha._ Laȝarus, brother, be of good cher, I hope ȝour syknes ryght wel xal slake; Upon this bed rest ȝow rygh here, And a good slep assay to take. _Magdalyn._ Now, jentyl brothyr, ffor Goddys sake Lyfte up ȝowre herte and be not feynt; An hevy householde with us ȝe make, If dedly syknes have ȝow ateynt.

_Laȝarus._ fforsothe, dere systeryn, I may not slepe, My syknes so sore dothe evyr encrese; Of me I pray ȝow take ryght good kepe, Tyll that my peyne begynne relese. _Martha._ God graunt grace that it may sese, Of syknes God make ȝow sownde; Or ellys oure joy wylle sone dyscres, In so grett peynes if ȝe ly bownde.

_Magdalyn._ A! brothir, brothir, lyfte up ȝoure herte, ȝour hevy cher doth us grevaunce; If deth from us ȝow xulde departe, Than were we brought in comberaunce. ȝe be oure brothyr syb of alyaunce, If ȝe wore deed, than had we none; ȝe do us brynge in distemperaunce, Whan ȝe us telle ȝe xal hens gone.

_Primus consolator._ Dame Martha and Magdalyne, How faryth ȝour brothir? lete us hym se. _Martha._ He is ryght seke and hath grett pyne, I am aferde deed he xal be. _Magdalyn._ A man may have ryght grett peté, The fervent hete of hym to fele. _Secundus consolator._ Take ȝe no thought in no degré, I hope that he xal ffare fful wele.

_Martha._ He may nat leve, his colowre doth chaunge, Come to his bed, ȝe xal hym se. _Magdalyn._ Iff he longe leve, it wyl be straunge, But as God wole, so mut it be; Chere hym, gode frendys, ffor charyté, Comforte of hym we kan non gete. Alas! alas! what eylight me, Myne herte for wo is wundyr grete.

_Tertius consolator._ Ah, heyl! syr Laȝarus, how do ȝe fare? How do ȝe ffele ȝow in ȝour herte? _Laȝarus._ I am with syknes alle woundyn in care, And loke whan deth me xulde departe. _Quartus consolator et nuncius._ ȝe xal have hele and leve in qwart, If ȝe wol take to ȝow good chere. _Lazarus._ Whan deth on me hath shet his dart, I xal have hele and ly on bere.

_Primus consolator._ Be of good comforte and thynke not so, Put out of herte that idyl thought; ȝoure owyn mysdemynge may werke ȝow wo, And cause ȝow sonere to dethe be brought. _Secundus consolator._ With gret syknes thow ȝe be sought, Upon ȝouresylf have no mystruste; If that ȝe have, I wundyr ryght nought, Thow ȝe be deed and cast in duste.

_Tertius consolator._ Many on hathe had ryght grett syknesse, And aftyr hath had his hele ageyn; And many a man, this is no lesse, With his wantruste hymsylf hathe slayn. ȝe be a man of ryght sad brayn, Thow that ȝour syknes greve ȝow ryght ille,— Pluk up ȝour herte with myght and mayn, And chere ȝoursylf with alle ȝour wylle.

_Laȝarus._ Ageyn my syknes ther is non ese, But Jhesu Cryst, my maystyr dere, If that he wyst of my dyssese, Ryght sone I trust he wolde ben here. _Quartus consolator._ I xal go to hym withoutyn dwere, And of ȝour syknes telle hym serteyne; Loke that ȝe be of ryght good chere, Whylle that I go and com ageyn.

_Martha._ Now, jentyl ffrend, telle hym ryght thus, He that he lovyth hath grett syknes, Hedyr to come and comforte us, Say that we prayd hym of his goodnes. _Magdalyn._ Recomende us onto his hyȝnes, And telle hym alle oure hertys wo; But he comforte oure hevynes, Oure werdly joy awey wyl go.

_Quartus consolator et nuncius._ The trewthe fforsothe alle every dele, As ȝe have told, so xal I say; Go to ȝour broythyr and cheryse hym wele, ffor I walke fforthe streyte in my way. _Martha._ What chere, good brothyr? telle me I pray; What wele ȝe ete? what wele ȝe drynk? Loke what is plesynge to ȝour pay;— ȝe xal have what ȝe wole thynke.

_Laȝarus._ My wynde is stoppyd, gon is my brethe,— And dethe is come to make myn ende; To God in hevyn my sowle I qwethe,— ffarwelle, systeryn, for hens I wende.

