Part 2
In the x.ᵗᵉ pagent, sothe to say, A masangere fforthe is sent; Davydis kynrede without delay They come fful sone with good entent. Whan Joseph offeryd his ȝerde that day, Anon ryth fforth in present The ded styk do floure fful gay, And than Joseph to wedlok went, Ryth as the angel bad. Than he plyth to his wyff, In chastyté to ledyn here lyff, The busshop toke here iij. maydenys ryff, Som comforte there she had.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xj.ᵈᵉ pagent goth Gabryelle, And doth salute oure lady ffre, Than grett with chylde, as I ȝow telle, That blyssyd mayde, forsothe is she. Tho iij. maydenys that with here dwelle, Here gret speche, but noon thei se, Than they suppose that sum angelle, Goddys masangere that it xuld be. And thus The Holy Gost in here is lyth, And Goddys sone in here is pygth, The aungelle doth telle what he xal hyght, And namyth the chylde Jhesus.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xij. pagent, as I ȝow telle, Joseph comyth hom fro fer countré, Oure ladyes wombe with chylde doth swelle, And than Joseph ful hevy is he; He doth forsake here with hert ful felle, Out of countré he gynnyth to fle, He nevyr more thenkyth with here to dwelle, And than oure lady ryth sore wepyth she. An angelle seyd hym ryf, “God is with thi wyff sertayn, Therfore, Joseph, turne hom agayn.” Than is Joseph in herte ful fayn, And goth ageyn onto his wyff.
_Primus vexillator._
The xiiij.ᵗᵉ pagent, I sey ȝow be-dene, Xal be of Joseph and mylde Mary, How they were sclawndryd with trey and tene, And to here purgacion thei must hem hy.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xv. pagent shewe we xal, How Joseph went withoute varyauns, ffor mydwyvys to helpe oure lady at alle, Of childe that she had delyverauns.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xvj. pagent Cryst xal be born, Of that joy aungelys xul synge, And telle the shepherdys in that morn The blysseful byrth of that kyng. The shepherdys xal come hym befforn, With reverens and with worchepyng, ffor he xal savyn that was forlorn, And graunt us lyff evyr more lestyng, I-wys. This gle in grythe Is mater of myrthe, Now Crystys byrthe, Bryng us to his blys!
_Primus vexillator._
The xv.ᵗᵉ pagent come kynges iij., With gold, myrre, and ffrankynsens, Kyng Herowdys styward hem doth se, And bryngyth alle to his presens. The Kynges of Coleyn with hert ful ffre, Tolde kyng Herownde here dylygens, That thei south in that countré A kyng of kynges, ffrom fere thens A sterre led hem the way. The chylde is ȝoung and lyth in stalle. He xal be kyng of kynges alle, Beffore hym we thynk on kne to ffalle, And worchep hym this day.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xvj. pagent as wroth as wynde Is kyng Herownde, the sothe to say, And cruel knytes and unkende To sle male chylderyn he sendyth that day. But Cryst Jhesu thei may not ffynde, For Joseph hath led that childe away Unto Egypth, as we have mende, As angele to Joseph dyd byd and say In hyȝht. Tho chylderyn that syt in here moderes lap, To sowkyn ful swetly here moderes pap, The knythtes do sle hem evyn at a swap, This is a rewly syth.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xvij. pagent the knythtes, be-dene, Shulle brynge dede childeryn befor the kyng; Whan kyng Herownde that syth hath sene, fful 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 ȝe 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 knyttes that with hym byde; The devyl ther soulys xal take.
_Primus vexillator._
In the xviij. pagent we must purpose, To shewe whan Cryst was xij. ȝer of age, How in the temple he dede appose And answerd doctoris ryth wyse and sage. The blyssyd babe withowte glose, Overcam olde clerkes with suyche langage, That thei meveylyd, ȝe xal suppose, How that he cam to suche knowlage. And in this whyle, Thre days he was oute ffro his modyr, without doute, Wepyng she sowth hym rownde aboute Jherusalem many a myle.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xix. pagent xal seynt Jhon Baptyse Cryst, as I ȝow say, In the watyr of flom Jordone, With which devys, as we best may, The Holy Gost xal ovyr hym on, The ffaderes voys xal be herd that day, Out of hevyn that blisful trone, The fadyr xal be herd, this is no nay, And forth with pleyn. The Holy Gost xal be hys gyde Into desert therin to abyde, Xl.ᵗⁱ days a terme ful wyde, And xl.ᵗⁱ nyghtes to faste serteyn.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xx.ᵗⁱ pagent alle the develys of helle, They gadere a parlement, as ȝe xal se, They have grete doute the trewth to telle, Of Cryst Jhesu whath he xulde be. They sende Sathan, that ffynde so ffelle, Cryst for to tempte in fele degré: We xal ȝow shewe, if ȝe wyl dwelle, How Cryst was temptyd in synnys thre Of the deyvl Sathane; And how Cryst answeryd onto alle, And made the ffende awey to falle, As we best may this shewe we xalle, Thorwe grace of God and man.
