A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 01

After the lapse of about half a century since the issue of the last edition of Dodsley's Select Collection of Old Plays,[1] and the admittance of that work into the honourable rank of scarce and dear books, it seemed a desirable thing to attempt, with such additional improvements as might be practicable or expedient, a revival of a publication which has been a favourite with the lovers of our early drama since its first publication more than a hundred years ago. Between 1744, the date of its original appearance, and 1825, it passed through three editions; and it may be remarked that the tendency in each successive edition has been to remodel the undertaking on the principle of rejecting plays which from time to time have been lifted up (so to speak) into the collected works of their respective authors, and to substitute for them plays which have either suffered unmerited obscurity in original and rare editions, or have lain so far scattered about in various other collections; and in the present instance that principle has been strictly adhered to.[2]

It is desirable that it should be seen precisely in what manner, and to what extent, the edition now offered differs from its predecessors as regards the contents. The points of variation are three: 1. Omissions; 2. Additions of pieces not included in the former editions; 3. Additional plays now first reprinted from the originals. The first division comprises the following productions which, since the last republication of Dodsley, have been taken up into the collected editions of their respective authors:—

Ferrex and Porrex Sackville, &c.
Alexander and Campaspe Lyly.
Jew of Malta Marlowe.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay Greene.
Edward the First Peele
Edward the Second Marlowe.
Pinner of Wakefield Greene.
Four Prentices of London Heywood.
Mayor of Quinborough Middleton.
Malcontent Marston, &c.
All Fools Chapman.
Woman Killed with Kindness Heywood.
Honest Whore (two parts) Decker and Middleton.
The White Devil Webster.
Eastward Hoe Marston, &c.
A Mad World, my Masters Middleton.
The Roaring Girl Middleton.
The Widow's Tears Chapman.
The Widow Jonson, &c.
The Wits Davenant.
The Jovial Crew Brome.

The second and third characteristics of our book are the ADDITIONS, which, as we have stated, are of two kinds. In the first place, we may enumerate the dramas new to Dodsley's collection, though previously edited in a variety of forms:

Interlude of the Four Elements Anon.
                 Disobedient Child Ingelend.
                 Trial of Treasure Anon.
                 Youth Anon.
                 Lusty Juventus Wever.
Hickscorner, An Interlude Anon.
Everyman, An Interlude Anon.
Pardoner and Friar, An Interlude Heywood.
Jack Juggler | Anon.
Thersites | Interludes Anon.
Ralph Roister Doister Udall.
Cambyses Preston.
Conflict of Conscience Woodes.
Three Ladies of London Wilmot.
Three Lords and Three Ladies of London Wilmot.
Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune Anon.
Knack to Know a Knave Anon.
Jeronimo (Part the First) Anon.
Two Angry Women of Abingdon Porter.
Spanish Tragedy Kyd.
Solyman and Perseda Anon.
How a Man may choose a Good Wife from a Bad Anon.
Englishmen for my Money Haughton.
Second Maiden's Tragedy Anon.
Wily Beguiled Anon.
Return from Parnassus Anon.
New Wonder Rowley.
Rebellion Rawlins.
Lust's Dominion Anon.

"The Lost Lady," by Sir William Berkley or Barkley; "The Marriage Night," by Lord Falkland; "The Shepherd's Holiday," by Joseph Butter; "Andromana," by J.S., and "All Mistaken, or the Mad Couple," which were given by Dodsley in 1744, but were omitted in the second and third impressions, have been restored to their places.

The remaining feature, recommending the undertaking to indulgent notice, is perhaps the most important and interesting. Subjoined is a list of the dramatic compositions which have never hitherto appeared in any series of Old English Plays, and of which the originals are of the utmost rarity:—

1. The Tragi-Comedy of Calisto and Melibaea, 1520. 2. Nice Wanton, An Interlude, 1560. 3. An Interlude, called Like Will to Like, by Ulpian Fulwell, 1568. 4. The History of Jacob and Esau, 1568. 5. The Marriage of Wit and Science, 1570.

A strictly chronological arrangement has been adopted. Such a plan appeared to be the most desirable and the most obvious, as it facilitates our appreciation of the gradual and progressive development of dramatic composition. If it may be thought to labour under any disadvantage, it is perhaps that it has the effect of throwing into a single consecutive series, without discrimination, pieces which are mere interludes, and others which are characterised by higher qualities, and aspire to belong to the regular drama. But the evil will be found not to be of a very serious kind, and it will disappear after the earlier volumes of the collection.

In fixing the order of sequence, the place of a production in the series has been occasionally determined by the date at which it is believed to have been written or presented, rather than by the date at which it left the printer's hands. Such is the case with Heywood's "Pardoner and Friar," and the anonymous interlude of "New Custom;" as well as with "Ralph Roister Doister," and "Gammer Gurton's Needle," all of which may be taken to belong to a period some time anterior to their publication.

A leading characteristic of the collection as now reconstructed is the great preponderance of pieces, of which the authors are not known, or by authors who have not left more than one or two dramatic productions. It was judged expedient, in the interest of purchasers, to give a preference to these single or anonymous plays, as it will probably not be long before the works of every voluminous writer are collected. Those of Jonson, Shirley, Peele, Greene, Ford, Massinger, Middleton, and Chapman, have already been edited, and Brome's, Deckers, Heywood's, and Glapthorne's will follow in due course. To all these the new DODSLEY will serve as a supplement and companion.

The editor felt himself in a position of somewhat special difficulty and delicacy, when it became necessary to consider the question of retaining or excluding the prefatory matter attached to the impressions of this work in 1744 and 1780. A careful and impartial perusal of that matter made it evident that the prudent course, on the whole, was to reject these prolegomena. There was no alternative but their entire preservation or their entire suppression; for any arbitrary alterations or curtailments would have been liable to objection or censure. In the first place, there was Dodsley's own preface, chiefly occupied by a sketch of the history of our stage, but based on the most imperfect information, and extremely unsatisfactory, if not misleading. Then there was, like Pelion heaped on Ossa, Isaac Reed's introduction, more elaborate and copious than Dodsley's, yet far from complete or systematic, and not improved by the presence of an appendix or sequel. Reed, of course, went over the same ground as Dodsley had already traversed with inferior ability and less ample resources at his command, and there were repetitions, as might be expected, of the same particulars. There seemed to be two forms of weakness—redundancy on the one hand and meagreness on the other. Again, all the information collected by Dodsley and Reed was to be found elsewhere, with innumerable improvements and corrections of mistakes, the subject itself more methodically handled, and the early annals of the English drama and theatre almost presented to the public view under a new aspect, by Mr Collier, in his well-known work printed in 1831, a publication heartily welcomed and appreciated at the time of its appearance and long after, and even now a literary monument, of which it may be said that, with whatever defects it may possess, it reflects as much credit on its author as a far more perfect performance brought to completion at the present day under more favourable auspices could reflect on any one else. It was a long advance on anything which had been attempted so far in the same direction; and to reproduce, in the face of Mr Collier's volumes, the obsolete and superseded labours of Dodsley and even Reed, seemed to be a waste of space which might be far more beneficially occupied by additional texts.

As regards the orthography, it has to be pointed out that, in consonance with the system adopted by Dyce and others, it has been reduced to our modern standard; but at the same time it should be understood that the language of the writers has in every case been held sacred. Than the spelling which occurs in early plays and tracts, more especially perhaps those of a popular character, nothing can well be more capricious and uncouth; but the phraseology and terms are on all accounts of value. Not a word, therefore, nor even part of a word, has suffered alteration; and wherever there was a doubt, as there might be in preparing for the press once more such an extensive collection of pieces, it was thought better to err on the side of caution. Weever, the author of "Funeral Monuments," retained with scrupulous exactitude the ancient spelling ipsissimis verbis; and such a plan might be advisable and convenient with sepulchral inscriptions or records; but in the matter before us what an editor had principally, if not almost exclusively, to consider, was the preservation in their fullest integrity of the language of the time and the sense of the playwright.

The first and second editions of Dodsley's collection appear, notwithstanding what is asserted to the contrary in Reed's preface, to have been superintended with no very high degree of care, and the late Mr Dyce, indeed, used to observe that the same criticism was applicable to the edition of 1825. But the latter, with the fullest admission of its defects, is certainly marked by great improvements on its predecessors in more than one way. The labours of Hawkins[3] and Dilke[4] reflect considerable honour upon those gentlemen.

It is almost superfluous to observe that the preceding editions, the last and best not excepted, present a very large number of statements, opinions, and readings, which more recent and more exact information has shown to be erroneous. All these mistakes have been carefully rectified, wherever the knowledge and experience of the editor enabled him to detect them.[5]

A certain number of corruptions and obscurities remain, which it passed the editor's ingenuity to eradicate or clear away. The printed remains of our early drama have come down to us, for the most part, in a sadly mutilated state, and the attempt to amend and restore the text to its original purity will, it may be safely affirmed, never succeed more than to a very imperfect extent. Even the late Mr Dyce's revised edition of Shakespeare, 1868, abounds with misprints and other distortions of the writer's sense; and we must abandon in some cases the hope of ever arriving at the true readings. So it is with the miscellaneous assemblage of dramatic productions here brought together. A great deal has been done by a succession of editors to reduce the errors of the printer or copyist to a minimum; but, after all, there are places where it would require the assistance of the Sphinx to supply a chasm, or rectify a palpable mistake.

The work, in its present state, should assuredly have some degree of interest and worth; for it offers in one collected body the best specimens of dramatic literature which the English language affords, castigated and enriched by some of our best commentators and critics.

In these volumes, as now rearranged, it is trusted that very few uncollected plays of real importance will be found wanting; but as an enterprise of this kind can never amount to more than a selection, as it purports to be, it appeared judicious, in making the choice, to give the preference to such pieces as either illustrated the manners of the period, or marked the gradual development of the dramatic art.

The only basis on which the present editor can rest, so far as he is aware, the slightest claim to credit is the attention which he has bestowed on the rearrangement of the collection as it now stands; the conscientious and vigilant supervision of the whole matter here brought together—prefaces, texts, and notes—and the correction of errors on the part of his predecessors, occasioned by a variety of causes. In carrying out even this unambitious programme, there was a fair share of labour and difficulty, and, of course, it has involved the addition of a new crop of notes scattered up and down the series, as well as the occasional displacement of certain illustrative remarks founded on wrong data.

The Notes without any initial attached to them in the following pages, may be presumed to be from the pen of Isaac Reed, with the exception of a limited number, which were written by Dodsley himself, and which are not easily mistakable. The matter signed S. appears to have been communicated to Reed by George Steevens. The C. notes are Mr Collier's, and O.G. stands for Octavius Gilchrist. For the notes which remain, and which have been enclosed between brackets, the present editor alone is answerable.

It is proposed to introduce in the concluding volume two indexes, one of names and another of subjects, as the want of a ready means of reference to passages, phrases, and characters in these old plays, is one which the editor himself has so strongly felt as to make him desirous of removing it, so far as possible, for his own sake and that of the public.

The long table of errata to the former edition has, of course, been attended to, and the additional notes there placed at the end have been arranged under their respective heads.

W.C.H. KENSINGTON, 1st November 1873.

TO SIR CLEMENT COTTEREL DORMER, KT.

Sir,—If there be anything in this collection worthy of being preserved, it is to you the public is indebted for the benefit. Your obliging readiness to communicate the stores of which you were possessed, encouraged me to undertake the design, which otherwise I should have despaired of prosecuting with success. Under the sanction of your name, therefore, I beg leave to shelter the remains of these old dramatic writers, which, but for your generosity had fallen with their authors into utter oblivion. To your candour I submit the pains I have taken to give a tolerably correct edition of them, and am with great respect, Sir, your most obliged and obedient humble servant,

R. DODSLEY.[6]

A new interlude and a merry of the nature of the Four Elements, declaring many proper points of philosophy natural, and of divers strange lands, and of divers strange effects and causes; which interlude, if the whole matter be played, will contain the space of an hour and a half; but, if ye list, ye may leave out much of the sad matter, as the Messenger's part, and some of Nature's part, and some of Experience's part, and yet the matter will depend conveniently, and then it will not be past three-quarters of an hour of length. London: John Rastell.

1519. 8vo, black letter.

The curious interlude reprinted in the following pages is one of the earliest moral plays in the English language known to exist, and it possesses an interest beyond its connection with the history of the stage, as being the only dramatic piece extant in which science is attempted to be made popular through the medium of theatrical representation. Only one copy of it is known to exist, but that is unfortunately imperfect, a sheet in the middle and concluding leaves being lost, so that we are left without the means of giving the reader much information respecting it. On the other hand, while this circumstance must excuse the brevity of these preliminary observations, its singularity and extreme rarity offered additional inducements for selecting it for republication.

An allusion to the discovery of the West Indies and America, "within this twenty year," would appear to ascertain the date of the composition of the play; but I suspect from internal evidence, the form and manner of its dialogue, that it was not written so early as some authors have supposed, Dr Dibdin assigning 1510 to the period of its appearance.[8] The same writer considers it to be a production of Rastell's press; and it has been stated, on somewhat doubtful authority, that the printer was also the author; a combination that has seldom effected much service, and has too frequently deteriorated the efforts of both. Be this as it may, no great talent is displayed in the construction of the following piece, the value of which must be allowed to consist in the curious illustration it affords of the phraseology and popular scientific knowledge of the day, and its curiosity as a link in the history of the drama, rather than in any intrinsic merits of its own.

It is only necessary to add that the play was rather carelessly printed, and a few very obvious errors have been corrected. With these exceptions, the following pages present a faithful copy of the original, a very small octavo volume in black letter.[9]

Here follow the names of the players.

The Messenger, Nature Natura[t]e, Humanity, Studious Desire, Sensual Appetite, the Taverner, Experience, Ignorance; also, if ye list, ye may bring in a Disguising.

Here follow divers matters which be in this interlude contained.

Of the situation of the four elements, that is to say, the earth, the water, the air, and fire, and of their qualities and properties, and of the generation and corruption of things made of the commixtion of them.