_Hic Lazarus moritur, etc._

_Magdalyn._ Alas! ffor wo myn here I rende, Myn owyn dere brothyr lyth here now ded; Now have we lost a trusty ffrende,— The sybbest blood of oure kynreed!

_Martha._ Alas! alas! and weleway! Now be we tweyn bothe brothyrles! ffor who my hert is colde as clay; A! hoo xal comforte oure carefulnes? Ther had nevyr woman more doolfulnes; A! systyr Magdalyn, what is ȝour reed? What whith may helpe oure hevynes, Now that oure brother is gon and deed?

_Magdalyn._ Alas! dere systyr, I cannot telle; The best comforte that 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 alle turnyd to pley, Ther now alle joye is turnyd to woo.

_Primus consolator._ Be of good comforte and thank God of al, ffor dethe is dew to every man; What tyme that deth on us xal ffal, Non erthely wyght the oure telle can. _Martha._ We alle xul dye, that is sertan, But ȝit the blood of kynde nature, When dethe the brothyr awey hath tan, Must nedys murne that sepulture.

_Secundus consolator._ Good ffrendys, I pray ȝow holde ȝour pes, Alle ȝour wepynge moy not amende itt; Of ȝour sorwinge therfore now ses, And helpe he were buryed in a cley pitt. _Magdalyn._ Alas! that wurde myn herte doth slytt, That he must now in cley be grave; I wolde sum man my throte wulde kytt, That I with hym myght lyne in cave.

_Tertius consolator._ Bothe heed and ffoot now he is wounde, In a schete bothe ffayr and clene, Lete us bere hym streyte to that grounde, Where that ȝe thynke his grave xal bene. _Martha._ We be ffulle lothe that pytt to sen; But stondynge it may no bettyr be, The coors take up ȝow thre betwen, With carefulle herte ȝow ffolwe xal we.

_Hic portavit corpus ad sepelliendum._

_Magdaleyn._ Alas! comforte I se non othyr, But alle of sorwe, and care, and woo; We dulfulle women must hurry oure brothir, Alas! that deth me wyl not slo. If I to pitt with hym myght go, Therin evyrmore with hym to abyde, Than were my care alle went me fro, Ther now grett sorwe doth wounde me wyde.

_Primus consolator._ This coors we burry here in this pytte, Allemyghty God the sowle mut have; And with this ston this grave we shytte, ffro ravenous bestes the body to save. _Magdalyn._ He is now brought into his cave, Myn hert ffor woo this syght doth kylle; Lete us sytt down here by the grave, Or we go hens wepe alle oure ffylle.

_Martha._ Us for to wepe no man may lett, Beforn oure face to se this syght. Alas! qwhy doth deth us not fett, Us for to brynge to this same plyght? _Secundus consolator._ Arys, for shame, ȝe do not ryght, Streyth from this grave he xul go hens. Thus for to grugge ageyns Godys myght, Aȝens hyȝ God ȝe do offens.

_Magdalen._ Syth I must nedys with ȝow hens gon, My brotheres grave lete me fyrst kys; Alas! no whith may helpe my mon, ffarewel, my brother! farewel, my blys! _Tertius consolator._ Hom to ȝour place we xal ȝow wysse, ffor Goddys love be of good chere; Indede ȝe do ryght sore amys, So sore to wepe, as ȝe do here.

_Martha._ Lete us go hom than to oure place, We pray ȝow alle with us to abyde; Us to comforte with sum solace, Tyl that oure sorwe doth slake and sclyde. _Primus consolator._ ȝow for to comforte at every tyde, We xalle dwelle here bothe nyght and day, And God that made this werd so wyde, Be ȝowre comforte, that best may.

_Hic quartus consolator et nuncius loquitur Jhesu dicens_,

_Quartus consolator._ Heyl, holy prophete, Jhesu by name! Martha and Mawdelyn, tho systeryn too, Recommende hem to ȝour hyȝ fame, And bad me sey to ȝow thus, loo! How that Lazarus, qwhiche that ȝe lovyd so, With grett syknes is sore dyssesyd; To hym they prayd ȝow that ȝe wolde goo, If that ȝour hyȝnes therwith were plesyd.