_Primus vexillator._
The xxj.ᵗⁱ pagent of a woman xal be, The whiche was take in adultrye; The Pharysewys ffalsed ther ȝe xal se, Cryst to convycte how they were slye. They conseyvyd this sotylté, Yf Cryst this woman dede dampne trewly, Ageyn his prechyng than dede he, Whiche was of peté and of mercy; And yf he dede here save, Than were he aȝens Moyses lawe, That byddyth with stonys she xulde be slawe, Thus they thowth undyr ther awe Cryst Jhesu ffor to have.
_Secundus vexillator._
The grettest meracle that evyr Jhesus In erthe wrouth beforn his passyon, In xxij.ᵗⁱ pagent we purpose us To shewe in dede the declaracion. That pagent xal be of Lazarus, In whos place and habytacion Cryst was logyd, the Gospel seyth thus, And ofte tymes toke ther consolacion. But ȝyt Lazarus, as I ȝow say, Was iiij. days ded and beryed in clay, ffrom deth to lyve the iiij.ᵗᵉ day, Cryst reysed hym ffrom that pyt.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xxiij.ᵗⁱ pagent, Palme Sunday, In pley we purpose ffor to shewe, How chylderyn of Ebrew with ffloures ful gay, The wey that Cryst went thei gun to strewe.
_Primus vexillator._
In the xxiiij.ᵗⁱ pagent, as that we may, Cryst and his apostelys alle on rewe, The mawnde of God ther xal they play, And sone declare it with wordys ffewe. And than Judas that fals traytour, ffor xxx.ᵗⁱ platys of werdly tresour, Xal betray oure Savyour To the Jewys certan.
_Secundus vexillator._
ffor grevous peyn, this is no les, In the xxv.ᵗⁱ pagent, Cryst xal pray To the fadyr of hevyn that peyn for to ses, His shamful deth to put away. Judas that traytour, befor gret pres, Xal kys his mouthe and hym betray, Alle his dyscyples than do dyscres, And forsake Cryst, the sothe to say, ffor doute thei do hem hede. Hese dyscyplys alle everychone Do renne awey and leve hym alone, They lete hym stondyn amonge his ffon, And ronne away ffor drede.
_Tertius vexillator._
Than in the xxvj.ᵗⁱ pagent, To Cayphas Cryst xal be brouth, Tho Jewys fful redy ther 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; ffor Crystes 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, ffor he his lord thus dede forsake, But God to grace hym sone doth take, Whan he doth aske mercye.
_Primus vexillator._
In the 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 that lovyd nevyr stryff nor bat, But trewthe and goodnesse on every wyse, As for a thef with ryth gret hat, Is browth to stondyn at that same syse. And than, as I ȝow say, The wyff of Pylat goth to rest, Coveryd with clothis al of the best, Than ffor to slepe she is ful prest, Alle this we thenke to play.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xxviij. pagent xal Judas, That was to Cryst a ffals traytour, With wepyng sore evyr crye, alas, That evyr he solde oure Savyour. He xal be sory ffor his trespas, And brynge aȝen alle his tresour, Alle xxx. pens to sere Cayphas, He xal them brynge with gret dolowre, ffor the whiche Cryst was bowth. ffor gret whanhope, as ȝe xal se, He hangyth hymself upon a tre, ffor he noth trostyth in Godys peté, To helle his sowle is browth.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xxix. pagent, to Pylatus wyff In slepe aperyth the devyl of helle, ffor to savyn Crystes lyff, The devyl here temptyth, as I ȝow telle. Sche sendyth to Pylat anon ful ryff, And prayth that Cryst he xuld not qwelle; Than Pylat is besy and ryth blyff, Cryst for to savyn he ȝevyth councelle, ffor he dede nevyr trespas. The Jewys do crye fast ffor to kylle, The rythful man thei aske to spylle, A thef thei save with herty wylle, That callyd is Barrabas.
