"Everyman," With Other Interludes, Including Eight Miracle Plays Part 28

I counsel thee, thy grief to slake, Thy weeping may not gain In sorrow; Our boot[337] he buys full bayne,[338]

Us all from bale to borrow.

_Mary._ Alas, thine eyes as crystal clear, That shone as sun in sight, That lovely were in lyere[339]

Lost they have their light, And wax all fa'ed[340] in fear, All dim then are they dight; In pain thou hast no peer, That is withouten pight.[341]

Sweet son, say me thy thought; What wonders hast thou wrought To be in pain thus brought Thy blessed blood to blend?

Ah, son, think on my woe, Why will thou from me go?

On earth is no man mo[342]

That may my mirth amend.

_John._ Comely lady, good and couth,[343]

Fain would I comfort thee; Me mynnys[344] my master with mouth Told unto his menyee.[345]

That he should suffer many a pain, And die upon a tree, And to the life rise up again, Upon the third day should it be Full right; For thee, my lady sweet, Stint awhile to greet,[346]

Our bale then will be beat,[347]

As he before has bight.[348]

_Mary._ My sorrow it is so sad, No solace may me save: Mourning makes me mad, No hope of help I have.

I am redeless[349] and afraid For fear that I should rave, Nought may make me glad, Till I be in my grave.

To death my dear is driven, His robe is all to-riven,[350]

That by me was him given And shapen with my sides.

These Jews and he have striven That all the bale he bides.

Alas! my lamb so mild, Why wilt thou from me go Among these wolves wild, That work on thee this woe?

For shame, who may thee shield, For friends now hast thou foe.

Alas, my comely child, Why will thou from me go?

Maidens, make your moan, And weep, ye wives, every one With me, most sad, in wone[351]

The child that born was best: My heart is stiff as stone That for no bale will brest.[352]

_John._ Ah, lady, well wot I, Thy heart is full of care, When thou thus openly Seest thy child thus fare; Love drives him rathly.

Himself he will not spare, Us all from bale to buy, Of bliss that are full bare For sin; My dear lady, therefore of mourning look thou blyn.[353]

_Mary._ "Alas!" may ever be my song, While I may live in leyd,[354]

Methinks now that I live too long, To see my bairn thus bleed.

Jews work with him all wrong, Wherefore do they this deed?

Lo, so high have they him hung, They let[355] for no dread; Why so?

His foeman he is among.

No friend he has, but foe, My frely food[356] from me must go What shall become of me?

Thou art warpyd[357] all in woe, And spread here on a tree Full hie;[358]

I mourn, and so may mo[359]

That see this pain on thee.

_John._ Dear lady, well for me If that I might comfort thee, For the sorrow that I see Shears my heart in sunder; When that I see my master hang With bitter pains and strong; Was never wight with[360] wrong Wrought so mickle wonder.

_Mary._ Alas, death, thou dwellest too long, Why art thou hid from me?

Who bid thee to my child to gang?[361]

All black thou mak'st his ble;[362]

Now witterly,[363] thou workest wrong The more I will wyte[364] thee.

But if thou wilt my heart now sting That I may with him dee,[365]

And bide.

Sore sighing is my song. For pierced is his side!

Ah, death, what hast thou done?

With thee will I fare soon, Since I had children none but one, Best under sun or moon.

Friends I had full foyn[366]

That gars me greet[367] and groan Full sore.

Good Lord, grant me my boon, And let me live no more!

Gabriel! that art so good Sometime thou did me greet, And then I understood Thy words that were so sweet.

But now they vex my mood, For grace thou canst me hete,[368]

To bear all of my blood A child our bale should beat[369]

With right.

Now hangs he here on rood, Where is that thou me hight.[370]

All that thou of bliss Hight me in that stede[371]

From mirth is far amiss.

And yet I trow thy rede[372]

Counsel me now of this, My life how shall I lead When from me gone is He that was my head On high?

My death, now, come it is: My dear son, have mercy!

_Jesus._ My mother mild, change thou thy cheer, Cease from thy sorrow and sighing sere, It syttes[373] unto my heart full sore; The sorrow is sharp, I suffer here; But the dole thou drees,[374] my mother dear, Me martyrs mickle more.

Thus wills my father I fare To loose mankind from bands His son will he not spare, To loose that bond was e'er Full fast in fiends' hands.

The first cause, mother, of my coming Was for mankind miscarrying, To save them sore I sought; Therefore, mother make no mourning Since mankind, through my dying, May thus to bliss be brought.

Woman, weep thou right nought, Take there, John, unto thy child, Mankind must needs be bought; And thou cast, cousin, in thy thought.[375]

John, lo, there, thy mother mild!

Blue and b.l.o.o.d.y thus am I beat, Swongen with swepys[376] and all a-sweat, Mankind, for thy misdeed.

For my love's sake when wouldst thou let,[377]

And thy heart sadly set, Since I thus for thee have bled?

Such life for sooth, I lead, That nothing may I more.

This I suffer for thy need, To mark thee, man, thy meed!

Now thirst I wonder sore.

_1st Torturer._ Nought but hold thy peace, Thou shalt have drink within a resse,[378]

Myself shall be thy knave; Have here the draught that I thee hete,[379]

And I shall warrant it is not sweet By all the good I have.

_2nd Torturer._ So, sir, say now all your will, For if ye could have holden you still Ye had not had this brade.[380]

_3rd Torturer._ Thou would'st all gate[381] be King of Jews, But by this I trow thou rues All that thou has said.

_4th Torturer._ He has him rused of great prophes[382]

That he should make us tempylles And make it clean fall down; And yet he said he should it raise As well as it was within three days, He lies, that wot we all; And for his lies in great despite We will divide his clothing tyte[383]

Save he can more of art.[384]

_1st Torturer._ Yes, as ever might I thrive, Soon will we this mantle rive, And each man take his part.

_2nd Torturer._ How, wouldst thou we share this cloth?

_3rd Torturer._ Nay, forsooth, that were I loth, For then it were all gate[385] spoilt.

But a.s.sent thou to my saw,[386]

And let us all cut draw[387]

And then is none begylt.[388]

_2nd Torturer._ Howe'er befall, now I draw, This is mine by common law, Say not there again.