Part 21

_Cleophas._ Now was it not goodly don Of Cryst Jhesu, oure mayster dere; He hath with us a large wey gon, And of his uprysyng he dede us lere. Whan he walkyd with us in fere, And we supposyd hym bothe deed and colde, That he was aresyn ffrom undyr here, Be holy Scripture the trewthe he tolde.

_Lucas._ Ryght lovyngely don forsoth this was, What myght owre mayster tyl us do more, Than us to chere that fforthe dede pas, And ffor his dethe we murnyd ful sore? ffor love of hym owre myrthe was lore, We were ffor hym ryght hevy in herte; But now owre myrthe he doth restore, ffor he is resyn bothe heyl and qwert.

_Cleophas._ That he is thus resyn I have grett woundyr, An hevy ston ovyr hym ther lay; How shulde he breke the ston asoundyr, That was deed and colde in clay? Every man this mervayle may, And drede that Lorde of mekyl myght; But ȝit of this no man sey nay, ffor we have seyn hym with opyn syght.

_Lucas._ That he doth leve, I woot wel this, He is aresyn with flesche and blood; A levynge man forsothe he is, That rewly was rent upon a rood. Alle heyl! dere brothyr, and chaunge ȝour mood, ffor Cryst doth levyn and hath his hele; We walkyd in wey with Cryst so good, And spak with hym wurdys fele.

_Cleophas._ Evyn tylle Emawus the grett castelle ffrom Jerusalem with hym we went, Syxti ffurlonge, as we ȝow telle, We went with hym evyn passent. He spak with us with good entent, That Cryst xuld leve he tolde tylle us, And previd it be Scripture verament; Trust me trewe, it is ryght thus!

_Lucas._ ȝa, and whan he had longe spokyn us tylle, He wold ffrom us a gon his way; With strenght and myght we keptyn hym stylle, And bred we tokyn hym to etyn in fay. He brak the loff, as evyn on tway, As ony sharpe knyff xuld kytt breed; Therby we knew the trewthe that day That Cryst dede leve and was not deed.

_Petrus._ Now trewly, serys, I have grett woundyr Of these grete merveylis that ȝe us telle; In brekynge of bred fful evyn asoundyr, Oure mayster ȝe knew and Lord ryght welle. ȝe sey Cryst levith that Jewys dyd qwelle, Tylle us glad tydynges, this is serteyn, And that oure mayster with ȝow so longe dede dwelle, It dothe wel preve that he levith ageyn.

A! brother Thomas, we may be ryght glad Of these gode novelle that we now have; The grace of oure lorde God is over us alle sprad, Oure Lord is resyn his servauntys to save. _Thomas._ Be in pes, Petyr, thou gynnyst to rave, Thy wurdys be wantowne and ryght unwyse; How xulde a deed man, that deed lay in grave, With qwyk fflesche and blood to lyve ageyn ryse?

_Petrus._ ȝis, Thomas, dowte the not, oure mayster is on lyve! Record of Mawdelyn and of here systeres too, Cleophas and Lucas, the trewthe ffor to contryve, ffro Jerusalem to Emaws with hym dede they go. _Thomas._ I may nevyr in hert trust that it is so; He was ded on cros and colde put in pitt, Kept with knyghtes iiij., his grave sealyd also, How xulde he levyn ageyn that so streyte was shitt?

_Petrus._ Whan Mawdelyn dede telle us that Cryst was aresyn, I ran to his grave, and John ran with me; In trewthe ther we ffownde he lay not in presyn, Gon out of his grave and on lyve than was he. Therfore, dere brother Thomas, I wole rede the Stedfastly thou trust that Cryst is not deed; ffeythfully beleeve a qwyk man that he be, Aresyn from his deth by myght of his Godhed.

_Thomas._ I may nevyr beleve these woundyr merveles, Tyl that I have syght of every grett wounde, And put in my ffyngyr in place of the nayles, I xal nevyr beleve it ellys ffor no man on grownde. And tylle that myn hand the sperys pytt hath fownde, Whiche dede cleve his hert and made hym sprede his blood, I xal nevyr beleve that he is qwyk and sownde, In trewth whyl I knowe that he was dede on rood.

_Petrus._ Cryst be thi comforte and chawnge thi bad witt! ffor ffeythe but thou have thi sowle is but lorn; With stedfast beleve God enforme the ȝitt, Of a meke mayde as he was ffor us born. _Christus._ Pees be amonge ȝow, 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, ffor my grett trespas.

_Christus._ Beholde wele, Thomas, my woundys so wyde Whiche I have sufferyd ffor alle mankynde; Put thin hool hand into my ryght syde, And in myn hert blood thin hand that thou wynde. So ffeythffulle a ffrend were mayst thou fynde? Be stedfast in feythe, beleve wel in me; Be thou not dowtefful of me in thi mynde, But trust that I leve that deed was on a tre.