_Primus vexillator._
In the xxx. pagent thei bete out Crystes blood, And nayle hym al nakyd upon a rode tre, Betwen ij. thevys, i-wys they were to wood, They hyng Cryst Jhesu, gret shame it is to se. Vij. wurdys Cryst spekyth hangyng upon the rode, The weche ȝe xal here alle tho that wyl ther be, Than doth he dye ffor oure allether good; His modyr doth se that syth, gret mornyng makyth she, ffor sorwe she gynnyth to swowne. Seynt John evyn ther as I ȝow plythe, Doth chere oure lady with al his mythe, And to the temple anon forth rythe, He ledyth here in that stownde.
_Secundus vexillator._
We purpose to shewe in oure pleyn place, In the xxxj.ᵗⁱ pagent, thorwe Godys mythe, How to Crystes herte a spere gan pace, And rent oure lordys bryst in ruly plyth. ffor Longeus that olde knyth, blynd as he was, A ryth sharpe spere to Crystes herte xal pythe, The blod of his wounde to his oyn xal tras, And thorwe gret meracle ther hath he syth. Than in that morn, Crystes soule goth downe to helle, And ther ovyrcomyth the fend so felle, Comfortyth the soulys that therin dwelle, And savyth that was fforlorn.
_Tertius vexillator._
Joseph and Nycodemus to Cryst trew servaunt In the xxxij. page[nt] the body thei aske to have. Pylat ful redyly the body doth hem graunt, Than thei with reverens do put it in grave. The Jewys more wyckyd than ony geawunt, ffor Crystes ded body kepers do thei crave, Pylat sendyth iiij. knytes that be ryth hardaunt, To keep the blody body in his dede conclave. And ȝit be his owyn myth, The body that was hevy as led, Be the Jewys nevyr so qwed, Aryseth from grave that ther lay ded, And ffrayth than every knyth.
_Primus vexillator._
In the xxiij. pagent the soule of Cryst Jhesu Xal brynge alle his ffrendys ffrom helle to paradyse, The soule goth than to the grave, and be ryth gret vertu That body that longe ded hath loyn to lyf aȝen doth ryse. Than doth Cryst Jhesu onto his modyr sew, And comfortyth alle here care in temple ther she lyse, With suche cher and comforth his modyr he doth indew, That joy it is to here ther speche for to devyse. And than Oure lady of hefne so cler, In herte sche hath ryth glad chere, Whan here sone thus doth apere, Here care awey is tan.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xxxiiij. pagent xal Maryes thre Seke Cryst Jhesu in his grave so coolde; An aungel hem tellyth that aresyn is he; And whan that this tale to them is tolde, To Crystes dyscyplis with wurdys fful fre, They telle these tydynges with brest ful bolde. Than Petyr and John, as ȝe xal se, Down rennyn in hast over lond and wolde, The trewth of this to have. Whan thei ther comyn, as I ȝow say, He is gon ffrom undyr clay, Than thei wytnesse anoon that day, He lyth not in his grave.
_Tertius vexillator._
Onto Mary Mawdelyn as we have bent, Cryst Jhesu xal than apere, In the xxxv.ᵗⁱ pagent, And she wenyth he be a gardenere. Mary, be name verament, Whan Cryst here callyth with speche 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 that sche not kys, Tyl he have styed to hefne blys, To Crystes dyscyplys Mary i-wys Than goth the trewthe to say.
_Primus vexillator._
In the xxxvj.ᵗⁱ pagent xal Cleophas And Sent Luke to a castel go, Of Crystes deth as thei fforth pas They make gret mornyng and be ful wo, Than Cryst them ovyrtok, as his wyl was, And walkyd in felachep fforth with hem too, To them he doth expowne bothe more and las Alle that prophetes spake ad of hymself also; That nyth in fay, Whan thei be set within the castelle, In brekyng of bred thei know Cryst welle, Than sodeynly, as I ȝow telle, Cryste is gon his way.
_Secundus vexillator._
In the xxxvij. pagent than purpos we, To Thomas of Ynde Cryst xal apere, And Thomas evyn ther, as ȝe xal se, Xal put his hands in his woundes dere.
_Tertius vexillator._
In the xxxviij.ᵗⁱ pagent up stye xal he Into hefne that is so clere, Alle hese apostele there xul be, And woundere sore and have gret dwere, Of that fferly syth. Ther xal come aungelle tweyne, And comfforte hem, this is certeyne, And tellyn that he xal comyn ageyne, Even by his owyn myth.
_Primus vexillator._
Than ffolwyth next sekyrly, Of Wyttsunday that solempne ffest, Whyche pagent xal be ix. and thretty, To the apostelys to apere be Crystes hest; In Hierusalem were gaderyd xij. opynly, To the Cenacle comyng ffrom West to Est, The Holy Gost apperyd fful vervently, With brennyng ffere thyrlyng here brest, Procedyng from hevyn trone. Alle maner langage hem spak with tung, Latyn, Grek, and Ebrew amonge, And affter thei departyd and taryed not long, Here deth to take ful sone.