_Jhesus._ Dedly syknes Laȝarus hath non, But for to shewe Goddys grete glorye; ffor that syknes is ordeynyd alon, The sone of God to gloryfie. _Nuncius._ They be in dowte that he xal deye, Grett syknes hym sore doth holde; ffor vervent hete his blood dothe dreye, His colore chaungyth, as they me tolde.

_Jhesus._ Goo hom ageyn, and telle hem thus, I xal come to hem whan that I may. _Nuncius._ At ȝour comaundement, O prophete Jhesus! I xal hem telle, as ȝe do say. _Jhesus._ Com forthe, bretheryn, walke we oure way, Into Jurye go we anon; I cam not there ful many a day, Therfore thedyr now wyl I gon.

_Omnes discipuli._ The Jewys ageyn the were grym and grylle, Whan thou were there wolde the a slayn; With stonys they sowte the ffor to kylle, And wylt thou now go thedyr ageyn. _Jhesus._ Xij. owrys the day hathe in certeyn, In them to walke bothe clere and bryght; He xal not stomble ageyn hylle nor pleyn, That goth the wey whyl it is day lyght.

But if men walke whan it is nyght, Sone they offende in that dyrknes, Becawse they may have no cler syght, They hurte there ffete ofte in suche myrkenes. But as ffor this, ȝitt nevyrthelesse, The cawse therfore I thedyr wyl wende, Is ffor to reyse, ffrom bedde expresse, Laȝarus that slepyth, oure althere ffrende.

_Omnes discipuli._ Of his syknes he xal be save, If that he slepe, good sygne it is. _Jhesus._ Laȝarus is deed and leyd in grave, Of his slepynge ȝe deme amys; I was not there, ȝe knew weyl this, To strengthe ȝoure feyth I am ful glad. Therfore I telle ȝow the trewthe i-wys, Oure ffrende is deed and undyr erthe clad.

_Thomas._ Than goo we alle ryght evyn streyth thedyr, There as oure ffrende Laȝarus is deed; And lete us deye with hym togedyr, Ther as he lyth in the same stede. _Jhesus._ The ffor to deye have thou no drede, The wey streyth thedyr in hast we take; Be the grett myght of myn Godhede, Oute of his slepe he xal awake.

_Nuncius._ Alle heyl! Martha and Mawdelyn eke, To Jhesu I have ȝour massage seyd, I tolde hym how that ȝour brothyr was seke, And with grett peyn in his bed leyd. He bad ȝe xulde not be dysmayde, Alle his syknes he xal askape; He wylle 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 stone stoppyth the pyttys gate, There as oure brothere beryde is. _Nuncius._ Is Laȝarus deed? now God his sowle blys! ȝit loke ȝe take non hevynes, So longe to wepe ȝe don amys, It may not helpe ȝour sorynes.

_Martha._ Oute of myn herte alle care to lete, Alle sorwe and wo to caste away, I xal go forthe in the strete To mete with Jhesu, if that I may. _Secundus consolator._ God be ȝour spede bothe evyr and ay, ffor with ȝour sustyr we wyl abyde; Here to comforte we xal asay, And alle here care to caste asyde.

_Tertius consolator._ Mary Mawdelyn, be of good herte, And wel bethynke ȝow in ȝour mynde, Eche creature hens must depart, Ther is no man but hens must wende! Deth to no wyht can be a frende, Alle thinge to erthe he wyl downe cast; Whan that God wol alle thynge hath ende, Lengere than hym lyst nothynge may last.

_Magdalyn._ I thanke ȝow, frendys, ffor ȝour good chere, Myn hed doth ake, as it xulde brest; I pray ȝow, therfore, while ȝe ben here, A lytil whyle that I may rest. _Quartus consolator nuncius._ That Lord that made bothe est and west, Graunt ȝow good grace suche rest to take, That onto hym xulde plese most best, As he this worlde of nought dyd make!

_Martha._ A! gracyous Lord, had ȝe ben here, My brother Lazarus this tyme had lyvyd; But iiij. days gon upon a bere We dede hym berye whan he was ded. ȝitt now I knowe withowtyn drede, What thynge of God that thou do crave, Thou xalt spede of the hyȝ Godheede, What so thou aske thou xalt it have.

_Jhesus._ Thy brothyr Lazarus aȝen xal ryse, A levynge man aȝen to be. _Martha._ I woot wel that at the grett last syse, He xal aryse and also we. _Jhesus._ Resurreccion thou mast me se, And hendeles lyff I am also; What man that deyth and levyth in me, ffrom deth to lyve he xal ageyn go.