Of certain conclusions proving that the earth must needs be round, and that it hangeth in the midst of the firmament, and that it is in circumference above 21,000 miles.

Of certain conclusions proving that the sea lieth round upon the earth.

Of certain points of cosmography, as how and where the sea covereth the earth, and of divers strange regions and lands, and which way they lie; and of the new-found lands, and the manner of the people.

Of the generation and cause of stone and metal, and of plants and herbs.

Of the generation and cause of well-springs and rivers; and of the cause of hot fumes that come out of the earth; and of the cause of the baths of water in the earth, which be perpetually hot.

Of the cause of the ebb and flood of the sea.

Of the cause of rain, snow, and hail.

Of the cause of the winds and thunder.

Of the cause of the lightning, of blazing stars, and flames flying in the air.

Th' abundant grace of the power divine,
Which doth illumine the world environ,
Preserve this audience, and cause them to incline
To charity, this is my petition;
For by your patience and supportation
A little interlude, late made and prepared,
Before your presence here shall be declared,
Which of a few conclusions is contrived,
And points of philosophy natural.
But though the matter be not so well declared,
As a great clerk could do, nor so substantial,
Yet the author hereof requireth you all,
Though he be ignorant, and can little skill,
To regard his only intent and good-will;
Which in his mind hath ofttimes pondered,
What number of books in our tongue maternal
Of toys and trifles be made and imprinted,
And few of them of matter substantial;
For though many make books, yet unneth ye shall
In our English tongue find any works
Of cunning, that is regarded by clerks.
The Greeks, the Romans, with many other mo,
In their mother tongue wrote warks excellent.
Then if clerks in this realm would take pain so,
Considering that our tongue is now sufficient
To expound any hard sentence evident,
They might, if they would, in our English tongue
Write works of gravity sometime among;
For divers pregnant wits be in this land,
As well of noble men as of mean estate,
Which nothing but English can understand.
Then if cunning Latin books were translate
Into English, well correct and approbate,
All subtle science in English might be learned,
As well as other people in their own tongues did.
But now so it is, that in our English tongue
Many one there is, that can but read and write,
For his pleasure will oft presume among
New books to compile and ballads to indite,
Some of love or other matter not worth a mite;
Some to obtain favour will flatter and glose,
Some write curious terms nothing to purpose.
Thus every man after his fantasy
Will write his conceit, be it never so rude,
Be it virtuous, vicious, wisdom or folly;
Wherefore to my purpose thus I conclude,
Why should not then the author of this interlude
Utter his own fantasy and conceit also,
As well as divers other nowadays do?
For wisdom and folly is as it is taken,
For that the one calleth wisdom, another calleth folly,
Yet among most folk that man is holden
Most wise, which to be rich studieth only;
But he that for a commonwealth busily
Studieth and laboureth, and liveth by God's law,
Except he wax rich, men count him but a daw![10]
So he that is rich is ever honoured,
Although he have got it never so falsely.
The poor, being never so wise, is reproved.
This is the opinion most commonly
Thoroughout the world, and yet no reason why;
Therefore in my mind, when that all such daws
Have babbled what they can, no force of two straws!
For every man in reason thus ought to do,
To labour for his own necessary living,
And then for the wealth of his neighbour also;
But what devilish mind have they which, musing
And labouring all their lives, do no other thing
But bring riches to their own possession,
Nothing regarding their neighbour's destruction;
Yet all the riches in the world that is
Riseth of the ground by God's sending,
And by the labour of poor men's hands;
And though thou, rich man, have thereof the keeping,
Yet is not this riches of thy getting,
Nor oughtest not in reason to be praised the more,
For by other men's labour it is got before.
A great-witted man may soon be enriched,
That laboureth and studieth for riches only;
But how shall his conscience then be discharged?
For all clerks affirm that that man precisely,
Which studieth for his own wealth principally,
Of God shall deserve but little reward,
Except he the commonwealth somewhat regard;
So they say that that man occupied is
For a commonwealth, which is ever labouring
To relieve poor people with temporal goods,
And that it is a common good act to bring
People from vice, and to use good living.
Likewise for a commonwealth occupied is he,
That bringeth them to knowledge that ignorant be;
But man to know God is a difficulty,
Except by a mean he himself inure,
Which is to know God's creatures that be:
As first them that be of the grossest nature,
And then to know them that be more pure;
And so, by little and little ascending,
To know God's creatures and marvellous working.
And this wise man at the last shall come to
The knowledge of God and His high majesty,
And so to learn to do his duty, and also
To deserve of His goodness partner to be.
Wherefore in this work declared shall ye see,
First of the elements the situation,
And of their effects the cause and generation;
And though some men think this matter too high,
And not meet for an audience unlearned,
Methink for man nothing more necessary
Than this to know, though it be not used,
Nor a matter more low cannot be argued;
For though the elements God's creatures be,
Yet they be most gross and lowest in degree.
How dare men presume to be called clerks,
Disputing of high creatures celestial,
As things invisible and God's high warks,
And know not these visible things inferial?
So they would know high things, and know nothing at all:
Of the earth here whereon they daily be,
Neither the nature, form, nor quantity.
Wherefore it seemeth nothing convenient
A man to study, and his time to bestow,
First for the knowledge of high things excellent,
And of light matters beneath nothing to know,
As of these four elements here below,
Whose effects daily appear here at eye,
Such things to know first were most meet study;
Which matter before your presence shortly
In this interlude here shall be declared
Without great eloquence in rhyme rudely,
Because the compiler is but small learned.
This work with rhetoric is not adorned,
For perhaps in this matter much eloquence
Should make it tedious or hurt the sentence.
But because some folk be little disposed
To sadness, but more to mirth and sport,
This philosophical work is mixed
With merry conceits, to give men comfort,
And occasion to cause them to resort
To hear this matter, whereto if they take heed,
Some learning to them thereof may proceed.
But they that shall now this matter declare
Openly here unto this audience,
Behold, I pray you, see where they are.
The players begin to appear in presence;
I see well it is time for me go hence,
And so I will do; therefore now shortly
To God I commit all this whole company.

Hic intrat NATURA NATURATA, HUMANITY, and STUDIOUS DESIRE, portans figuram.

The high, mighty, most excellent of all,
The Fountain of goodness, virtue, and cunning,
Which is eterne[11] of power most potential,
The Perfection and First Cause of everything,
I mean that only high Nature naturing.
Lo, He by His goodness hath ordained and created
Me here His minister, called Nature Naturate.
Wherefore I am the very naturate nature,
The immediate minister for the preservation
Of everything in His kind to endure,
And cause of generation and corruption
Of that thing that is brought to destruction.
Another thing still I bring forth again,
Thus wondersly I work, and never in vain.
The great world behold, lo, divided wondersly
Into two regions, whereof one I call
The ethereal region with the heavens high,
Containing the planets, stars, and spheres all;
The lower region, called the elemental,
Containing these four elements below,
The fire, the air, the water, and earth also.
But yet the elements and other bodies all
Beneath take their effects and operations
Of the bodies in the region ethereal.
By their influence and constellations,
They cause here corruptions and generations;
For if the movings above should once cease,
Beneath should be neither increase nor decrease.
These elements of themselves so single be
Unto divers forms cannot be divided,
Yet they commix together daily, you see,
Whereof divers kinds of things be engendered,
Which things eftsones, when they be corrupted,
Each element I reduce to his first estate,
So that nothing can be utterly annihilate;
For though the form and fashion of anything
That is a corporal body be destroyed,
Yet every matter remaineth in his being,
Whereof it was first made and formed;
For corruption of a body commixed
Is but the resolution by time and space
Of every element to his own place.
For who that will take any body corporal,
And do what he can it to destroy,
To break it or grind it into powder small,
To wash, to drown, to bren it, or to dry,
Yet the air and fire thereof naturally
To their own proper places will ascend,
The water to the water, the earth to the earth tend;
For if heat or moisture of anything certain
By fire or by water be consumed,
Yet earth or ashes on earth will remain,
So the elements can never be destroyed.
For essentially there is now at this tide
As much fire, air, water, earth, as was
Ever before this time, neither more nor less;
Wherefore thou, man—now I speak to thee—
Remember that thou art compound and create
Of these elements, as other creatures be,
Yet they have not all like noble estate,
For plants and herbs grow and be insensate.
Brute beasts have memory and their wits five,
But thou hast all those and soul intellective;
So by reason of thine understanding,
Thou hast dominion of other beasts all,
And naturally thou shouldst desire cunning
To know strange effects and causes natural;
For he that studieth for the life bestial,[12]
As voluptuous pleasure and bodily rest,
I account him never better than a beast.

O excellent prince, and great lord Nature,
I am thine own child and formed instrument!
I beseech thy grace, take me to thy cure,
And teach me such science thou thinkest expedient.

Then sith thou art so humble and benevolent,
That thing that is meet for thy capacity
And good for thy knowledge I shall instruct thee.
First of all, thou must consider and see
These elements, which do each other penetrate,
And by continual alteration they be
Of themselves daily corrupted and generate.
The earth as a point or centre is situate
In the midst of the world, with the water joined,
With the air and fire round, and whole environed.
The earth of itself is ponderous and heavy,
Cold and dry of his own nature proper;
Some part lieth dry continually,
And part thereof covered over with water,
Some with the salt sea, some with fresh river,
Which earth and the water together withal
So joined make a round figure spherical;
So the water which is cold and moist is found
In and upon the earth filling the hollowness,
In divers parts, lying with the earth round,
Yet the hills and mountains of the earth excess
Take nothing of it away the roundness,
In comparison because they be so small,
No more than the pricks do that be on a gall.
The air which is hot and moist also,
And the fire which is ever hot and dry,
About the earth and water jointly they go,
And compass them everywhere orbicularly,
As the white about the yoke of an egg doth lie.
But the air in the lower part most remaineth;
The fire naturally to the higher tendeth.
The ethereal region which containeth
The stars and planets, and every sphere,
About the elements daily moveth,
And covereth them round about everywhere.
Every star and sphere in strange manner
Upon his own poles moveth diversely,
Which now to declare were too long to tarry.
The fire and the air of their natures be light,
Therefore they move by natural providence;
The water, because it is ponderous in weight,
Moveth not naturally, but by violence
Of the stars and planets, by whose influence
The sea is compelled to ebb and flow daily,
And fresh waters to spring continually.
And though that the water be gross and heavy,
Yet nothing so gross as the earth, I wiss;
Therefore by heat it is vapoured up lightly,
And in the air maketh clouds and mists;
But as soon as ever that it grossly is
Gathered together, it descendeth again,
And causeth upon the earth hail, snow, and rain.
The earth, because of his ponderosity,
Avoideth equally the movings great
Of all extremities and spheres that be,
And tendeth to the place that is most quiet;
So in the midst of all the spheres is set
Foremost object from all manner moving,
Where naturally he resteth and moveth nothing.
Mark well now, how I have thee showed and told
Of every element the very situation
And quality, wherefore this figure behold
For a more manifest demonstration.
And because thou shouldst not put to oblivion
My doctrine, this man, called Studious Desire,
With thee shall have continual habitation,
Thee still to exhort more science to acquire.
For the more that thou desirest to know anything,
Therein thou seemest the more a man to be;
For that man that desireth no manner cunning,
All that while no better than a beast is he.
Why been the eyes made, but only to see,
The legs, to bear the body of a creature?
So everything is made to do his nature;
So likewise reason, wit, and understanding,
Is given to thee, man, for that thou shouldst indeed
Know thy Maker and cause of thine own being,
And what the world is, and whereof thou dost proceed;
Wherefore, it behoveth thee of very need
The cause of things first for to learn,
And then to know and laud the high God eterne.

O glorious Lord and Prince most pleasant!
Greatly am I now holden unto thee,
So to illumine my mind, that was ignorant,
With such noble doctrine as thou hast here shown me;
Wherefore I promise, upon my fidelity,
My diligence to do to keep in memory,
And thee for to honour still perpetually.

And sith it hath pleased thy grace to admit
Me upon this man to give attendance,
With thy doctrine here shown I shall quicken his wit,
And daily put him in remembrance;
His courage and desire I shall also enhance,
So that his felicity shall be most of all
To study and to search for causes natural.

Well, then, for a season I will depart,
Leaving you together here both twain;
What I have shown, man, print well in thine heart,[13]
And mark well this figure that here shall remain,
Whereby thou mayest perceive many things more plain
Concerning the matter I spoke of before;
And when that I shall resort here again,
Of high points of cunning I shall show thee more.

Now, Humanity, call to your memory
The cunning points that Nature hath declared;
And though he has shown divers points and many
Of the elements so wondersly[14] formed
Yet many other causes there are would be learned,
As to know the generation of things all
Here in the earth, how they be engendered,
As herbs, plants, well-springs, stone, and metal.

Those things to know for me be full expedient,
But yet in those points which Nature late showed me,
My mind in them as yet is not content,
For I can no manner wise perceive nor see,
Nor prove by reason why the earth should be
In the middes of the firmament hanging so small,
And the earth with the water to be round withal.

Me thinketh myself, as to some of those points
I could give a sufficient solution;
For, first of all, thou must needs grant this,
That the earth is so deep, and bottom hath none,
Or else there is some gross thing it standeth upon,
Or else that it hangeth, thou must needs consent,
Even in the middes of the firmament.

What then? go forth with thine argument.

Then mark well, in the day or in a winter's night,
The sun and moon, and stars celestial,
In the east first they do appear to thy sight,
And after in the west they do down fall,
And again in the morrow next of all,
Within twenty-four hours they be come just
To the east point again, where thou sawest them first.
Then if the earth should be of endless deepness,
Or should stand upon any other gross thing,
It should be an impediment, doubtless,
To the sun, moon, and stars in their moving;
Therefore, in reason, it seemeth most convenient
The earth to hang in the middes of the firmament.

Thine argument in that point doth me confound,
That thou hast made, but yet it proveth not right
That the earth by reason should be round;
For though the firmament, with his stars bright,
Compass about the earth each day and night,
Yet the earth may be plane, peradventure,
Quadrant, triangle, or some other figure.