_Thomas._ My Lord and my God, with syght do I se That thou art now qwyk, whiche henge deed on rode; More feythful than I ther may no man be, ffor myn hand have I wasche in thi precyous blode. _Christus._ ffor thou hast me seyn, therfore thi ffeyth is good, But blyssyd be tho of this that have no syght, And beleve in me, they ffor here meke mood Shalle come into hefne, my blysse that is so bryght!

_Thomas._ As a ravaschyd man whos witt is alle gon, Grett mornynge I make ffor my dredfful dowte; Alas! I was dowteful that Crysst from undyr 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 that God so hath wrought, Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

He that was bothe deed and colde put in grave, To lyve is arysen by his owyn myght; In his dere herte blood myn hand wasche I have, Where that the spere poynt was peynfully pyght. I take me to feyth, fforsakynge alle unryght, The dowte that I had fful sore me avexit, ffor now have I seyn with ful opyn syght, Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

I trustyd no talys that were me tolde, Tylle that myn hand dede in his hert blood wade; My dowte dothe aprevyn Cryst levynge fful bolde, And is a grett argument in feyth us to glade. Thou man that seyst this, ffrom feyth nevyr thou ffade, My dowte xal evyr chere the, that sore me avexit; Truste wele in Cryst that suche meracle hath made, Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

The prechynge of Petir might not converte me, Tylle I felyd the wounde that the spere dyde cleve; I trustyd nevyr he levyd that deed was on a tre, Tylle that his herte blood dede renne in my sleve. Thus be my grett dowte oure feyth may we preve, Behold my blody hand to feyth that me avexit, Be syght of this myrroure ffrom feyth not remeve, Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

Thow that Mary Magdalyn in Cryst dede sone beleve, And I was longe dowteful, ȝitt putt me in no blame; ffor be my grett dowte oure ffeyth may we preve, Aȝens alle tho eretykys that speke of Cryst shame. Truste wel Jhesu Cryst, the Jewys kyllyd the same, The ffende hath he fferyd oure feyth that evyr avexit; To hevyn ȝow brynge and save ȝow alle in same, That mortuus et sepultus iterum resurrexit! Amen.

XXXIX. THE ASCENSION.

_Hic incipit ascencio Domini nostri cum Maria et undecim discipulis et duobis angelis sedentibus in albis, et Jhesus dicit discipulis suis etc._

_Jhesus._ Pax vobis! amonge ȝow pes, Bothe love, and reste, and charyté, Amonge all vertues lete it not ses, ffor amonge alle vertues prynspal his he. ȝe be to blame I may wel preve, ffor I wyl use to ȝow wurdys pleyn, That ȝe be so hard of herte to beleve, That from dethe to lyve I am resyn ageyn.

Nottwithstondynge, as ȝe knowe serteyn, To ȝow viij. sythys aperyd have I, Be soundry tymes the trewth to seyn, And this is the ix. tyme sothly, Evyn and no mo. But now sum mete Anon doth gete, ffor I wyl ete With ȝow, and goo.

My dyscyplis, here what I sey, And to my wourdys ȝevythe attencion, ffrom Jersalem loke ȝe go nott awey, But mekely abydyth my fadyres promicion, Off whiche be my mowthe ȝe have have had informacion, Whylle bodyly with ȝow I was dwellynge, ffor John sothly ffor mannys salvacion, Onlye in watyr was me baptysynge; But I ȝow be-hete, Withinne ffewe days that ȝe In the Holy Goost xul baptyzid be, Therfore rysyth up and ffolwyht me Onto the mownte of Olyvete. _Jacobus major._ O Lord! vowchesaff us for to telle, Iff thou wylt now, withowte more delay, Restoryn the kyngdam of Israelle, And ȝeve us the joye, Lord, that lestyth ay.

_Jhesus._ Seres, the tymes and the monthis knowe ȝe ne may, Whiche my fadyr hath put in his owyn power; But ȝe xul take within short day Of the Holy Goost the vertu cler. Thorwe whiche xul ȝe, In Jerusalem and in Jury, And moreovyr also in Samary, And to the worldys ende uttyrly, My wyttnes only be.

Lovyth no wrathe nor no wronge, But levyth in charyté with mylde stevyn, With myrthe, and melody, and aungelle songe, Now I stey streyte ffro ȝow to hevyn.

_Hic ascendit ab oculis eorum, et in cœlo cantent, etc._

_Angelus._ Returnyth ageyn to ȝour loggynge, To Jerusalem, ffor he wyl thus, His promys mekely ther abydynge, ffor dowteles this forseyd Jhesus Whiche from ȝow is take, In a clowde as ȝe hym seyn Steyng up, so xal comyn ageyn, Of al mankynde, this is serteyn, Jugement xal he make.

