This frute to ete Ixal asayn,
So wys as God is yf we may be,
And Goddys pere of myth.
To myn husbond I walke my way, .
And of this appyl I xal asay,
To make hym to ete, yf that I may,
And of this ffrewte to byth.

Hic Eva reveniet Adac viro suo et dicet ei.

My semely spowse and good husbond,
Lystenyth to me, sere, I 3ow pray,

Take this fayr appyl alle in 3our hond,
Therof a mursel byte and asay.

To ete this appyl, loke that 3e fonde,
Goddys felaw to be alway,

| And Goddys pere to be for ay,
Alle thyng for to make,
Bothe flysche and foule, se and sond,
Byrd and best, watyr and lond;
This appyl thou take out of myn hond,
A bete therof thou take.

Adam. I dare not towche thin hand for dred
Of oure lord God omnypotent,

If I xuld werke after thi reed,

Of God oure makere I xuld be shent.
If that we do this synful dede,
We xal be ded by Goddys jugement.
Out of thin hand with hasty spede,
Cast out that appyl anon present,
for fer of Goddys threte.
Eva. Of this appyl yf thou wylt byte,

Adam. If we it ete oureself we kylle,
As God us told we xuld be ded ;
To ete that frute and my lyf to spylle,
Idar not do aftyr thi reed.
Eva. A fayr aungelle thus seyd me tylle,
“To ete that appyl take nevyr no dred,
So kunnyng as God in hevyn hille,
Thou xalt sone be withinne a sted,
Therfore this frute thou ete.”
Adam. Off Goddys wysdam for to lere, |
And in kunnyng to be his pere, zo
Of thyn hand I take it here, \
And xal sone tast this mete.

Adam dicet sic.
Alas! alas ! for this fals dede,
My flesly frend my fo I fynde,
Schameful synne doth us unhede,
Ise us nakyd before and behynde.
Oure lordes wurd wold we not drede,
Therfore we be now caytyvys unkynde,
Oure pore prevytés for to hede,
Summe fygge-levys fayn wolde I fynde,
for to hyde oure schame.
Womman, ley this leff on thi pryvyté,
And with this leff I xal hyde me,
Gretschame it is us nakyd to se,
Oure lord God thus to grame.

Eva. Alas! that evyr that speche was spokyn, That the fals aungel seyd onto me,

Alas! oure makers byddyng is brokyn,
for I have towchyd his owyn dere tre.
Oure flescly eyn byn al unlokyn,
Nakyd for synne ouresylf we se,
| That sory appyl that we han sokyn,
To dethe hathe brouth my spouse and me,
Ryth grevous is oure synne.
Of mekyl shame now do we knowe,
Alas! that evyr this appyl was growe,
To dredful deth now be we throwe,
In peyne us evyr to pynne.

Deus. Adam, that with myn handys I made,
Where art thou now? what hast thou wrought?
Adam. Al lord, for synne oure floures do fade,
I here thi voys, but I se the nought.
Deus. Adam, why hast thou synnyd so sone,
Thus hastyly to breke my bone,
And I made the mayster, undyr mone,
Trewly of every tre.
O tre I kept for my owe,
Lyff and deth therin I knowe,
Thi synne fro lyf now the hath throwe,
from deth thou mayst not fle.

Adam. Lord I have wrought agens thi wylle,
I sparyd nat mysylf to spylle,
The woman that thou toke me tylle,
Sche brougth me therto.
It was here counselle and here reed,
Sche bad me do the same deed,
I walke as werme withowtyn wede,
A wey is schrowde and sho.

Deus. Womman that arte this mannys wyffe,
Why hast thou steryd 3 our bothers stryffe P

Eva. Lord! whan thou wentyst from this place,
A werm with an aungelys face,
He hyth us to be ful of grace,
The frute yf that we ete.
I dyd his byddyng, alas! alas !
Now we be bowndyn in dethis las,
I suppose it was Sathanas,
To peyne he gan us pete.

Diabolus. I xal the sey wherefore and why
I ded hem alle this velony,

for I am ful of gret envy,

Of wrethe and wyckyd hate.
That man xulde leve above the sky,
Where as sumtyine dwellyd I,
And now I am cast to helle sty,

Streyte out at hevyn gate.

Deus. Adam : for thou that appyl boot,
A3ens my byddyng, welle I woot,

Go teyl thi mete with swynk and swoot,
Into thi lyvys ende.
Goo nakyd, ungry, and bare foot,
Ete bothe erbys, gres, and root,
Thy bale hath non other boot,
As wrecche in werlde thou wende.

Womman thou sowtyst this synnyng,
And bad hymbreke myn byddyng,
Therfore thou xalt ben undyrlyng,
To mannys byddyng bend.
What he byddyth the, do thou that thynge,
And bere thichyldere with gret gronynge,
In daungere and in deth dredynge,
Into thi lyvys ende.

Thou wyckyd worm ful of pryde,
ffowle envye syt be thi syde,
Upon thigutt thou xalt glyde,
As werm wyckyd in kende.
Tyl a maydon in medyl-erth be borne,
Thou fende I warn the beforn,
Thorwe here thi hed xal be to-torn,
On wombe awey thou wende.

Diabolus. At thi byddyng fowle I falle,
I krepe hem to my stynkyng stalle,
Helle pyt and hevyn halle,
Xul do thi byddyng bone.
Iffalle downe here a fowle freke,
for this falle I gynne to qweke,
With a fart my breche I breke,
My sorwe comyth ful sone.

Deus. for 3our synne that 3e have do,
Out of this blysse sone xal je go,