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[Scene 3]

155 Ioseph: All-myghty god, what may this be? Of mary my wyfe meruels me,

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Maria:

Alas, what has she wroght?

A, hyr body is grete, and she with childe! ffor me was she neuer fylyd,

Therfore myin it is noght.

I irke full sore with my lyfe,
That euer I wed so yong a wyfe,

That bargan I may ban;

To me it was a carefull dede,
I myght well wyt that yowthede
wolde haue lyking of man.

I am old, sothly to say,
passed I am all preuay play,

The gams fro me ar gane.

It is ill cowpled of youth and elde,
I wote well, for I am vnwelde,

som othere has she tane.

she is with chyld, I wote neuer how,
Now who wold any woman trow?

Certys no man that can any goode.
I wote not in the warld what I shuld do,
But now then wyll I weynd hyr to,
And wytt who owe that foode.

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hayll, mary, and well be ye!

why, bot woman, what chere with the ?
The better, sir, for you.

Ioseph: So wold I, woman, that ye wore,
Bot certys, mary, I rew full sore

It standys so with the now.

Bot of a thyng frayn the I shall,

who owe this child thou gose withall?
Syr, ye and god of heuen.

Maria:
Ioseph: Myne, mary? do way thi dyn!

That I shuld oght haue parte therin

Thou nedys it not to neuen.

wherto neuyns thou me therto?
I had neuer with the to do,

how shuld it then be myne?

whos is that chyld, so god the spede?

Maria: Syr, godys and yowrs, with-outen drede.
That word had thou to tyne,

Ioseph:

ffor it is right full far me fro,

And I forthynkys thou has done so
Thise ill dedys bedene.

And if thou speke thi selfe to spyll,
It is full sore agans my wyll,

If better myght haue bene.

Maria: At godys wyll, Ioseph, must it be, ffor certanly bot god and ye

I know none othere man,

ffor fleshly was I neuer fylyd.

Ioseph: how shuld thou thus then be with chyld?
Excuse the well thou can!

I blame the not, so god me saue,
woman maners if that thou haue,
Bot certys I say the this:

well wote thou, and so do I,
Thi body fames the openly,

That thou has done amys.

Maria: yee, god he knowys all my doyng.
Ioseph we! now this is a wonder thyng,
I can noght say therto,

L

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Bot in my hart I haue grett care,
And ay the longer mare and mare,
ffor doyll what shall I do?

Godys and myn she says it is!
I wyll not fader it, she says amys.

ffor shame yit shuld she let

To excuse hir velany by me.
with hir I thynk no longer be,

I rew that euer we met.

And how we met ye shall wyt sone:
Men vse yong chyldren for to done.
In temple for to lere;

So dyd thay hir, to she wex more
Then othere madyns wyse of lore,
then byshopes sayd to hir:
"Mary, the behowfys to take
Som yong man to be thi make,
As thou seys other hane

In the temple, which thou wyll neuen."
And she sayd: "none bot god of heuen,"-
To hym she had hir tane.

She wold none othere for any sagh;
Thay sayd she must, it was the lagh,
She was of age thertill.

To the temple thay somond old and ying,
All of Iuda ofspryng,

The law for to fulfill.

Thay gaf ich man a white wand,

And bad vs bere them in oure hande,

To offre with good intent.

Thay offerd thare yerdes vp in that tyde; ffor I was old I stode be syde,

I wyst not what thay ment.

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ffurth with my wande thay mayd me com,
In my hand it floryshed with blome,
Then sayde they all to me :

"If thou be old meruell not the,

ffor god of heuen thus ordans he,

Thi wand shewys openly;

It florishes so, withouten nay,

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That the behovys wed mary the may."
A sory man then was I.

I was full sory in my thoght, I sayd for old I myght noght hir haue neuer the wheder.

I was vnlykely to hir so y[i]ng,

Thay sayde ther helpyd none excusyng,
And wed vs thus togeder.

when I all thus had wed hir thare,

we and my madyns home [g]an fare,

That kyngys doghters were.

All wroght thay sylk to fynd them on;
Marie wroght purpyll, the oder none

bot othere colers sere.

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I left thaym in good peasse, wenyd I;
Into the contre I went on hy,

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My craft to vse with mayn,

To gett oure lyfyng I must nede;

On marie I prayd them take good hede,

To that I cam agane.

266 ying yong MS, E

270 gan] can MS, E

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Neyn monethes was I fro that myld;
when I cam home she was with chyld,-
Alas, I sayd, for shame!

I askyd ther women who that had done,
And thay me sayde an angell sone

syn that I went from hame :

"An angell spake with that wyght,
And no man els, bi day nor nyght,

sir, therof be ye bold."

Thay excusyd hir thos sothly
To make hir clene of hir foly,

And babyshed me that was old.

Shuld an angell this dede haue wroght?
Sich excusyng helpys noght,

ffor no craft that thay can.

A heuenly thyng forsothe is he,
And she is erthely; this may not be,

It is som othere man.

Certys I forthynk sore of hir dede,
Bot it is long of yowth-hede,

All sich wanton playes,

ffor yong women wyll nedys play them
with yong men, if old forsake them,
Thus it is sene always.

Bot marie and I playd neuer so sam,
Neuer togeder we vsid that gam,
I cam hir neuer so nere.

she is as clene as cristall clyfe
ffor me, and shalbe whyls I lyf,—
The law wyll it be so.

And then am I cause of hir dede?
ffor-thi then can I now no rede,
Alas, what I am wo!

281 Neyn] ix MS

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