That it cannot be plane I shall well prove thee:
Because the stars, that arise in the orient,
Appear more sooner to them that there be,
Than to the other dwelling in the Occident.
The eclipse is thereof a plain experiment
Of the sun or moon which, when it doth fall,
Is never one time of the day in places all;
Yet the eclipse generally is alway
In the whole world as one time being;
But when we, that dwell here, see it in the midday,
They in the west parts see it in the morning,
And they in the east behold it in the evening;
And why that should so be, no cause can be found,
But only by reason that the earth is round.

That reason proveth the earth at the least,
One ways to be round, I cannot gainsay,
As for to account from the east to the west;
But yet, notwithstanding all that, it may
Lese his roundness by some other way.

Nay, no doubt it is round everywhere,
Which I could prove, thou shouldst not say nay,
If I had thereto any time and leisure;
But I know a man called Experience,
Of divers instruments is never without,
Could prove all these points, and yet by his science
Can tell how many mile the earth is about,
And many other strange conclusions, no doubt.
His instruments could show thee so certain,
That every rude carter should them perceive plain.

HU. Now would to God I had that man now here
     For the contemplation of my mind!
STU. If ye will, I shall for him inquire,
     And bring him hither, if I can him find.
HU. Then might I say ye were to me right kind.
STU. I shall assay, by God that me dear bought,
     For cunning is the thing that would be sought.
SEN. Well hit, quoth Hykman, when that he smote
     His wife on the buttocks with a beer-pot.
     Aha! now good even, fool, good even!
     It is even thee, knave, that I mean.
     Hast thou done thy babbling?
STU. Yea, peradventure, what then?
SEN. Then hold down thy head like a pretty man, and take my blessing.
     Benedicite! I grant to thee this pardon,
     And give thee absolution
     For thy sooth saws; stand up, Jackdaw!
     I beshrew thy father's son,
     Make room, sirs, and let us be merry,
     With huffa gallant, sing tirl on the berry,
     And let the wide world wind![15]
     Sing, frisky jolly, with hey troly lolly,
     For I see well it is but a folly
     For to have a sad mind:
     For rather than I would use such folly,
     To pray, to study, or be pope holy,
     I had as lief be dead.
     By Gog's body, I tell you true!
     I speak as I think now, else I beshrew
     Even my next fellow's head!
     Master Humanity, sir, by your leave,
     I were right loth you to grieve,
     Though I do him despise;
     For if ye knew him as well as I,
     Ye would not use his company,
     Nor love him in no wise.
HU. Sir, he looketh like an honest man,
     Therefore I marvel that ye can
     This wise him deprave.
SEN. Though he look never so well,
     I promise you he hath a shrewd smell.
HU. Why so? I pray you tell.
SEN. For he savoureth like a knave.
STU. Hold your peace, sir, ye mistake me!
     What, I trow, that ye would make me
     Like to one of your kin.
SEN. Hark, sirs, hear ye not how boldly
     He calleth me knave again by policy?
     The devil pull off his skin!
     I would he were hanged by the throat,
     For by the mass I love him not:
     We two can never agree;
     I am content, sir, with you to tarry,
     And I am for you so necessary,
     Ye cannot live without me.
HU. Why, sir, I say, what man be ye?
SEN. I am called Sensual Appetite,
     All creatures in me delight;
     I comfort the wits five,
     The tasting, smelling, and hearing;
     I refresh the sight and feeling
     To all creatures alive.
     For when the body waxeth hungry
     For lack of food, or else thirsty,
     Then with drinks pleasant
     I restore him out of pain,
     And oft refresh nature again
     With delicate viand.
     With pleasant sound of harmony
     The hearing alway I satisfy,
     I dare this well report;
     The smelling with sweet odour,
     And the sight with pleasant figure
     And colours, I comfort;
     The feeling, that is so pleasant,
     Of every member, foot, or hand,
     What pleasure therein can be
     By the touching of soft and hard,
     Of hot or cold, nought in regard,
     Except it come by me.
HU. Then I cannot see the contrary,
     But ye are for me full necessary,
     And right convenient.
STU. Yea, sir, beware yet what ye do,
     For if you forsake my company so,
     Lord Nature will not be content.
     Of him ye shall never learn good thing,
     Nother virtue nor no other cunning,
     This dare I well say.
SEN. Marry, avaunt, knave! I thee defy!
     Did Nature forbid him my company?
     What sayest thou thereto? Speak openly.
HU. As for that I know well nay.
SEN. No, by God! I am right sure;
     For he knoweth well no creature
     Without me can live one day.
HU. Sir, I pray you be content,
     It is not utterly mine intent
     Your company to exile;
     But only to have communication,
     And a pastime of recreation
     With this man for a while.
STU. Well, for your pleasure I will depart.
HU. Now go, knave, go! I beshrew thy heart!
     The devil send thee forward!
SEN. Now, by my troth, I marvel greatly,
     That ever ye would use the company
     So mich of such a knave;
     For if ye do no nother thing,
     But ever study and to be musing,
     As he would have you, it will you bring
     At the last unto your grave!
     Ye should ever study principal
     For to comfort your life natural,
     With meats and drinks delicate
     And other pastimes and pleasures among,
     Dancing, laughing, or pleasant song;
     This is meet for your estate.
HU. Because ye say so, I you promise,
     That I have mused and studied such wise,
     Me thinketh my wits weary;
     My nature desireth some refreshing,
     And also I have been so long fasting,
     That I am somewhat hungry.
SEN. Well, then, will ye go with me
     To a tavern, where ye shall see
     Good pastance, and at your liberty
     Have whatsoever you will?
HU. I am content so for to do,
     If that ye will not fro me go,
     But keep me company still.
SEN. Company, quotha? then that I shall point-device,
     And also do you good and true service,
     And thereto I plight my troth!
     And if that I ever forsake you,
     I pray God the devil take you!
HU. Marry, I thank you for that oath!
SEN. A mischief on it! my tongue, lo!
     Will trip sometime, whatsoever I do;
     But ye wot that I mean well.
HU. Yea, no force! let this matter pass;
     But saidst even now thou knewest, where was
     A good tavern to make solace?
     Where is that? I pray thee tell.
SEN. Marry, at the door even hereby;
     If we call anything on high,
     The taverner will answer.
HU. I pray thee, then, call for him now.
SEN. Marry, I will! How, taverner, how!
     Why dost thou not appear?

TAVERNER.

     Who is that calleth so hastily?
     I shrew thine heart, speak softly;
     I tell thee I am not here.

SEN. Then I beshrew thee, page, of thine age!
     Come hither, knave, for thine advantage;
     Why makest thou it so tow?
TA. For mine advantage, marry, then I come.
     Beware, sirs, ho! let me have room!
     Lo, here I am! what sayest thou?
SEN. Marry, thus: here is a gentleman, I say,
     That neither ate nor drank this day;
     Therefore tell me, I thee pray,
     If thou have any good wine.
TA. Ye shall have Spanish wine and Gascon,
     Rose colour, white, claret, rampion,
     Tyre, Capric, and Malvoisin,
     Sack, raspice, Alicant, rumney,
     Greek, ipocras, new-made clary,
     Such as ye never had;
     For if ye drink a draught or two,
     It will make you, ere ye thence go,
     By Gog's body, stark mad!
SEN. I wot thou art not without good wine;
     But here is a gentleman hath list to dine,
     Canst thou get him any good meat?
TA. What meat, master, would ye have?
HU. I care not, so God me save,
     So that it be wholesome to eat:
     I would we had a good stewed capon.
SEN. As for capons ye can get none,
     The king's taker took up each one;
     I wot well there is none to get.
TA. Though all capons be gone, what then?
     Yet I can get you a stewed hen,
     That is ready dight.
HU. If she be fat, it will do well.
TA. Fat or lean, I cannot tell,
     But as for this I wot well
     She lay at the stews all night.
HU. Thou art a mad guest, by this light!
SEN. Yea, sir, it is a fellow that never fails:
     But canst get my master a dish of quails,
     Small birds, swallows, or wagtails,
     They be light of digestion?
TA. Light of digestion! for what reason?
SEN. For physic putteth this reason thereto,
     Because those birds fly to and fro,
     And be continual moving.
TA. Then know I a lighter meat than that.
HU. I pray thee, tell me what?
TA. If ye will needs know at short and long,
     It is even a woman's tongue,
     For that is ever stirring![16]
HU. Sir, I pray thee, let such fantasies be,
     And come hither near, and hark to me,
     And do after my bidding.
     Go, purvey us a dinner even of the most
     Of all manner of dishes both sod and roast,
     That thou canst get: spare for no cost,
     If thou make three course.
TA. Then ye get neither goose nor swan,
     But a dish of dregs, a dish of bran,
     A dish of draff, and I trow then
     Ye cannot get three worse!
HU. What, whoreson! wouldst thou purvey
     Bran, draff, and stinking dregs, I say;
     I hold thee mad, I trow.
TA. Gog's passion! said ye not thus,
     That I should purvey you three coarse dishes,
     And these be coarse enou'!
HU. Three coarse dishes, quotha?
     What, mad fool! thou mistakest me clean!
     I see well thou wott'st not what I mean,
     And understandest amiss;
     I mean this wise, I would have thee
     To purvey meat so great plenty,
     That thou shouldst of necessity
     Serve them at three courses.
     That is to understand, at one word,
     Thou shouldst bring them unto the board
     At three several times.
TA. What then, I see well ye will make a feast.
HU. Yea, by the rood! even with the greatest.
SEN. By my troth, then do your best
     Even after my mind;
     But ye must have more company.
HU. That is true, and so would I gladly,
     If I knew any to find.
SEN. Why, will ye follow my counsel?
HU. Yea.
SEN. Then we will have little Nell,
     A proper wench, she danceth well,
     And Jane with the black lace;
     We will have bouncing Bess also,
     And two or three proper wenches mo.
     Right fair and smoother of face.
HU. Now be it so! thou art sans peer.
TA. Then I perceive ye will make good cheer.
HU. Why, what should I else do?
TA. If ye think so best, then will I
     Go before, and make all things ready
     Again ye come thereto.
HU. Marry, I pray thee, do so.
TA. Then, farewell, sirs; for I am gone.
HU. And we shall follow thee anon
     Without any tarrying.
SEN. Then it is best, sir, ye make haste,
     For ye shall spend here but time in waste,
     And do no nother thing.
HU. If ye will, let us go by and by.
SEN. I pray you be it, for I am ready,
     No man better willing.

Exeat Sen. et Hu. Intrat Experiens et Stu.

