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 therin hast,
And ffast to here ansuere thei xul hem dyth,
Beffore Godys fface.

But prente wyl this in 30ur 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 30w alle be-dene

The hool mater that we thynke to play;
Whan that 3e come, ther xal 3e 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 3oure spede. Amen.

I. THE CREATION.

Deus. Ego sum alpha et î, 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.

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 3e this songe,

To wurchip God or reverens me?

But ze me wurchipe 3e 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 3e may se;

Now wurchyp me ffor most mythty,
And for 30ur 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. 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

3eve hem name be thiself alone,
Erbys and gresse both beetes and brake;
Thi wyff thou 3eve name also.

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;