_Secundus vexillator._
The xl.ᵗⁱ pagent xal be the last, And domysday that pagent xal hyth, Who se that pagent may be agast To grevyn his lord God eyther day or nyth; The erthe xal qwake, bothe breke and brast, Beryelys and gravys xul ope ful tyth, Ded men xul rysyn and that ther in hast, And ffast to here ansuere thei xul hem dyth, Beffore Godys fface. But prente wyl this in ȝour mende, Who so to God hath be unkende, ffrenchep ther xal he non ffynde, Ne ther get he no grace.
_Tertius vexillator._
Now have we told ȝow alle be-dene The hool mater that we thynke to play; Whan that ȝe come, ther xal ȝe sene This game wel pleyd in good aray. Of holy wrytte this game xal bene, And of no fablys be no way, Now God them save from trey and tene, ffor us that prayth upon that day, And qwyte them wel ther mede. A Sunday next, yf that we may, At vj. of the belle we gynne oure play, In N. towne, wherfore we pray, That God now be ȝoure spede. _Amen._
I. THE CREATION.
_Deus._ Ego sum alpha et Ω, principium et finis.
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 alle that evyr xal have 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, Alle thyng xal be wrowth be me, I am oo God in personys thre, Knyt in oo substawns.
I am the trewe trenyté, Here walkyng in this wone; Thre personys myself I se, Lokyn in me God alone. I am the ffadyr of powsté, My Sone with me gynnyth gon, My Gost is grace in magesté, Weldyth welthe up in hevyn tron. O God thre I calle, I a fadyr of myth, My sone kepyth ryth, My gost hath lyth, And grace with alle. Myself begynnyng nevyr dyd take, And endeles I am thorw myn own myth, Now wole I begynne my werke to make,— ffyrst I make hevyn with sterrys of lyth In myrth and joy evermore to wake, In hevyn I bylde angelle fful bryth, My servauntes to be, and for my sake, With merth and melody worchepe my myth; I belde them in my blysse. Aungelle in hevyn evyrmore xal be, In lythful clere bryth as ble, With myrthe and song to worchip me, Of joys thei may not mys.
_Hic cantent angeli in cœlo._ “Tibi omnes angeli, tibi cœli et universæ potestates, Tibi cherubyn et seraphyn incessabili voce proclamant,—Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus! Dominus Deus Sabaoth.”
_Lucifer._ To whos wurchipe synge ȝe this songe, To wurchip God or reverens me? But ȝe me wurchipe ȝe do me wronge, ffor I am the wurthyest that evyr may be. _Angeli boni._ We wurchipe God of myth most stronge, Whiche hath fformyd bothe us and the, We may nevyr wurchyp hym to longe, ffor he is most worthy of magesté. On knes to God we ffalle. Oure lorde God wurchyp we, And in no wyse honowre we the, A gretter lord may nevyr non be, Than he that made us alle.
_Lucifer._ A worthyer lorde forsothe am I, And worthyer than he evyr wyl I be, In evydens that I am more wurthy, I wyl go syttyn in Goddes se. Above sunne and mone and sterres on sky I am now set, as ȝe may se; Now wurchyp me ffor most mythty, And for ȝour lord honowre now me, Syttyng in my sete. _Angeli mali._ Goddys myth we forsake, And for more wurthy we the take, The to wurchep honowre we make, And ffalle down at thi ffete.
_Deus._ Thu Lucyfere ffor thi mekyl pryde, I bydde the ffalle from hefne to helle; And alle tho that holdyn on thi syde, In my blysse nevyr more to dwelle. At my comawndement anoon down thou slyde, With merthe and joye nevyr more to melle, In myschyf and manas evyr xalt thou abyde, In byttyr brennyng and fyer so felle, In peyn evyr to be pyht. _Lucyfer._ At thy byddyng thi wyl I werke, And pas fro joy to peyne smerte, Now I am a devyl ful derke, That was an aungelle bryht.
Now to helle the wey I take, In endeles peyn ther to be pyht. ffor fere of fyre a fart I crake, In helle doonjoone myn dene is dyth. _Deus._ Now hevyn is made ffor aungelle sake, The fyrst day and the fyrst nyth; The secunde day watyr I make, The walkyn also ful fayr and bryth. The iij.ᵈᵉ day I parte watyr from erthe, Tre and every growyng thyng, Bothe erbe and floure of suete smellyng, The iij.ᵈᵉ day is made be my werkyng. Now make I the day that xal be the fferthe.