     Now, cousin Experience, as I may say,
     Ye are right welcome to this country
     Without any feigning.
EX. Sir, I thank you thereof heartily,
     And I am as glad of your company
     As any man living.
STU. Sir, I understand that ye have been
     In many a strange country,
     And have had great facility
     Strange causes to seek and find.
EX. Right far, sir, I have ridden and gone,
     And seen strange things many one,
     In Africa, Europe, and India;
     Both east and west I have been far,
     North also, and seen the south star
     Both by sea and land,
     And been in sundry nations,
     With people of divers conditions,
     Marvellous to understand.
STU. Sir, if a man have such courage,
     Or devotion in pilgrimage,
     Jerusalem unto
     For to account the next way,
     How many miles is it, I you pray,
     From hence thither to go?
EX. Sir, as for all such questions,
     Of towns to know the situation,
     How far they be asunder,
     And other points of cosmography,
     Ye shall never learn them more surely
     Than by that figure yonder;
     For who that figure did first devise,
     It seemeth well he was wise,
     And perfect in this science;
     For both the sea and land also
     Lie true and just as they should do,
     I know by experience.
STU. Who, think you, brought here this figure?
EX. I wot not.
STU. Certes, Lord Nature,
     Himself not long agone,
     Which was here personally
     Declaring high philosophy,
     And laft this figure purposely
     For Humanity's instruction.
EX. Doubtless, right nobly done.
STU. Sir, this realm you know is called England,
     Sometimes Britain, I understand;
     Therefore, I pray you, point with your hand
     In what place it should lie.
EX. Sir, this is England lying here,
     And that is Scotland that joineth him near,
     Compassed about everywhere
     With the ocean sea around;
     And next from them westwardly,
     Here by himself alone, doth lie
     Ireland, that wholesome ground.
     Here then is the narrow sea,
     To Calais and Boulogne the next way,
     And Flanders in this part;
     Here lieth France next him joining,
     And Spain southward from them standing,
     And Portugal in this quarter.
     This country is called Italy,
     Behold where Rome in the midst doth lie,
     And Naples here beyond;
     And this little sea that here is
     Is called the Gulf of Venice,
     And here Venice doth stand.
     As for Almaine lieth this way;
     Here lieth Denmark and Norway;
     And northward on this side
     There lieth Iceland where men doth fish,
     But beyond that so cold it is,
     No man may there abide.
     This sea is called the Great Ocean,
     So great it is that never man
     Could tell it, since the world began,
     Till now, within this twenty years,
     Westward be found new lands,
     That we never heard tell of before this
     By writing nor other means,
     Yet many now have been there;
     And that country is so large of room,
     Much lenger than all Christendom,
     Without fable or guile;
     For divers mariners had it tried,
     And sailed straight by the coast side
     Above five thousand mile!
     But what commodities be within,
     No man can tell nor well imagine;
     But yet not long ago
     Some men of this country went,
     By the king's noble consent,
     It for to search to that intent,
     And could not be brought thereto;
     But they that were th' adventurers[17]
     Have cause to curse their mariners,
     False of promise and dissemblers,
     That falsely them betrayed,
     Which would take no pains to sail farther
     Than their own list and pleasure;
     Wherefore that voyage and divers other
     Such caitiffs have destroyed.
     Oh, what a thing had be then,
     If that they that be Englishmen
     Might have been the first of all
     That there should have take possession,
     And made first building and habitation,
     A memory perpetual!
     And also what an honourable thing,
     Both to the realm and to the king,
     To have had his dominion extending
     There into so far a ground,
     Which the noble king of late memory,
     The most wise prince the seventh Herry,
     Caused first for to be found.
     And what a great meritorious deed
     It were to have the people instructed
     To live more virtuously,
     And to learn to know of men the manner,
     And also to know God their Maker,
     Which as yet live all beastly;
     For they nother know God nor the devil,
     Nor never heard tell of heaven nor hell,
     Writing nor other scripture;
     But yet, in the stead of God Almighty,
     They honour the sun for his great light,
     For that doth them great pleasure;
     Building nor house they have none at all,
     But woods, cots, and caves small,
     No marvel though it be so,
     For they use no manner of iron,
     Neither in tool nor other weapon,
     That should help them thereto:
     Copper they have, which is found
     In divers places above the ground,
     Yet they dig not therefore;
     For, as I said, they have none iron,
     Whereby they should in the earth mine,
     To search for any wore:
     Great abundance of woods there be,
     Most part fir and pine-apple tree,
     Great riches might come thereby,
     Both pitch and tar, and soap ashes,
     As they make in the east lands,
     By brenning thereof only.
     Fish they have so great plenty,
     That in havens take and slain they be
     With staves, withouten fail.
     Now Frenchmen and other have found the trade,
     That yearly of fish there they lade
     Above a hundred sail;
     But in the south part of that country
     The people there go naked alway,
     The land is of so great heat:
     And in the north part all the clothes
     That they wear is but beasts' skins,
     They have no nother fete;
     But how the people first began
     In that country, or whence they came,
     For clerks it is a question.
     Other things mo I have in store,
     That I could tell thereof, but now no more
     Till another season.
STU. Then at your pleasure show some other thing;
     It liketh me so well your communing,
     Ye cannot talk amiss.
EX. Then will I turn again to my matter
     Of cosmography, where I was ere:
     Behold, take heed to this;
     Lo, eastward, beyond the great ocean,
     Here entereth the sea called Mediterranean,
     Of two thousand miles of length:
     The Soldan's country lieth hereby,
     The great Turk on the north side doth lie,
     A man of marvellous strength.
     This said north part is called Europa,
     And this south part called Africa,
     This east part is called India;
     But this new lands found lately
     Been called America, because only
     Americus did first them find.
     Lo, Jerusalem lieth in this country,
     And this beyond is the Red Sea,
     That Moses maketh of mention;
     This quarter is India Minor,
     And this quarter India Major,
     The land of Prester John:
     But northward this way, as ye see,
     Many other strange regions there be,
     And people that we not know.
     But eastward on the sea side
     A prince there is that ruleth wide,
     Called the Can of Catowe.
     And this is called the great east sea,
     Which goeth all along this way
     Towards the new lands again;
     But whether that sea go thither directly,
     Or if any wilderness between them do lie,
     No man knoweth for certain:
     But these new lands, by all cosmography,
     From the Can of Catowe's land cannot lie
     Little past a thousand miles:
     But from those new lands men may sail plain
     Eastward, and come to England again,
     Where we began erewhile.
     Lo, all this part of the earth, which I
     Have here descrived openly,
     The north part we do it call;
     But the south part on the other side
     Is as large as this full, and as wide,
     Which we know nothing at all,
     Nor whether the most part be land or sea,
     Nor whether the people that there be
     Be bestial or cunning;
     Nor whether they know God or no,
     Nor how they believe, nor what they do,
     Of this we know nothing.
     Lo, is not this a thing wonderful?
     How that— [Et subito Studious Desire dicat.
STU. Peace, sir, no more of this matter!
     Behold where Humanity cometh here.
SEN. How say you, Master Humanity?
     I pray you have ye not be merry,
     And had good recreation?
HU. Yes, I thank thee thereof every deal,
     For we have fared marvellously well,
     And had good communication.
TA. What, how, master! where be ye now?
SEN. What! I shrew thee! what haste hast thou,
     That thou speakest so high?
TA. So high, quotha? I trow ye be mad, by St Gile!
     For did ye not erewhile
     Make pointment openly.
     To come again all to supper,
     There as ye were to-day at dinner?
     And yet ye pointed not plain,
     What meat that ye will have dressed,
     Nor what delicacies ye love best.
     Methink you far oversayne.
HU. As for mine own part I care not;
     Dress what meat thou lovest, spare not
     Whatsoever thou dost best think.
TA. Now, if ye put it to my liberty,
     Of all meats in the world that be,
     By this light, I love best drink.[18]
SEN. It seemeth by thy face so to do,
     But my master will have meat also,
     Whatsoever it cost.
TA. By God, sir, then ye must tell what.
HU. At thy discretion: I force not,
     Whether it be sodden or roast.
TA. Well, sir, then care not! let me alone;
     Ye shall see that all things shall be done,
     And ordained well and fine.
HU. So I require thee heartily,
     And in any wise specially,
     Let us have a cup of new wine.
TA. Ye shall have wine as new as can be,
     For I may tell you in privity,
     It was brewed but yesternight.
HU. But that is nothing for my delight.
TA. But then I have for your appetite
     A cup of wine of old claret;
     There is no better, by this light!
HU. Well, I trust thee well enou'.
TA. But one thing, if it please you now—
     Ye see well I take much pain for you,
     I trust ye will see to me.
HU. Yea, I promise thee, get thee hence,
     And in this matter do thy diligence,
     And I shall well reward thee.
SEN. Because thou lookest for a reward,
     One thing for thee I have prepared,
     That here I shall thee give.
     Thou shalt have a knave's skin,
     For to put thy body therein,
     For term of thy life!
TA. Now, gramercy, my gentle brother;
     And therefore thou shalt have another,
     For voiding of strife.
SEN. Now, farewell, gentle John!
TA. Then farewell, fool, for I am gone!
SEN. Abide, turn once again! hark what I say!
     Yet there is another thing
     Would do well at our master's washing.
HU. What thing is that, I thee pray?
SEN. Marry thus, canst thou tell us yet,
     Where is any rose water to get?
TA. Yea, that I can well purvey,
     As good as ever you put to your nose,
     For there is a false wench called Rose
     Distilleth a quart every day.
SEN. By God! I would a pint of that
     Were poured even upon thy pate
     Before all this presence.
TA. Yet I had liever she and I
     Were both together secretly
     In some corner in the spence;
     For, by God, it is a pretty girl!
     It is a world[19] to see her whirl,
     Dancing in a round;
     O Lord God! how she will trip!
     She will bounce it, she will whip,
     Yea, clean above the ground!
HU. Well, let all such matters pass, I say,
     And get thee hence, and go thy way
     About this other matter.
TA. Then I go straight; lo! fare ye well.
SEN. But look yet thou remember every deal
     That I spake of full ere.
TA. Yes, I warrant you, do not fear.
                                  [Exit Taverner.
HU. God's Lord! seest not who is here now?
     What, Studious Desire! what news with you?
STU. Ye shall know, sir, ere I go.
SEN. What, art thou here? I see well, I,
     The mo knaves the worse company.
STU. Thy lewd conditions thou dost still occupy,
     As thou art wont to do.
HU. But, I say, who is this here in presence?
STU. Sir, this is the man called Experience,
     That I spake of before.
HU. Experience! why, is this he?
     Sir, ye are right welcome unto me
     And shall be evermore!
EX. Sir, I thank you thereof heartily,
     But I assure you faithfully
     I have small courage here to tarry,
     As long as this man is here.
SEN. Why, whoreson! what ailest at me?
EX. For thou hast ever so lewd a property,
     Science to despise, and yet thou art he
     That nought canst nor nought wilt learn.
SEN. Marry, avaunt, knave! I make God avow,
     I think myself as cunning as thou,
     And that shall I prove shortly!
     I shall put thee a question now; come near,
     Let me see how well thou canst answer:
     How spellest this word Tom Couper
     In true orthography?
EX. Tom Couper, quotha? a wise question hardly!
SEN. Yea, I tell thee again yet—Tom Couper, how spellest it?
     Lo! he hath forgotten, ye may see,
     The first word of his a b c.
     Hark, fool, hark, I will teach thee,
     P.a—pa.—t.e.r—ter—do together Tom Couper.
     Is not this a sore matter?
     Lo! here you see him proved a fool!
     He had more need to go to school,
     Than to come hither to clatter.
STU. Certain, this is a solution
     Meet for such a boy's question.
HU. Sensual Appetite, I pray thee
     Let pass all trifles and vanity
     For a while, it shall not long be,
     And depart, I thee require;
     For I would talk a word or two
     With this man here, ere he hence go,
     For to satisfy my desire.
SEN. Why, Gog's soul! will ye so shortly
     Break pointment with yonder company,
     Where you should come to supper?
     I trust you will not break promise so.
HU. I care not greatly, if I do;
     It is but a tavern matter.
SEN. Then will I go show them what you say.
HU. Spare not, if thou wilt go thy way,
     For I will here tarry.
SEN. Then adieu for a while, I tell you plain,
     But I promise you, when I come again,
     I shall make yonder knaves twain
     To repent and be sorry!
EX. Now I am full glad that he is gone!
STU. So am I, for good will he do none
     To no man living.
     But this is the man with whom ye shall,
     I trust, be well content withal,
     And glad of his coming;
     For he hath expound cunningly
     Divers points of cosmography,
     In few words and short clause.
HU. So I understand he hath good science,
     And that he hath by plain experience
     Learned many a strange cause.
STU. Yea, sir, and I say for my part,
     He is the cunningest man in that art
     That ever I could find;
     For ask what question ye will do,
     How the earth is round, or other mo,
     He will satisfy your mind.
EX. Why, what doubt have ye therein found?
     Think ye the earth should not be round?
     Or else how suppose ye?
HU. One way it is round, I must consent,
     For this man proved it evident;
     Toward the east and occident
     It must needs round be.
EX. And likewise from the south to north.
HU. That point to prove were some thank worth.
EX. Yes, that I can well prove,[20]
     For this ye know as well as I,
     Ye see the North Star in the sky,
     Mark well, ye shall unneth it spy,
     That ever it doth remove.
     But this I assure you, if you go
     Northward an hundredth mile or two,
     Ye shall think it riseth,
     And how that it is near approached
     The point over the top of your head,
     Which is called your zenith.
     Yet if ye go the other way,
     Southward ten or twelve days' journey,
     Ye shall then think anon
     It descended, and come more nigh
     The circle parting the earth and sky,
     As ye look straight with your eye,
     Which is called your horizon;
     But ye may go southward so far,
     That at the last that same star
     Will seem so far down right,
     Clear underneath your horizon,
     That sight thereof can you have none,
     The earth will stop your sight.
     This proveth of necessity
     That the earth must needs round be:
     This conclusion doth it try.
HU. Now that is the properest conclusion
     That ever I heard, for by reason
     No man may it deny.
     But, sir, if that a man sail far
     Upon the sea, will then that star
     Do there as on the ground?
EX. Yea, doubtless, sail northward, rise it will,
     And sail southward, it falleth still,
     And that proveth the sea round.
STU. So doth it in mine opinion;
     But know you any other conclusion
     To prove it round, save that alone?
EX. Yea, that I know right well,
     As thus: mark well when the sea is clear,
     That no storm nor wave thereon doth 'ppear,
     This mariners can tell;
     Then if a fire be made on night
     Upon the shore, that giveth great light,
     And a ship in the sea far,
     They in the top the fire see shall,
     And they on hatch nothing at all,
     Yet they on hatches be near;
     Also on the sea, where men be sailing
     Far from land, they see nothing
     But the water and the sky;
     Yet when they draw the land more near,
     Then the hill-tops begin to appear,
     Still they near more high and high,
     As though they were still growing fast
     Out of the sea till, at last,
     When they come the shore to,
     They see the hill, top, foot, and all;
     Which thing so could not befal,
     But the sea lay round also.
HU. Methinketh your argument somewhat hard.
EX. Then ye shall have it more plainly declared,
     If ye have great desire;
     For here, lo, by mine instruments,
     I can show the plain experiments.
HU. Thereto I you require.
EX. With all my heart it shall be done;
     But for the first conclusion,
     That I speak of the fire,
     Be this the sea that is so round,
     And this the fire upon the ground,
     And this the ship that is here;
     You know well that a man's sight
     Can never be but in a line right.
HU. Just you say; that is clear.
EX. Mark well then; may not that man's eye.

[Eight leaves are here wanting.]