O! ȝe bretheryn, attendyth to me, And takyth good hede what I xal seyn, It behovyth the Scripture ffulfylled to be, That of Davyd was seyd with wourdys pleyn, Of Judas whiche was the gyde serteyn Of hem that Cryst slew cruelly, Whiche aftyr ffrom dethe ros up ageyn, And hath abedyn in erthe fful days fourty; And aftyr alle this, Before oure eye, In a bryght skye, He dede up stye To hevyn blys.

This seyd Judas was amonge us, Noumbryd apoustylle, and had lyche dygnyté, But whan he betrayd oure Lord Jhesus, He hynge hymself upon a tre. In whos sted muste nedys ordeyned be Another, oure noumbre ffor to restore, On of tho whiche, as weel knowe we, Han be conversaunt 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, etc._

O! sovereyn Lorde, whiche of every man The hertys dost knowe most inwardly, With alle the lowlyness we may or kan, To the we prey fful benygnely, That thou vowchesaff, thorwe thy mercy, Us hym to shewe, whiche in this cas Thou lykyst to chesyn effectuously, To ocapye the lott of Judas plas!

_Hic dabunt sortes et cadet super Mathiam, etc._

Now gramercy, Lord! And to fulfylle Thin holy wylle, As it is skylle, We alle accorde!

XL. THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST.

_Modo de die Pentecost. Apostoli dicant genuflect. Spiritus Sanctus decendat super eos, etc._

Petrus, Andreas, Jacobus major. Honowre, wurchipp, and reverens. Johannes, Philippus, Jacobus minor. Glorye, grace, and goodnes. Thomas, Bartholomeus, Symon. Dygnité, vertu, and excellence. Matheus, Judas, Matheas. Bewté, blyssynge, and bryghtnes.

_Petrus._ Be to that lord heye wurthynes! _Andreas._ Whiche hath performyd that he us hyght. _Jacobus major._ And us enbawmyd with suche swetnes. _Johannes._ Whiche to dyscrye ffer passyth oure myght. _Philippus._ This we alle wel kenne. _Jacobus minor._ Now gracious Lord Jhesu, _Thomas._ Conferme us in thi vertu! _Bartholomeus._ And graunt us grace evyr it to sew! _Symon._ Sey we alle togedyr, Amen! Amen!

_Et omnes osculant terram._

_Primus Judæus._ Now ffelawys, take hede, ffor be my trewthe, ȝondyr syttyth a dronkyn ffelacheppe. _Secundus Judæus._ To don hem good it were grett ruthe. _Tertius Judæus._ ȝa, I prey God ȝeve hem alle shenscheppe. _Primus Judæus._ Muste in here brayn so sclyly dothe creppe, That thei cheteryn and chateryn as they jays were. _Secundus Judæus._ ȝa, were they ony wel browth asclepe, It wore almes to the revere hem to bere, There hem to baptyze. _Primus Judæus._ That were, as thynkyth me, A jentyl sporte to se, A bettyr game to be Cowde no man devyse.

_Petrus._ Serys, alas! what do ȝe mene? Why scorne ȝe now thus Goddys grace? It is nothynge as ȝe do wene, Ther is no drunke man in this place; Wherefore ryght grett is ȝowre trespace: But, syres, lyst what it doth sygnifye; ffulfyllyd is now to mannys solace, Of Johel the pregnaunt prophecye, In whiche that he, That ȝe han seyn, In wourdys pleyn, Declareth serteyn: Now blyssyd God be! Amen.

XLI. THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN.

_Ad mea facta pater assit Deus et sua mater!_

_Doctor._ Ryhte worchepful sovereynes, liketh yow to here Of the assumpcion of the gloryous moder Mary? That seynt Jhon the evangelist wrot and tauht, as I lere, In a book clepid Apocriphun, wythowtyn dyswary. At fourten yer sche conseyved Cryste in hire matere clere, And in the fiftene yer sche chyldyd, this avowe dare 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 honoryng the Godhed; fferste to the place there Criste cristenyd was clepid fflum Jordone, 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 manned; Thus was sche occupyed 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.

Ces now youre blaberyng in the develis name, What, lousy begchis, now ye not se, Owre worthy prynsis, lo! are gaderid in same, That are statis of this lond hye men of degré? By there hye wisdom they shal now attayne. How alle Juré beste governyd may be, And of this pillid prechouris that oure lawis defame, They schul ben slayn as they se or fayn for to fle. Wherfore in pes be ye, And herkenyth onto hem moste stillyn I, ffor what boy bragge outh, hym spilly I, As knave wyth this craggyd knad hym kylle I, — Now herkenyth oure pryncis alle kneland on kne.