Sunne and mone and sterrys also, The forthe day I make in same; The v.ᵗᵉ day werme and ffysche that swymme and go, Byrdys and bestes, bothe wylde and tame; The sexte day my werk I do, And make the man Adam be name, In ertheleche paradys withowtyn wo, I graunt the bydyng, lasse thou do blame:
fflesche of thi fflesche, and bon of thi bone, Adam here is thi wyf and make, Both ffysche and foulys that swymmyn and gone, To everyche of hem a name thou take; Both tre and frute and bestys echone, Red and qwyte, bothe blew and blake, Thou ȝeve hem name be thiself alone, Erbys and gresse both beetes and brake; Thi wyff thou ȝeve name also. Lok that ȝe not ses, ȝowre ffrute to encres, That ther may be pres Me worchipe for to do.
Now come fforthe Adam to paradys, Ther xalt thou have alle maner thynge, Bothe flesche and ffysche and frute of prys, Alle xal be buxum at thi byddyng. Here is pepyr, pyan, and swete lycorys, Take hem alle at thi lykyng, Bothe appel and pere and gentyl rys, But towche nowth this tre that is of cunnyng, Alle thynge saff this ffor the is wrought; Here is alle thinge that the xulde plese, Alle redy made onto thin ese, Ete not this frute ne me dysplese, ffor than thou deyst, thou skapyst nowth.
Now have I made alle thynge of nowth, Hevyn and erthe, foulle and best:— To alle thynge that myn hand hath wrowth, I graunt myn blyssyng that evyr xal lest; My wey to hefne is redy sowth, Of werkyng I wole the vij.ᵗᵉ day rest, And alle my creatures that be abowth, My blyssyng ȝe have both est and west. Of werkyng the vij.ᵗᵉ day ȝe sees; And alle tho that sees of laboryng here, The vij.ᵗᵉ day withowtyn dwere, And wurchyp me in good manere, Thei xal in hefne have endles pes.
Adam go forthe and be prynce in place, ffor to hefne I sped my way; Thi wyttys wel loke thou chase, And gostly governe the, as I say.
II. THE FALL OF MAN.
_Adam._ Holy ffadyr blyssyd thou be, ffor I may walke in welthe anow, I ffynde datys gret plenté, And many ffele frutes ful every bow; Alle this wele is ȝevyn to me, And to my wyf that on me lowh, I have no nede to towche ȝon tre, Aȝens my lordys wyl to werke now; I am a good gardenere; Every frute of ryche name, I may gaderyn with gle and game, To breke that bond I were to blame That my lord bad me kepyn here.
_Eva._ We may bothe be blythe and glad, Oure lordys comaundement to fulfylle, With ffele frutys be we ffayr ffad, Woundyr dowcet and nevyr on ille. Every tre with frute is sprad, Of them to take as plesyth us tylle, Oure wytte were rakyl and ovyr don bad, To fforfete ageyns oure lordys wylle In ony wyse. In this gardeyn I wyl go se, Alle the ffloures of fayr bewté, And tastyn the frutes of gret plenté. That be in paradyse.
_Serpens._ Heyl ffayr wyff and comely dame! This ffrute to ete I the cownselle, Take this appyl and ete this ssame, This ffrute is best as I the telle. _Eva._ That appyl to ete I were to blame, ffrom joy oure lorde wolde us expelle, We xuld dye and be put out with schame, In joye of paradyse nevyr more to duelle. God hymself thus sayde, What day of that frute we ete, With these wurdys God dyd us threte, That we xuld dye our lyff to lete, Therffore I am affrayde.
_Serpens._ Of this appyl yf ȝe wyl byte, Evyn as God is, so xal ȝe be, Wys of connyng as I ȝow plyte, Lyke onto God in al degré. Sunne and mone and sterrys bryth, ffysche and foule, bothe sond and se, At ȝour byddyng bothe day and nyth, Alle thynge xal be in ȝowre powsté; ȝe xal be Goddys pere. Take this appyl in thin hond, And to byte therof thou ffond, Take another to thin husbond, Thereof have thou no dwere.
_Eva._ So wys as God is in his gret mayn, And ffelaw in kunnyng ffayn wold I be. _Serpens._ Ete this appyl, and in certeyn That I am trewe, sone xalt thou se. _Eva._ To myn husbond with herte fful fayne, This appyl I bere, as thou byddyst me, This 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 this appyl I xal asay, To make hym to ete, yf that I may, And of this ffrewte to byth.
_Hic Eva reveniet Adæ viro suo et dicet ei._