IGNORANCE. With arguing here their foolish [saws]
     That is not worth three straws.
     I love not this whoreson 'losophers,
     Nor this great cunning extromers,
     That tell how far it is to the stars;
     I hate all manner cunning!
     I would ye knew it, I am Ignorance!
     A lord I am of greater puissance
     Than the king of England or France,
     Yea, the greatest lord living!
     I have servants at my retinue,
     That long to me, I assure you,
     Herewith in England,
     That with me, Ignorance, dwell still,
     And term of life continue will,
     Above five hundred thousand.
SEN. Gog's nails, I have paid some of them, I trow.
IGN. Why, man, what aileth thee so to blow?
SEN. For I was at a shrewd fray.
IGN. Hast thou any of them slain, then?
SEN. Yea, I have slain them every man,
     Save them that ran away.
IGN. Why, is any of them scaped and gone?
SEN. Yea, by Gog's body, every one,
     All that ever were there.
IGN. Why, then, they be not all slain.
SEN. No, but I have put some to pain,
     For one whoreson there was, that turned again,
     And straight I cut off his ear.
IGN. Then thou hast made him a cutpurse.
SEN. Yea, but yet I served another worse!
     I smote off his leg by the hard arse,
     As soon as I met him there.
IGN. By my troth, that was a mad deed!
     Thou shouldst have smit off his head,
     Then he should never have troubled thee more.
SEN. Tush! then I had been but mad,
     For there was another man that had
     Smit off his head before!
IGN. Then thou hast quit thee like a tall knight!
SEN. Yea, that I have, by this light!
     But, I say, can you tell me right
     Where became my master?
IGN. What, he that you call Humanity?
SEN. Yea.
IGN. I wot never, except he be
     Hid here in some corner.
SEN. Gog's body! and true ye say,
     For yonder, lo! behold, ye may
     See where the mad fool doth lie.
IGN. Now, on my faith and truth,
     It were even great alms
     To smite his head from his body!
SEN. Nay, God forbid ye should do so,
     For he is but an innocent, lo!
     In manner of a fool.
     For as soon as I speak to him again,
     I shall turn his mind clean,
     And make him follow my school.
IGN. Then bid him rise, let us hear him speak.
SEN. Now, rise up, Master Huddypeke,
     Your tail toteth out behind!
     Fear not, man, stand up by and by;
     I warrant you rise up boldly!
     Here is none but is your friend.
HU. I cry you mercy, master dear!
IGN. Why, what is cause thou hidest thee here?
HU. For I was almost for fear,
     Even clean out of my mind.
SEN. Nay, it is the study that ye have had
     In this foolish losophy hath made you mad,
     And no other thing, i-wis.
IGN. That is as true as the gospel!
     Therefore I have great marvel,
     That ever thou wilt follow the counsel
     Of yonder two knaves.
HU. O sir, ye know right well this,
     That when any man is
     In other men's company,
     He must needs follow the appetite
     Of such things as they delight
     Some time among, perdy!
IGN. But such knaves would alway have thee
     To put all thy mind and felicity
     In this foolish cunning to study;
     Which, if thou do, will make thee mad,
     And alway to be pensive and sad;
     Thou shalt never be merry.
SEN. Merry, quotha? no, I make God avow!
     But I pray thee, master, hark! one word now,
     And answer this thing:
     Whether thought you it better cheer
     At the tavern, where we were ere,
     Or else to clatter with these knaves here
     Of their foolish cunning?
HU. Nay, I cannot say the contrary
     But that I had mich merrier company
     At the tavern than in this place.
SEN. Then if ye have any wit or brain,
     Let us go to the tavern again,
     And make some merry solace.
IGN. If he will do so, then doth he wisely.
HU. By my troth, I care not greatly,
     For I am indifferent to all company,
     Whether it be here or there.
SEN. Then I shall tell you what we will do;
     Master Ignorance, you and he also
     Shall tarry both still here,
     And I will go fet hither a company,
     That ye shall hear them sing as sweetly
     As they were angels clear;
     And yet I shall bring hither another sort
     Of lusty bloods to make disport;
     That shall both dance and spring,
     And turn clean above the ground
     With friskas and with gambawds round,
     That all the hall shall ring.
     And that done, within an hour or twain,
     I shall at the town again
     Prepare for you a banket
     Of meats that be most delicate,
     And most pleasant drinks and wines thereat,
     That is possible to get,
     Which shall be in a chamber fair,
     Prepared point-device[21]
     With damask water made so well,
     That all the house thereof shall smell,
     As it were paradise.
     And after that, if ye will touch
     A fair wench naked[22] in a couch[23]
     Of a soft bed of down,
     For to satisfy your wanton lust,
     I shall appoint you a trull of trust,
     Not a fairer in this town!
     And when ye have taken your delight,
     And thus satisfied the appetite
     Of your wits five,
     Ye may say then I am a servant
     For you so necessary and pleasant,
     I trow none such alive!
HU. Now, by the way that God did walk,
     It comforteth mine heart to hear thee talk,
     Thy match was never seen!
IGN. Then go thy way by and by,
     And bring in this company,
     And he and I will here tarry,
     Till thou come again.
HU. And I pray thee heartily also.
SEN. At your request so shall I do.
     Lo! I am gone, now farewell!
     I shall bring them into this hall,
     And come myself foremost of all,
     And of these revels be chief marshal,
     And order all things well.
IGN. Now, set thy heart on a merry pin,
     Against these lusty bloods come in,
     And drive fantasies away.
HU. And so I will, by heaven's King!
     If they either dance or sing,
     Have among them, by this day!
IGN. Then thou takest good and wise ways,
     And so shalt thou best please
     All this whole company;
     For the foolish arguing that thou hast had
     With that knave Experience, that hath made
     All these folk thereof weary;
     For all that they be now in this hall,
     They be the most part my servants all,
     And love principally
     Disports, as dancing, singing,
     Toys, trifles, laughing, jesting;
     For cunning they set not by.
HU. I see well such company evermore,
     As Sensual Appetite is gone for,
     Will please well this audience.
IGN. Yea, that I suppose they will;
     But peace, hark! I pray thee be still,
     I ween they be not far hence.

[Then the dancers without the hall sing this wise, and they within answer, or else they may say it for need.[24]]

Peace, sirs, peace now! peace, sirs, all!

Why, who is that so high doth call?

Silence, I say, be you among,
For we be disposed to sing a song.

Come in, then, boldly among this presence,
For here ye shall have good audience.
     Time to pass with goodly sport,
     Our sprites to revive and comfort,
     To pipe, to sing,
     To dance, to spring,
     With pleasure and delight,
     Following Sensual Appetite,
     To pipe, &c.

IGN. I can you thank; that is done well;
     It is pity ye had not a minstrel
     For to augment your solace.
SEN. As for minstrel, it maketh no force,
     Ye shall see me dance a course
     Without a minstrel, be it better or worse;
     Follow all: I will lead a trace.
HU. Now have among you, by this light!
IGN. That is well said, by God Almight!
     Make room, sirs, and give them place.

[Then he singeth this song and danceth withal, and evermore maketh countenance according to the matter; and all the others answer likewise.]

     Dance we, dance we, prance we, prance we,
     So merrily let us dance ey, so merrily, &c.
     And I can dance it gingerly, and I, &c.
     And I can foot it by and by, and I, &c.
     And I can prank it properly,
     And I can countenance comely,[25]
     And I can croak it courtesly,
     And I can leap it lustily,
     And I can turn it trimly,
     And I can frisk it freshly,
     And I can look it lordly.
IGN. I can thee thank, Sensual Appetite!
     That is the best dance without a pipe,
     That I saw this seven year.[26]
HU. This dance would do mich better yet,
     If we had a kit or taberet,
     But alas! there is none here.
SEN. Then let us go to the tavern again,
     There shall we be sure of one or twain
     Of minstrels, that can well play.
IGN. Then go, I pray ye, by and by,
     And purvey some minstrel ready,
     And he and I will follow shortly,
     As fast as ever we may.
HU. Therewith I am right well content.
SEN. Then will I go incontinent,
     And prepare every thing
     That is metely to be done;
     And for lack of minstrels, the mean season,
     Now will we begin to sing.
     Now we will here begin to sing,
     For dance can we no more,
     For minstrels here be all lacking;
     To the tavern we will therefore.

[Et exeunt cantando, &c.

HU. Now if that Sensual Appetite can find
     Any good minstrels after his mind,
     Doubt not we shall have good sport.
IGN. And so shall we have for a surety;
     But what shall we do now, tell me,
     The meanwhile for our comfort?
HU. Then let us some lusty ballad sing.
IGN. Nay, sir, by the Heaven King!
     For methinketh it serveth for nothing,
     All such peevish prick-eared song!
HU. Peace, man, prick-song may not be despised,
     For therewith God is well pleased,
     Honoured, praised, and served,
     In the church ofttimes among.
IGN. Is God well pleased, trow'st thou, thereby?
     Nay, nay, for there is no reason why,
     For is it not as good to say plainly,
     Give me a spade,
     As give me a spa, ve, va, ve, va, ve, vade?
     But if thou wilt have a song that is good,
     I have one of Robin Hood,
     The best that ever was made.
HU. Then, a' fellowship, let us hear it.
IGN. But there is a burden, thou must bear it,
     Or else it will not be.
HU. Then begin and care not to …
     Down, down, down, &c.
IGN. Robin Hood in Barnsdale stood,[27]
     And leant him till a maple thistle;
     Then came our lady and sweet Saint Andrew.
     Sleepest thou, wakest thou, Geffrey Coke?
     A hundred winter the water was deep,
     I can not tell you how broad.
     He took a goose neck in his hand,
     And over the water he went.
     He start up to a thistle top,
     And cut him down a hollen club.
     He stroke the wren between the horns,
     That fire sprang out of the pig's tail.
     Jack boy, is thy bow i-broke?
     Or hath any man done the wriguldy wrag?
     He plucked muscles out of a willow,
     And put them into his satchel!
     Wilkin was an archer good,
     And well could handle a spade;
     He took his bent bow in his hand,
     And set him down by the fire.
     He took with him sixty bows and ten,
     A piece of beef, another of bacon.
     Of all the birds in merry England
     So merrily pipes the merry bottle![28]

NATURE.

     Well, Humanity, now I see plainly
     That thou hast used much folly,
     The while I have been absent.

HU. Sir, I trust I have done nothing
     That should be contrary to your pleasing,
     Nor never was mine intent;
     For I have followed the counsel clear,
     As ye me bade, of Studious Desire,
     And for necessity among
     Sometime Sensual Appetite's counsel,
     For without him, ye know right well,
     My life cannot endure long.

NATURE.

     Though it be for thee full necessary
     For thy comfort sometime to satisfy
     Thy sensual appetite,
     Yet it is not convenient for thee
     To put therein thy felicity
     And all thy whole delight;
     For if thou wilt learn no science,
     Nother by study nor experience,
     I shall thee never advance;
     But in the world thou shalt dure then,
     Despised of every wise man,
     Like this-rude beast Ignorance.

[The original here ends imperfectly.]

A new comedy in English in manner of an interlude right elegant and full of craft of rhetoric: wherein is shewed and described as well the beauty and good properties of women, as their vices and evil conditions, with a moral conclusion and exhortation to virtue. [Col.] Johes rastell me imprimi fecit. Cum privilegio regali. Folio, black letter.

The only copy known of this piece is among the books of Malone in the Bodleian Library, and it has never hitherto been reprinted. An account of it is given, however, by Collier (History of English Dramatic Poetry, ii. 408-12).

     Franciscus Petrarcus, the poet laureate,
     Saith that Nature, which is mother of all things,
     Without strife can give life to nothing create;
     And Heraclitus, the wise clerk, in his writing,
     Saith in all things create strife is their working;
     And there is nothing under the firmament
     With any other in all points equivalent.
     And, according to their diets rehearsed as thus,
     All things are create in manner of strife.
     These foolish lovers, then, that be so amorous,
     From pleasure to displeasure how lead they their life:
     Now sorry, now sad: now joyous, now pensive:
     Alas! I, poor maiden, then what shall I do,
     Cumbered by dotage of one Calisto?
     I know that Nature hath given me beauty,
     With sanguineous complexion, favour, and fairness:
     The more to God ought I to do fea'ty
     With will, life, land, and love of perfectness.
     I deny not but Calisto is of great worthiness,
     But what of that? for all his high estate,
     His desire I defy, and utterly shall hate.
     Oh, his sayings and suits so importune,
     That of my life he maketh me almost weary!
     Oh, his lamentations and exclamations on fortune,
     With similitude [of] manner as one that should die!
     But who shall pity this? In faith, not I.
     Shall I accomplish his carnal desire?
     Nay, yet at a stake rather bren in a fire.
     Of truth, I am sorry for his trouble;
     To strive with himself thus for love of me;
     But though his sorrows, I assure you, should double,
     Out of his danger[29] will I be at liberty.

[Enter CALISTO unseen.]

CAL. What amiss, woman, now Christ benedicite?
                                        [Aside.
MEL. Nay, nay, he shall never that day see;
     His voluptuous appetite consented by me.
     Wist he now that I were present here,
     I assure you shortly he would seek me;
     And without doubt he doth now inquire,
     Whither I am gone, or where I should be.
     See, is he not now come? I repent[30] me
     Alas, of this man I can never be rid:
     Would to Christ I wist, where I might be hid.
CAL. By you, fair Melibaea, may be seen
     The grace, the gifts, the greatness of God.
MEL. Wherein?
CAL. In taking effect of Dame Nature's strene;[31]
     Nor yearthly, but angelic of likelihood;
     In beauty so passing the kind of woman-hood.
     O God, I might in your presence be able
     To manifest my dolours incomparable;
     Greater were that reward than the grace
     Heaven to obtain by works of pity!
     Not so glorious be the saints that see God's face,
     Ne joy not so much, as I do you to see.
     Yet difference there is between them and me,
     For they glorify by His assured presence,
     And I in torment because of your absence.
MEL. Why, thinkest thou that so great a reward?
CAL. Yea, more greater than if God would set me
     In heaven above all saints, and more in regard;
     And think it a more higher felicity.
MEL. Yet more greater thy reward shall be,
     If thou flee from the determination
     Of thy consent of mind by such temptation.
     I perceive the extent of thy words all,
     As of the wit of him, that would have the virtue
     Of me such a woman to become thrall.
     Go thy way with sorrow! I would thou knew
     I have, foul scorn of thee, I tell thee true,
     Or [of] any human creature with me should begin
     Any communication pertaining to sin.
     And I promise thee, where—thou art present,
     While I live, by my will I will be absent.
                                            [Exit.
CAL. Lo! out of all joy I am fallen in woe,
     Upon whom adverse fortune hath cast her chance
     Of cruel hate, which causeth now away to go
     The keeper of my joy and all my pleasance.
     Alas, alas, now to me what noyance!

Enter SEMPRONIO, a parasite.

SEM. Dieu garde, my lord, and God be in this place!
CAL. Sempronio?
SEM. Yea, sir.
CAL. Ah, sir, I shrew thy face!
     Why hast thou been from me so long absent?
SEM. For I have been about your business,
     To order such things as were convenient,
     Your house and horse, and all things, was to dress.
CAL. O Sempronio, have pity on my distress;
     For of all creatures I am the woefullest.
SEM. How so? what is the cause of your unrest?
CAL. For I serve in love to the goodliest thing
     That is or ever was.
SEM. What is she?
CAL. It is one which is all other exceeding:
     The picture of angels, if thou her see:
     Phoebus or Phoebe no comparison may be
     To her.
SEM. What hight she?
CAL. Melibaea is her name.
SEM. Marry, sir, this would make a wild horse tame!
CAL. I pray thee, Sempronio, go fet me my lute,
     And bring some chair or stool with thee;
     The arguments of love that I may dispute,
     Which science, I find, thou[32] art without pity.
     Hie thee, Sempronio, hie thee, I pray thee.
SEM. Sir, shortly, I assure you, it shall be done.
                                           [Exit Sem.
CAL. Then farewell! Christ send thee again soon!
     Oh, what fortune is equal unto mine!
     Oh, what woeful wight with me may compare!
     The thirst of sorrow is my mixed wine,
     Which daily I drink with deep draughts of care.