_Episcopus._ Now ye prynsis i-prest of the lawe, Of this demaunde responcyon I aske here anon, Ys there ony renogat among us fer as ye knawe, Or ony that pervertyth the pepil wyth gay eloquens alon? Yif there be, we muste onto hem set awe. ffor they feyne falsly oure feyth, hem preve I houre fon, Sweche schul ben bounden up be the beltys til flyes hem blowe, And gnaggyd up by the gomys tyl the devyl 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 oure lawys now telle on.

_Primus Princeps._ Sere, syn we slew hym that clepid hym oure king, And seyde he was Goddis sone Lord over alle; Syn his deth I herd of no maner rysyng, And, lo, yif he hadde levyd he had mad us his thrall. _Episcopus._ Therfore oure wysdam was to schortyn his endyng; Who so clyme over hie he hath a foule falle. _Secundus Princeps._ Ya, yit of on thing I warne yow at the gynnyng, His dame is levyng, Mary that men calle; 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 us sche schalle. _Episcopus._ A! sere, ye ben bolde i-now, art thou ferd of a wenche? What trowyste that sche myht don us agayn? _Tertius Princeps._ Sere, there are other in the centre that clenche, And prechyn he is levyng that we slewe, they seyn; And yif they ben sufferyd thus, this wille bredyn a stench, ffor thorow here fayre speche oure lawys they steyn. And therfore devyse we now upon this pleyn benche, What is beste for to do hem for to atteyn: We are but loste, yif they reyn. _Episcopus._ Why, let se than, sey me youre ententis. _Primus._ Lete us preson hem, til here myght schent is. _Secundus._ Bettyr is to slen hem wyth dentis. _Tercius._ Nay, best is to hang hem wyth peyn. _Episcopus._ Nay, seris, nowth so youre better avyse, Have 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 abyde. But be that senstere ded, Mary that fise, We shal brenne here body and the aschis hide, And don here alle 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 Episcopus._ Wyth youre wysdam, sere, we are wel payed. Than ye knyhtis, I charge yow, beth arayed, And the turmentouris redy that tyde, When 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 salvacyon, That it lyst you of me sympilest to take here humanité, Wyth dew obeschyauns I make you gratulacyon. And, glorious Lord and sone, yif it like youre benygnyté, Nouth to ben displesid wyth my desideracyon, Me longith to youre presense now conjunct to the unyté, Wyth alle myn herte and my sowle be natures excitacyon, To youre domynacyon. ffor alle creaturis in you don affye, And myche more owe I youre modyr be alye, Syn ye wern born God and man of my bodye, To desyre youre 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, Resservynge here to joye from worldly perplexité, And in tokyn therof this palme now pretende, Seyinge here sche fere no man of divercyté. _Angelus Primus._ By youre myth I dissende to youre moder in virginité. _Angelus secundus._ ffor qwyche message injoyeth the hefnely consorcyt.

_Hic discendet Angelus; ludentibus citharis, et dicet Mariæ_,

_Primus Angelus._ Heyl! excellent prynces, Mary, moste pure! Heyl! radyant sterre, the sunne is not so bryth! Heyl! moder of mercy, and mayde most mure! The blessyng that God yaf Jacob upon you now is lyth! _Maria._ Now welcom bryth berde, Goddis aungel I sen, Ye ben messager of allemyhty, wolcom wyth my myhtis; I beseke you now say me upon 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! this, 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 presence there my God youre sone is. _Maria._ Mercy and gromercy, God, now may I be seyand, Thankyng you suete aungyl for this message i-wys. _Angelus._ In tokenyng whereof, Lady, I am here presentand A braunce of palme, outh of paradis com this; Before youre here God biddith it be bore. _Maria._ Now thanke be to that Lord of his mercy evermore! _Angelus._ 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. _Maria._ 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 me thynkyth it nyl be. _Angelus._ A! this, lady, inpossible to God nothyng trowe the, ffor 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, Se 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 dare 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, most excellent in sithis, And wyth this agayn 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 servauntis 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 virgo._ We schal, gracyous Lady, wyth alle oure mythis, Schul ye from us 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 princes in alle vertu that is dith, Alle hefne and erthe, Lady, you doth honure; We schal wachyn and wake, as oure dewe and ryth, Into the tyme ye passe to that hye toure.

_Maria._ 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 Jhesu oure savyoure.

_Hic subito apparet sanctus Johannes evangelista ante portam Mariæ._

_Johannes._ A! myrable God, meche is thy myth, Many wonderis thou werkyst evyn as thi wylle 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 is comyn that mayde tylle; I wyl go saluse that berde that in vertu is moste brith, And of my sodeyn comyng wete what is the skele.

_Hic pulsabit super portam, intrante domum Mariæ sibi dicente_,