Now gracyous God, groundyd of alle goodnesse,
As thi grete glorie nevyr begynnyng had,
So thou socour and save alle tho that sytt and sese,
And lystenyth to oure talkyng with sylens stylle and sad,
for we purpose us pertly stylle in this prese,
The pepyl to plese with pleys ful glad.
Now lystenyth us, lovely, bothe more and lesse,
Gentyllys and 3emanry of goodly lyff lad,
This tyde.
We xal 3ou shewe, as that we kan,
How that this werd fyrst began,
And how God made bothe molde and man,
Iff that 3e wyl abyde.
Secundus verillator.
In the fyrst pagent, we thenke to play
How God dede make, thorowe his owyn myth,
Hevyn so clere upon the fyrst day,
And therin he sett angelle ful bryth.
Than angelle with songe, this is no nay,
Xal worchep God, as it is ryth;
But Lucyfer, that angelle so gay,
In suche pompe than is he pyth,
And set in so grete pride,
That Goddys sete he gynnyth to take,
Hese lordys pere hymself to make,
But than he fallyth a fend ful blake,
ffrom hevyn in helle to a [bide.]
In the secunde pagent by Godys myth,
We thenke to shewe and pley, be-dene,
In the other sex days, by opyn syth,
What thenge was wrought ther xal be sene;
How best was made and foule of flyth,
And last was man made, as I wene ;
Of mannys oryb, as I 3ow plyth,
Was woman wrougth manny's make to bene,
And put in paradyse.
Ther were floures bothe blew and blake,
Of alle frutes thei myth ther take,
Saff frute of cunnyng thei xulde forsake,
And towche it in no wyse.
The serpent toke Eve an appyl to byte,
And Eve toke Adam a mursel of the same,
Whan thei had do thus agens the rewle of ryte,
Than was oure Lord wrothe and grevydal with grame.
Oure Lord gan appose them of ther grete delyte,
Bothe to askuse hem of that synful blame,
And than Almyghty God, for that gret dyspite,
Assygned hem grevous peyn, as 3e xal se in game,
In dede,
Seraphyn, an angelle gay,
With brennyng swerd, this is verray,
From paradise bete hem away,
In Bybyl as we rede.
We purpose to shewe in the thryd pagent,
The story of Caym and of hese brother Abelle,
Of here tythynges now be we bent
In this pagent the trewthe to telle.
How the tythyng of Abel with feyr was brent,
And accept to God, yf 3e wyl dwelle,
We purpose to shewe, as we have ment,
And how he was kyllyd of his brother so felle;
And than
How Caym was cursyd in al degré,
Of Godys owyn mowthe, ther xal je se,
Of trewe tythyng this may wel be,
Exaw[m]ple to every man.
The iii.” pagent is now jow tolde;
The fourte pagent of Noe xal be,
How God was wrothe with man an molde,
Because fro synne man dede not fle.
He sent to Noe an angel bolde,
A shyp for to makyn and swymmen on the se,
Upon the water bothe wood and coolde,
And viij. sowles ther savyd xulde be.
And j. peyre of everiche bestes in brynge.
Whan xl.” days the flode had flowe,
Than sente Noe out a crowe,
And after hym he sent a dowe,
That brouth ryth good tydyng.
How that he xulde with fere be brent,
And slayn with swerd, as 3e xal se.
Abraham toke with good atent
His sone Ysaac, and knelyd on kne,
His suerd was than ful redy bent,
And thouth his chylde ther offered xuld be,
Upon an hylle ful ryff.
Than God toke tent to his good wyl,
And sent an angel ryth sone hym tyl,
And bad Abraham a shep to kyl,
And savyd his chyldys lyff.
The sexte pagent is of Moyses,
And of tweyn tabelys that God hym took,
In the whiche were wrete, without les,
The lawes of God to lerne and lok.
And how God charged hym be wordys these,
The lawes to lerne al of that book,
Moyses than doth nevyr more sese,
But prechyth duly both 3ere and woke,
The lawes as I 3ow telle.
The ten comaundementes alle be-dene,
In oure play 3e xal hem sene,
To alle tho that there wyl bene,
If that 3e thenke to duelle.
Off the gentyl Jesse rote,
The sefnt pagent forsothe xal ben,
Out of the whiche doth sprynge oure bote,
As in prophecye we redyn and sen;
Kyngys and prophetes with wordys ful sote,
Schulle prophesye al of a quene,
The whiche xal staunche oure stryff and moote,
And wynnyn us welthe withoutyn wene,
In hevyn to abyde.
They xal prophecye of a mayde,
Alle fendys of here xal be affrayde,
Here sone xal save us, be not dismayde,
With hese woundys wyde.
Of the grete bushop Abyacar,
The tende pagent xal be without lesyng,
The whiche comaundyth men to be war,
And brynge here douteres to dew weddyng;
Alle that ben xiiij.3ere and more,
To maryage he byddyth hem bryng,
Wherevyr theibe, he chargyth sore,
That thei not fayle for no lettyng,
The lawe byddyth so serteyn than.
Than Joachym and Anne so mylde,
Thei brynge forthe Mary that blyssyd chylde,
But she wold not be defylyde,
With spot nor wem of man.
In chastyté that blysful mayde
Avowyd there here lyff to lede.
Than is the busshop sore dysmayde,
And wonderyth sore al of this dede;
He knelyd to God, as it is sayde,
And prayth than for help and rede.
Than seyth an angel, “be not afrayde,
Of this dowte take thou no drede,
But for the kynrede of Davyd thou sende;
Lete hem come with here offryng,
And in here handys white 3erdys brynge,
Loke whose 3erde doth floure and sprynge,
And he xal wedde that mayden hende.”
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