Re-enter SEMPRONIO.

SEM. Tush, sir, be merry, let pass away the mare:[33]
     How say you, have I not hied me lightly?
     Here is your chair and lute to make you merry.
CAL. Merry, quotha? nay, that will not be;
     But I must needs sit for very feebleness.
     Give me my lute, and thou shalt see
     How I shall sing mine unhappiness.
     This lute is out of tune now, as I guess;
     Alas! in tune how should I set it,
     When all harmony to me discordeth each whit,
     As he, to whose will reason is unruly?
     For I feel sharp needles within my breast;
     Peace, war, truth, hatred, and injury:
     Hope and suspect, and all in one chest.
SEM. Behold, Nero, in the love of Poppaea[34] oppressed,
     Rome how he brent; old and young wept:
     But she took no thought, nor never the less slept.
CAL. Greater is my fire, and less pity showed me.
SEM. I will not mock; this fool is a lover. [Aside.
CAL. What say'st thou?
SEM. I say, how can that fire be,
     That tormenteth but one living man, greater
     Than that fire that brenneth a whole city here,
     And all the people therein?
CAL. Marry, for that fire is greatest,
     That brenneth very sore, and lasteth longest;
     And greater is the fire that brenneth one soul,
     Than that which brenneth an hundred bodies.
SEM. His saying in this none can control. [Aside.
CAL. None but such as list to make lies!
     And if the fire of purgatory bren in such wise,
     I had liever my spirit in brute beasts should be,
     Than to go thither, and then to the deity.
SEM. Marry, sir, that is a spice of heresy.
CAL. Why so?
SEM. For ye speak like no Christian man.
CAL. I would thou knewest Melibaea worship I:
     In her I believe, and her I love.
SEM. Ah, ah, then,
     With thee Melibaea is a great woman;
     I know on which foot thou dost halt on:
     I shall shortly heal thee, my life thereupon!
CAL. An incredible thing thou dost promise me.
SEM. Nay, nay, it is easy enough to do;
     But first, for to heal a man, knowledge must be
     Of the sickness; then to give counsel thereto.
CAL. What counsel can rule him, Sempronio,
     That keepeth in him no order of counsel?[35]
SEM. Ah, is this Calisto? his fire now I know well;
     How that love over him hath cast her net;
     In whose perseverance is all inconstancy.
CAL. Why, is not Elisaeus' love and thine met?
SEM. What then?
CAL. Why reprovest me then of ignorance?
SEM. For thou settest man's dignity in obeisance
     To the imperfection of the weak woman.
CAL. A woman? Nay, a god of goddesses.
SEM. Believest that then?
CAL. Yea, and as a goddess I here confess;
     And I believe there is no such sovereign
     In heaven, though she be in earth.
SEM. Peace, peace.
     A woman a god! nay, to God, a villain.
     Of your saying ye may be sorry.
CAL. It is plain.
SEM. Why so?
CAL. Because I love her, and think surely
     To obtain my desire I am unworthy.
SEM. O fearful heart! why comparest thou with Nimrod
     Or Alexander? of this world not lords only,
     But worthy to subdue heaven, as saying go'th;
     And thou reputest thyself more high
     Than them both, and despairest so cowardly
     To win a woman, of whom hath been so many
     Gotten and ungotten, never heard of any?
     It is recited in the Feast of Saint John:
     This is the woman of ancient malice;
     Of whom but of a woman was it sung on,
     That Adam was expulsed from Paradise?
     She put man to pain whom Eli did despise.
CAL. Then sith Adam gave him to their governance,
     Am I greater than Adam myself to advance?
SEM. Nay, but of those men it were wisdom,
     That overcame them to seek remedy,
     And not of those that they did overcome.
     Flee from their beginnings, eschew their folly:
     Thou knowest they do evil things many.
     They keep no mean, but rigour of intention;
     Be it fair [or] foul, wilful without reason.
     Keep them never so close, they will be showed,
     Give tokens of love by many subtle ways:
     Seeming to be sheep, and serpently shrewd:
     Craft in them renewing, that never decays.
     Their sayings and sightings provoking their plays.
     Oh, what pain is to fulfil their appetites,
     And to accomplish their wanton delights!
     It is a wonder to see their dissembling,
     Their flattering countenance, their ingratitude,
     Inconstancy, false witness, feigned weeping:
     Their vain-glory, and how they can delude:
     Their foolishness, their jangling not mew'd:
     Their lecherous lust and vileness therefore:
     Witchcrafts and charms to make men to their lore:
     Their embalming[36] and their unshamefacedness:
     Their bawdry, their subtlety, and fresh attiring!
     What trimming, what painting, to make fairness!
     Their false intents and flickering smiling:
     Therefore lo! it is an old saying
     That women be the devil's nets, and head of sin;
     And man's misery in Paradise did begin—
CAL. But what thinkest thou by me yet for all this?
SEM. Marry, sir, ye were a man of clear wit,
     Whom Nature hath endued with the best gifts,
     As beauty and greatness of members perfit:
     Strength, lightness; and beyond this each whit
     Fortune hath parted with you of her influence,
     For to be able of liberal expense.
     For without goods, whereof Fortune is lady,
     No man can have wealth. Therefore by conjecture
     You should be beloved of everybody.
CAL. But not of Melibaea now I am sure;
     And though thou hadst praised me without measure,
     And compared me without comparison,
     Yet she is above in every condition.
     Behold her nobleness, her ancient lineage,
     Her great patrimony, her excellent wit,
     Her resplendent virtue, her portly courage,
     Her godly grace, her sovereign beauty perfit!
     No tongue is able well to express it;
     But yet, I pray thee, let me speak awhile,
     Myself to refresh in rehearsing of my style.
     I begin at her hair, which is so goodly,
     Crisped to her heels, tied with fine lace.
     Far shining beyond fine gold of Araby:
     I trow the sun colour to it may give place;
     That who to behold it might have the grace,
     Would say in comparison nothing countervails—
SEM. Then is it not like hair of ass-tails?
CAL. Oh, what foul comparison! this fellow rails.
     Her gay glassing eyes so fair and bright;
     Her brows, her nose in a mean[37] no fashion fails;
     Her mouth proper and feat, her teeth small and white;
     Her lips ruddy, her body straight upright;
     Her little teats to the eye is a pleasure.
     Oh, what a joy it is to see such a figure!
     Her skin of whiteness endarketh the snow,
     With rose-colour ennewed.[38] I thee ensure
     Her little hands in mean[39] manner—this no trow[4]—
     Her fingers small and long, with nails ruddy: most pure
     Of proportion, none such in portraiture:
     Without peer: worthy to have for fairness
     The apple that Paris gave Venus the goodness.
SEM. Sir, have ye all done?
CAL. Yea, marry, what then?
SEM. I put case all this ye have said be true;
     Yet are ye more noble, sith ye be a man.
CAL. Wherein?
SEM. She is imperfect, I would ye knew,
     As all women be, and of less value.
     Philosophers say the matter is less worthy
     Than the form; so is woman to man surely.
CAL. I love not to hear this altercation
     Between Melibaea and me her lover.
SEM. Possible it is in every condition
     To abhor her as much as you do love her
     In the woman beguiling is the danger,
     That ye shall see hereafter with eyes free.
CAL. With what eyes?
SEM. With clear eyes, trust me.
CAL. Why, with what eyes do I see now?
SEM. With dim eyes, which show a little thing much.
     But for ye shall not despair, I assure you
     No labour nor diligence in me shall grutch:
     So trusty and friendly ye shall find me such,
     In all things possible that ye can acquire
     The thing to accomplish to your desire.
CAL. God bring that to pass, so glad it is to me
     To hear thee thus, though I hope not in thy doings.
SEM. Yet I shall do it, trust me for a surety.
CAL. God reward thee for thy gentle intending;
     I give thee this chain of gold in rewarding.
SEM. Sir, God reward you, and send us good speed;
     I doubt not but I shall perform it indeed.
     But without rewards it is hard to work well.
CAL. I am content, so thou be not negligent.
SEM. Nay, be not you; for it passeth a marvel,
     The master slow, the servant to be diligent.
CAL. How thinkest it can be? show me thine intent.
SEM. Sir, I have a neighbour, a mother of bawdry,
     That can provoke the hard rocks to lechery.
     In all evil deeds she is perfect wise.
     I trow more than a thousand virgins
     Have been destroyed by her subtle devices,
     For she never faileth, where she begins:
     Alone by this craft her living she wins.
     Maids, wives, widows, and every one,
     If she once meddle, there escapeth none.
CAL. How might I speak with her, Sempronio?
SEM. I shall bring her hither unto this place;
     But ye must in any wise let rewards go,
     And show her your griefs in every case.
CAL. Else were I not worthy to attain grace.
     But, alas, Sempronio, thou tarriest too long.
SEM. Sir, God be with you.
CAL. Christ make thee strong! [Exit Sem.
     The mighty and perdurable God be his guide,
     As he guided the three kings into Bedlam[40]
     From the east by the star, and again did provide
     As their conduct to return to their own realm;
     So speed my Sempronio to quench the leme[41]
     Of this fire, which my heart doth waste and spend;
     And that I may come to my desired end!
     To pass the time now will I walk
     Up and down within mine orchard,
     And to myself go commune and talk;
     And pray that fortune to me be not hard;
     Longing to hear, whether made or marred,
     My message shall return by my servant Sempronio.
     Thus farewell, my lords; for a while I will go.

Enter CELESTINA, the bawd.

CEL. Now the blessing that our lady gave her son,
     That same blessing I give now to you all!
     That I come thus homely, I pray you of pardon;
     I am sought and send for as a woman universal.
     Celestina, of truth, my name is to call;
     Sempronio for me about doth inquire,
     And it was told me I should have found him here.
     I am sure he will come hither anon;
     But the whilst I shall tell you a pretty game:
     I have a wench of Sempronio's, a pretty one,
     That sojourneth with me: Elicaea is her name.
     But the last day we were both nigh a stark shame,
     For Sempronio would have her to himself several;
     And she loveth one Crito better or as well.
     This Crito and Elicaea sat drinking
     In my house, and I also making merry;
     And as the devil would, far from our thinking,
     Sempronio almost came on us suddenly.
     But then wrought I my craft of bawdry;
     I bade Crito go up, and make himself room
     To hide him in my chamber among the broom.[42]
     Then made I Elicaea sit down a-sewing,
     And I with my rock[43] began for to spin;
     As who saith of Sempronio we had no knowing.
     He knocked at the door, and I let him in;
     And for a countenance I did begin
     To catch him in mine arms, and said, see, see!
     Who kisseth me, Elicaea, and will not kiss thee?
     Elicaea for a countenance made her grieved,
     And would not speak, but still did sew.
     Why speak ye not? quoth Sempronio, be ye moved?
     Have I not a cause, quoth she? no, quoth he, I trow.
     Ah! traitor, quoth she, full well dost thou know!
     Where hast thou been these three days from me,
     That the imposthumes and evil death take thee!
     Peace, mine Elicaea, quoth he, why say ye thus?
     Alas! why put you yourself in this woe?
     The hot fire of love so brenneth between us,
     That my heart is with yours, wherever I go;
     And for three days' absence to say to me so,
     In faith, methinketh, ye be to blame.
     But now hark well, for here beginneth the game!
     Crito, in my chamber above that was hidden,
     I think lay not easily, and began to rumble;
     Sempronio heard that, and asked who was within,
     Above in the chamber that so did tumble.
     Who? quoth she; a lover of mine! may-hap, ye stumble,
     Quoth he, on the truth, as many one doth.
     So up, quoth she, and look, whether it be sooth.
     Well, quoth he, I go. Nay, thought I, not so,
     I said, come, Sempronio, let this fool alone;
     For of thy long absence she is in such woe,
     And half beside herself, and her wit nigh gone.
     Well, quoth he, above yet there is one.
     Wilt thou know, quoth I? yea, quoth he, I thee require;
     It is a wench, quoth I, sent me by a friar.
     What friar? quoth he. Wilt thou needs know? quoth I; then
     It is the friar[44] …
     Oh, quoth he, what a load hath that woman
     To bear him! Yea, quoth I; though women per case
     Bear heavy full oft, yet they gall in no place.
     Then he laughed; yea, quoth I, no more words of this
     For this time; too long we spend here amiss.

Intrat SEMPRONIO.

SEM. O mother Celestine, I pray God prosper thee.
CEL. My son Sempronio, I am glad of our meeting.
     And, as I hear say, ye go about to seek me?
SEM. Of truth, to seek you was mine hither coming.
     Mother, lay apart now all other thing,
     And alonely tend to me, and imagine
     In that that I purpose now to begin.
     Calisto in the love of fair Melibaea
     Burneth; wherefore of thee he hath great need.
CEL. Thou say'st well, knowest not me Celestina?
     I have the end of the matter, and for more speed
     Thou shalt wade no farther; for of this deed
     I am as glad, as ever was the surgeon
     For salves for broke heads to make provision.
     And so intend I to do to Calisto:
     To give him hope and assure him remedy;
     For long hope to the heart much trouble will do.
     Wherefore to the effect thereof I will hie.
SEM. Peace, for methinketh Calisto is nigh.

Intrat CALISTO et PARMENO.

CAL. Parmeno.
PAR. What say you?
CAL. Wottest who is here?
     Sempronio! that reviveth my cheer.
PAR. It is Sempronio, with that old bearded whore.
     Be ye they my master so sore fordoth long?[45]
CAL. Peace, I say, Parmeno, or go out of the door!
     Comest thou to hinder me? then dost thou me wrong;
     I pray thee help for to make me more strong,
     To win this woman: else, gods forbode,
     She hath equal power of my life under God.
PAR. Wherefore to her do ye make such sorrow?
     Think ye in her arse there is any shame?
     The contrary who telleth you, be never his borrow;
     For as much she glorifieth her in her name,
     To be called an old whore, as ye would of fame.
     Dogs in the street and children at every door
     Bark and cry out, There goeth an old whore!
CAL. How knowest all this? dost thou know her?
PAR. Yea that [I do time long][46] agone
     For a false whore, the devil overthrow her!
     My mother, when she died, gave me to her alone,
     And a starker bawd was there never none.
     For that I know I dare well say:[47]
     Let see the contrary who can lay.
     I have been at her house and seen her trinkets
     For painting; things innumerable;
     Squalms and balms; I wonder where she gets
     The things that she hath with folks for to fable,
     And to all bawdry ever agreeable.
     Yet worse than that, which will never be laft,
     Not only a bawd, but a witch by her craft.
CEL. Say what thou wilt, son, spare not me.
SEM. I pray thee, Parmeno, leave thy malicious envy.
                                  [Calisto goes aside.
PAR. Hark hither, Sempronio, here is but we three;
     In that I have said canst thou deny?
GAL. Come hence, Parmeno, I love not this, I;
     And, good mother, grieve you not, I you pray.
     My mind I shall show now, hark what I say.
     O notable woman, O ancient virtue!
     O glorious hope of my desired intent!
     The end of my delectable hope to renew:
     My regeneration to this life present,
     Resurrection from death so excellent;
     Thou art above [all] other. I desire humbly
     To kiss thy hands, wherein lieth my remedy.
     But mine unworthiness maketh resistance;
     Yet worship I the ground that thou goest on,
     Beseeching thee, good woman, with most reverence
     On my pain with thy pity to look upon.
     Without thy comfort my life is gone;
     To revive my dead spirits thou may'st prefer me,
     With the words of thy mouth to make or mar me.
CEL. Sempronio, can I live with these bones,
     That thy master giveth me here for to eat?
     Words are but wind; therefore at once
     Bid him close his mouth, and to his purse get.
     For money maketh [the] merchant, that must jet.[48]
     I have heard his words, but where be his deeds?
     For without money with me nothing speeds. [Aside.
CAL. What saith she, Sempronio? alas, my heart bleeds,
     That I with you, good woman, mistrust should be.
SEM. Sir, she thinketh that money all thing feeds.
CAL. Then come on, Sempronio, I pray thee, with me;
     And tarry here, mother, awhile, I pray thee;
     For where of mistrust ye have me appealed,
     Have here my cloak, till your doubt be assoiled.
SEM. Now do ye well; for weeds among corn,
     Nor suspicions with friends, did never well.
     For[49] faithfulness of words turned to a scorn
     Maketh minds doubtful, good reason doth tell.
CAL. Come on, Sempronio, thou givest me good counsel.
SEM. Go ye before, and I shall wait you upon.
     Farewell, mother, we will come again anon.
                                                [Exeunt.
PAR. How say ye, my lords? see ye not this smoke,
     In my master's eyes that they do cast?
     The one hath his chain, the other his cloak;
     And I am sure they will have all at last.
     Ensample may be by this that is passed,
     How servants be deceitful in their master's folly,
     Nothing but for lucre is all their bawdry. [Aside.
CEL. It pleaseth me, Parmeno, that we together
     May speak, whereby thou may'st see I love thee,
     Yet undeserved[50] now thou comest hither;
     Whereof I care not; but virtue warneth me
     To flee temptation, and follow charity:
     To do good against ill, and so I read thee,
     Sempronio, and I will help thy necessities.
     And in token now that it shall so be,
     I pray thee among us let us have a song.
     For where harmony is, there is amity.
PAR. What, an old woman sing?
CEL. Why not among?
     I pray thee no longer the time prolong.
PAR. Go to; when thou wilt, I am ready.
CEL. Shall I begin?
PAR. Yea, but take not too high. [Cantant.
CEL. How say ye now by this, little young fool?[51]
     For the third part Sempronio we must get.
     After that thy master shall come to school
     To sing the fourth part, that his purse shall sweat;
     For I see craftly the song can set.
     Though thy master be hoarse, his purse shall sing clear,
     And taught to solf,[52] that woman's flesh is dear.
     How say'st to this, thou praty[53] Parmeno?
     Thou knowest not the world nor no delights therein:
     Dost understand me? in faith, I trow no,
     Thou art young enough the game to begin;
     Thy master hath waded himself so far in,
     And to bring him out lieth not in me, old poor—
PAR. Thou shouldst say it lieth not in me, old whore.
CEL. Ah, whoreson, a shame take such a knave!
     How darest thou with me, thou boy, be so bold?
PAR. Because such knowledge of thee I have.
CEL. Why, who art?
PAR. Parmeno, son to Albert the old;
     I dwelt with thee by the river, where wine was sold,
     And thy mother, I trow, hight Claudena.
     That a wild-fire bren thee, Celestina!
CEL. But thy mother was as old a whore as I.
     Come hither, thou little fool, let me see thee:
     Ah, it is even he, by our blessed lady!
     What, little urchin, hast forgotten me?
     When thou layest at my bed's-feet, how merry were we!
PAR. Ah, thou old matron,[54] it were alms thou were dead!
     How wouldest thou pluck me up to thy bed's head,
     And embrace me hard unto thy belly!
     And for thou smelled'st oldly, I ran from thee.
CEL. A shameful whoreson! fie upon thee, fie, fie!
     Come hither, and now shortly I charge thee,
     That all this foolish speaking thou let be.
     Leave wantonness of youth; then shalt thou do well;
     Follow the doctrine of thy elders and counsel.
     To whom thy parents (on whose souls God have mercy!)
     In pain of cursing bade thee be obedient.
     In pain whereof, I command thee straitly,
     Too much in mastership put not thine intent:
     No trust is in them, if thine own be spent.
     Masters nowadays covet to bring about
     All for themselves, and let their servants go without.
     Thy master, men say, and as I think he be,
     But light care ich[55] not—who come to his service;
     Fair words shall not lack, but small rewards, trust me.
     Make Sempronio thy friend in any wise;
     For he can handle him in the best guise.
     Keep this, and for thy profit: tell it to none;
     But look that Sempronio and thou be one.
PAR. Mother Celestine, I wot not what ye mean;
     Calisto is my master, and so I will take him,
     And as for riches I defy it clean;
     For whosoever with wrong rich doth make him,
     Sooner than he gat it, it will forsake him.
     I love to live in joyful poverty,
     And to serve my master with truth and honesty.
CEL. Truth and honesty be riches of the name;
     But surety of wealth[56] is to have riches,
     And after that for to get him good fame.
     By report of friends, this is truth, doubtless;
     Then no such manner friend can I express
     As Sempronio, for both your profits to speed;
     Which lieth in my hands now, if ye be agreed.
     O Parmeno, what a life may we endure!
     Sempronio loveth the daughter of Eliso—
PAR. And who? Arusa?
CEL. Likest her?
PAR. Peradventure?
CEL. I shall get her to thee, that shall I do.
PAR. Nay, mother Celestine, I purpose not so.
     A man should be conversant, I hear tell,
     With them that be ill, and think to do well.
     Sempronio, his ensample shall not make me
     Better nor worse; nor his faults will I hide;
     But, mother Celestine, a question to thee—
     Is not sin anon in one espied?
     That is drowned in delight, how should he provide
     Against virtue to save his honesty?
CEL. Like a child without wisdom thou answerest me.
     Without company mirth can have none estate:
     Use no sloth; nature abhorreth idleness,
     Which leseth delight to nature appropriate.
     In sensual causes delight is chief mistress;
     Specially recounting love's business.
     To say thus doth she: the time thus they pass,
     And such manner they use, and thus they kiss and bass;
     And thus they meet and embrace together.
     What speech, what grace, what plays is between them!
     Where is she? there she goeth; let us see whither:
     Now pleased, now froward; now mum, now hem!
     Strike up, minstrel, with saws of love, the old problem.
     Sing sweet songs; now jousts and tourney.
     Of new inventions what conceits find they?
     Now she goeth to mass; to-morrow she cometh out.
     Behold her better; yonder goeth a cuckold.
     I left her alone: she cometh: turn about!—
     Lo thus, Parmeno, thou mayest behold
     Friends will talk together, as I have told.
     Wherefore perceive thou, that I say truly,
     Never can be delight without company.

Hic iterum intrat CALISTO.

CAL. Mother, as I promised to assoil thy doubt,
     Here I give thee an hundred pieces of gold.
CEL. Sir, I promise you I shall bring it about,
     All thing to purpose, even as ye would;
     For your reward I will do as I should.
     Be merry, fear nothing, content ye shall be.
CAL. Then, mother, farewell; be diligent, I pray thee.
                                            [Exit Celestine.
     How sayest, Sempronio, have I done well?
SEM. Yea, sir, in my mind, and most according.
CAL. Then wilt thou do after my counsel?
     After this old woman will thou be hieing,
     To remember and haste her in everything.
SEM. Sir, I am content, as ye command me.
CAL. Then go, and bid Parmeno come, I pray thee.
                                            [Exit Sempronio.
     Now God be their guides! the posts[57] of my life,
     My relief from death, the ambassadors of my wealth!
     My hope, my hap; my quietness, my strife;
     My joy, my sorrow; my sickness, my health.
     The hope of this old woman; my heart telleth
     That comfort shall come shortly, as I intend.
     Or else come, death, and make of me an end.

Enter PARMENO.

PAR. In faith, it maketh no force nor matter mich,
CAL. What sayest, Parmeno, what sayest to me?
PAR. Marry, I say plainly, that yonder old witch
     And Sempronio together will undo thee.
CAL. Ah, ill-tongued wretch, will ye not see?
     Thinkest thou, lurden, thou handlest me fair?
     Why, knave, wouldest thou put me in despair?
                                           [Exit Calisto.
PAR. Lo, sirs, my master, ye see, is angry;
     But this it is, tell fools for their profit,
     Or warn them for their wealth, it is but folly;
     For strike them on the heel, and as much wit
     Shall come forth at their forehead to perceive it.
     Go thy way, Calisto, for on my charge
     Thy thrift is sealed up, though thou be at large.
     Oh, how unhappy I am to be true;
     For other men win by falsehood and flattery:
     I lose for my truth: the world doth so ensue,
     Truth is put back, and taken for folly.
     Therefore now I will change my copy.
     If I had done, as Celestine bad me,
     Calisto to his mission still would have had me.
     This giveth me warning from henceforward
     How to deal with him for all thing as he will:
     I will [be] the same forward or backward.
     I will go straight to him, and follow him still:
     Say as he saith, be it good or ill;
     And sith these bawds get good provoking lechery,
     I trust flattery shall speed as well as bawdry.

Hic exeat PARMENO et intret MELIBAEA.

MEL. I pray you, came this woman here never sin'?[58]
     In faith, to enter here I am half adrad;
     And yet why so? I may boldly come in:
     I am sure from you all I shall not be had.
     But, Jesus, Jesus, be these men so mad
     On women, as they say? how should it be?
     It is but fables and lies, ye may trust me.

Intret CELESTINA.

CEL. God be here!
MEL. Who is there?
CEL. Will ye buy any thread?
MEL. Yea, marry, good mother, I pray you come in.
CEL. Christ save you, fair mistress, and God be your speed;
     And health be to you and your kin;
     And Mary, God's mother, that blessed virgin,
     Preserve and prosper your womanly personage,
     And well to enjoy your youth and pucellage!
     For that time pleasures are most escheved;[59]
     And age is the hospital of all manner sickness,
     The resting-place of all thought unrelieved;
     The sport of time, past the end of all quickness:
     Neighbour to death; a dry stock without sweetness:
     Discomfort, disease all age alloweth;
     A tree without sap, that small charge boweth.
MEL. I marvel, mother, ye speak so much ill
     Of age, that all folk desire effectuously.
CEL. They desire hurt for themselves as all of will;
     And the cause why they desire to come thereby,
     Is for to live; for death is so loathly.
     He that is sorrowful would live to be sorrier,
     And he that is old would live to be older.
     Fair damsel, who can show all the hurts of age?
     His weariness, feebleness, his discontenting;
     His childishness, frowardness of his rage;
     Wrinkling in the face, lack of sight and hearing;
     Hollowness of mouth, fall of teeth, faint of going;
     And, worst of all, possessed with poverty,
     And the limbs arrested with debility.
MEL. Mother, ye have taken great pain for age,
     Would ye not return to the beginning?
CEL. Fools are they that are past their passage,
     To begin again, which be at the ending;
     For better is possession than the desiring.
MEL. I desire to live longer; do I well, or no?
CEL. That ye desire well, I think not so;
     For as soon goeth to market the lamb's fell
     As the sheep's;[60] none so old but may live a year;
     And there is none so young but, ye wot well,
     May die in a day. Then no advantage is here
     Between youth and age; the matter is clear.
MEL. With thy fabling and thy reasoning, i-wis,
     I am beguiled; but I have known thee ere this:
     Art not Celestine, that dwelleth by the river side?
CEL. Yea, forsooth.
MEL. Indeed, age hath arrayed[61] thee!
     That thou art she, now can scant be espied.
     Me thinketh by thy favour thou shouldest be she:
     Thou art sore changed, thou mayest believe me.
CEL. Fair maiden, keep thou well this time of youth;
     But beauty shall pass at the last, this is truth:
     Yet I am not so old as ye judge me.
MEL. Good mother, I joy much of thine accointenance,[62]
     And thy motherly reasons right well please me.
     And now I thank thee here for thy pastance.
     Farewell, till another time, that hap may chance,
     Again that we two may meet together.
     Mayhap ye have business, I know not whither.
CEL. O angelic image! O heart so precious!
     Oh, how thou speakest, it rejoiceth me to hear.
     Knowest thou not by the divine mouth gracious,
     That against the infernal fiend Lucifer
     We should not only live by bread here,
     But by our good works, wherein I take some pain:
     If ye know not my mind now, all is in vain.
MEL. Show me, mother, hardily all thy necessity,
     And, if I can, I shall provide the remedy.
CEL. My necessity! nay, God wot, it is not for me:
     As for mine, I left it at home surely.
     To eat when I will, and drink when I am dry;
     And I thank God ever one penny hath been mine,
     To buy bread when I list, and to have four for wine.
     Before I was widow, I cared never for it,
     For I had wine enough of mine own to sell;
     And with a toast in wine by the fire I could sit,
     With two dozen sops the colic to quell;
     But now with me it is not so well,
     For I have nothing but that is brought me
     In a pitcher-pot of quarts scant three.
     Thus I pray God help them that be needy;
     For I speak not for myself alone,
     But as well for other, however speed I.
     The infirmity is not mine, though that I groan,
     It is for another that I make moan,
     And not for myself: it is another way,
     But what I must moan, where I dare not say.
MEL. Say what thou wilt, and for whom thou lest.[63]
CEL. Now, gracious damsel, I thank you then,
     That to give audience ye be so prest,
     With liberal readiness to me old woman,
     Which giveth me boldness to show what I can
     Of one that lieth in danger by sickness
     Remitting his languor to your gentleness.
MEL. What meanest thou, I pray thee, gentle mother?
     Go forth with thy demand, as thou hast done.
     On the one part thou provokest me to anger,
     And on the other side to compassion:
     I know not how thy answer to fashion.
     The words which thou speakest in my presence
     Be so misty, I perceive not thy sentence.
CEL. I said I left one in danger of sickness,
     Drawing to death for ought that I can see:
     Now choose you or no to be murderess,
     Or revive him with a word to come from thee?
MEL. I am happy, if my word be of such necessity,
     To help any Christian man, or else gods forbid:
     To do a good deed is liking to God,
     For good deeds to good men be allowable,
     And specially to needy above all other;
     And ever to good deeds ye shall find me agreeable,
     Trusting ye will exhort me to none other.
     Therefore, fear not, speak your petition, good mother,
     For they that may heal sick folk, and do refuse them,
     Surely of their death they cannot excuse them.
CEL. Full well and graciously the case ye consider,
     For I never believed that God in vain
     Would give you such countenance and beauty together,
     But charity therewith to relieve folk in pain;
     And as God hath given you, so give him again.
     For folks be not made for themselves only,
     For then they should live like beasts all rudely,
     Among which beasts yet some be pitiful,[64]
     The unicorn humbleth himself to a maid;[65]
     And a dog in all his power ireful,
     Let a man fall to ground, his anger is delayed:[66]
     Thus by nature pity is conveyed.
     The cock, when he scrapeth, and happeth meat to find,
     Calleth for his hens: lo! see the gentle kind!
     Should human creatures then be of cruelness?
     Should not they to their neighbours show charity,
     And specially to them wrapped in sickness,
     When[67] they that may heal them cause the infirmity?
MEL. Mother, without delay, for God's sake show me,
     I pray thee heartily, without more praying,
     Where is the patient that so is paining.[68]
CEL. Fair damsel, thou mayest well have knowledge hereto:
     That in this city is a young knight,
     And of clear lineage, called Calisto,
     Whose life and body is all in thee, I plight.
     The pelican, to show nature's right,
     Feedeth his birds,—methinketh I should not preach thee!
     Thou wotest what I mean, as nature should teach thee.
MEL. Ha, ha, is this the intent of thy conclusion?
     Tell me no more of this matter, I charge thee.
     Is this the dolent[69] for whom thou makest petition?
     Art thou come hither thus to deceive me?
     Thou bearded dame, shameless thou seemest to be!
     Is this he that hath the passion of foolishness?
     Thinkest, thou ribald, I am such an one of lewdness?
     It is not said, I see well, in vain:
     The tongue of man and woman worst members be;
     Thou brute bawd, thou great enemy to honesty, certain;
     Cause of secret errors: Jesu, Jesu, benedicite
     Some good body take this old thief from me,
     That thus would me deceive with her false sleight!
     Go out of my sight now! get thee hence straight!
CEL. In an evil hour came I hither, I may say;
     I would I had broken my legs twain.
MEL. Go hence, thou brothel, go hence, in the devil way!
     Bidest thou yet to increase my pain?
     Wilt thou make me of this fool to be fain?
     To give him life, to make him merry,
     And to myself death, to make me sorry?
     Wilt thou bear away profit for my perdition,
     And make me lese the house of my father,
     To win the house of such an old matron
     As thou art, shamefullest of all other?
     Thinkest thou that I understand not, thou false mother,
     Thy hurtful message, thy false subtle ways?
     Make amends to God, thou livest too long days!
     Answer, thou traitress, how darest be so bold?
CEL. The fear of thee maketh me so dismayed,
     That the blood of my body is almost cold.
     Alas! fair maiden, what hast thou said
     To me poor widow? why am I denied?
     Hear my conclusion, which is of honesty;
     Without cause ye blame this gentleman and me.
MEL. I say I will hear no more of that fool:
     Was he not here with me even now?
     Thou old witch, thou bringest me in great dole:
     Ask him what answer he had of me, and how
     I took his demand, as now know mayest thou,
     More showing is but lost, where no mercy can be.
     Thus I answered him, and thus I answer thee.
CEL. The more strange she maketh, the gladder am I:
     There is no tempest, that ever doth endure. [Aside.
MEL. What say'st thou, what say'st, thou shameful enemy?
     Speak out.
CEL. So 'feard I am of your displeasure;
     Your anger is so great, I perceive it sure,
     And your patience is in so great an heat,
     That for woe and fear I both weep and sweat.
MEL. Little is the heat in comparison to say
     To the great boldness of thy demeaning.
CEL. Fair maiden, yet one word, now I you pray:
     Appease with patience, and bear my saying.
     It is for a prayer, mistress, my demanding,
     That is said ye have of Saint Appoline,
     For the toothache, whereof this man is in pain.
     And the girdle there thou wearest about thee,
     And so many holy relics it hath touched,
     That this knight thinketh his boot thou may'st be.
     Therefore let thy pity now be avouched;
     For my heart for fear like a dog is couched.
     The delight of vengeance whoso doth use,
     Pity at their need shall them refuse.
MEL. If this be true, that thou say'st to me now,
     Mine heart is lightened, perceiving the case:
     I would be content well, if I wist how,
     To bring this sick knight unto some solace.
CEL. Fair damsel, to thee be health and grace:
     For if this knight and ye were acquainted both two,
     Ye would not judge him the man that ye do.
     By God and by my soul, in him is no melancholy:
     With grace endued in freedom as Alexander,
     In strength as Hector, in countenance merry:
     Gracious, envy in him reigned never.
     Of noble blood, as thou knowest, and if ye ever
     Saw him armed, he seemeth a Saint George.
     Rather than to be made in nature's forge,
     An angel thou would'st judge him, I make a vow.
     The gentle Narcissus was never so fair,
     That was enamoured on his own shadow;
     Wherefore, fair maid, let thy pity repair:
     Let mercy be thy mother, and thou her heir.
     This knight, whom I come for, never ceaseth.
     But crieth out of pain, that still increaseth.
MEL. How long time, I pray thee, hath it holden him?
CEL. I think he be twenty-four years of age;
     I saw him born, and holp for to fold him.
MEL. I demand thee not thereof: thine answer assuage;
     I ask thee how long in this painful rage
     He hath lain?
CEL. Of truth, fair maiden, as he says,
     He hath be in this agony this eight days.
     But he seemeth, [as] he had lain this seven year.
MEL. Oh, how it grieveth me the ill of my patient,
     Knowing his agony and thy innocency here.
     Unto mine anger thou hast made resistance,
     Wherefore thy demand I grant in recompense.
     Have here my girdle: the prayer is not ready;
     To-morrow it shall be: come again secretly.
     And, mother, of these words passed between us
     Show nothing thereof unto this knight,
     Lest he would report me cruel and furious.
     I trust thee now be true, for thoughts be light.
CEL. I marvel greatly thou dost me so atwite
     Of the doubt, that thou hast of my secretness:
     As secret as thyself I shall be doubtless.
     And to Calisto with this girdle Celestina
     Shall go, and his leady heart make whole and light.
     For Gabriel to our lady with Ave Maria
     Came never gladder than I shall to this knight.
     Calisto, how wilt thou now sit upright?
     I have showed thy water to thy physician:
     Comfort thyself: the field is half-won. [Aside.
MEL. Mother, he is much beholden unto thee.
CEL. Fair maiden, for the mercy thou hast done to us
     This knight and I both thy beadfolks shall be.
MEL. Mother, if need be, I will do more than thus.
CEL. It shall be needful to do so and righteous;
     For this thus begun must needs have an end,
     Which never can be without ye condescend.
MEL. Well, mother, to-morrow is a new day:[70]
     I shall perform that I have you promised.
     Show to this sick knight in all that I may.
     Bid him be bold in all things honest,
     And though he to me as yet be but a guest,
     If my word or deed his health may support,
     I shall not fail; and thus bid him take comfort.
                                    [Exit Melibaea.
CEL. Now, Christ comfort thee, and keep thee in thy need!
     Now say you, now is not this matter carried clear?
     Cannot old Celestina her matter speed?
     A thing not well handled is not worth a bean.
     Now know ye by the half tale what the whole doth mean:
     These women at the first be angry and furious:
     Fair weather cometh after storms tempestuous.
     And now to Calisto I will me dress,
     Which lieth now languishing in great pain,
     And show him that he is not remediless;
     And bear him this to make him glad and fain;
     And handle him, so that ye shall see plain,
     That I am well worthy to bear the name,
     For to be called a noble arch dame. [Exit.

Intrat DANIO pater MELIBAEAE.

     O marvellous God, what a dream had I to-night!
     Most terrible vision to report and hear!
     I had never none such, nor none yearthly wight.
     Alas! when I think thereon, I quake for fear;
     It was of Melibaea, my daughter dear.
     God send me good tidings of her shortly,
     For, till I hear from her, I cannot be merry.

Intrat MELIBAEA.

MEL. O dear father, nothing may me more displease,
     Nothing may do me more annoyance,
     Nothing may do me greater disease,
     Than to see you, father, in any perturbance,
     For me chiefly, or for any other chance.
     But for me I pray you not to be sad,
     For I have no cause but to be merry and glad.
DAN. O sweet Melibaea, my daughter dear,
     I am replete with joy and felicity,
     For that ye be now in my presence here,
     As I perceive, in joy and prosperity;
     From death to life me thinketh it reviveth me;
     For the fearful dream that I had lately.
MEL. What dream, sir, was that, I pray you heartily?
DAN. Doubtless, me thought that I was walking
     In a fair orchard, where were places two:
     The one was a hot bath, wholesome and pleasing
     To all people that did repair thereto,
     To wash them and clean them from sickness also;
     The other a pit of foul stinking water;
     Shortly they died, all that therein did enter.
     And unto this wholesome bath methought that ye
     In the right path were coming apace,
     But before that methought that I did see
     A foul, rough bitch—a prick-eared cur it was—
     Which straking her body along on the grass,
     And with her tail licked her so, that she
     Made herself a fair spaniel to be.
     This bitch then (methought) met you in the way,
     Leaping and fawning upon you apace,
     And round about you did run and play,
     Which made you then disport and solace;
     Which liked you so well, that in short space
     The way to the hot bath anon ye left it,
     And took the straight way to the foul pit.
     And ever ye looked continually
     Upon that same bitch, and so much her eyed,
     That ye came to the foul pit-brink suddenly,
     Like to have fallen in, and to have been destroyed,
     Which when I saw, anon then I cried,
     Starting in my sleep, and therewith did awake;
     That yet for fear, methink, my body doth quake.
     Was not this a fearful dream and marvellous?
     I pray you, daughter, what think ye now to this?

Hic MELIBAEA certo tempore non loquitur, sed vultu lamentabili respicit.

     Why speak ye not? why be ye now so studious?
     Is there anything that hath chanced you amiss?
     I am your father: tell me what it is.
MEL. Alas, now your dream, which ye have expressed,
     Hath made me all pensive and sore abashed.
DAN. I pray you, dear daughter, now tell me why?
MEL. Sir, I know the cause of your vision,
     And what your dreadful dream doth signify.
DAN. Thereof would I fain now have knowlition.
MEL. Alas, dear father, alas, what have I done?
     Offended God as a wretch unworthy!
DAN. Wherein? despair not; God is full of mercy.

Et genuflectat.

MEL. Then on my knees now I fall down,
     And of God chiefly asking forgiveness;
     And next of you; for into oblivion
     I have put your doctrine and lessons doubtless.
DAN. Fear not, daughter, I am not merciless;
     I trust ye have not so greatly offended,
     But that right well it may be amended.
MEL. Ye have fostered me up full lovingly
     In virtuous discipline, which is the right path
     To all grace and virtue; which doth signify
     By your dream the fair, pleasant, wholesome bath:
     The foul pit, whereof ye dreamed, which hath
     Destroyed so many, betokeneth vice and sin,
     In which, alas, I had almost fallen in.
     The prick-eared cur and the foul bitch,
     Which made herself so smooth and fair to see,
     Betokeneth an old quean, a bawdy witch,
     Called Celestina, that woe might she be!
     Which with her fair words aye so persuaded me,
     That she had almost brought me hereunto,
     To fulfil the foul lust of Calisto.
DAN. Alas, dear daughter, I taught you a lesson,
     Which way ye should attain unto virtue:
     That was every morning to say an orison,
     Praying God for grace all vice to eschew.
MEL. O dear father, that lesson I have kept true;
     Which preserved me, for though I did consent
     In mind, yet had he never his intent.
DAN. The virtue of that prayer, I see well one thing,
     Hath preserved you from the shame of that sin;
     But because ye were somewhat consenting,
     Ye have offended God greatly therein;
     Wherefore, daughter, ye must now begin
     Humbly to beseech God of His mercy
     For to forgive you your sin and misery.
MEL. O blessed Lord, and father celestial,
     Whose infinite mercy no tongue can express,
     Though I be a sinner, wretch of wretches all,
     Yet of thy great mercy grant me forgiveness.
     Full sore I repent, my sin I confess:
     Intending henceforth never to offend more:
     Now humbly I beseech thy mercy therefore.
DAN. Now that is well said, mine own fair daughter;
     Stand up therefore, for I know verily,
     That God is good and merciful ever
     To all sinners which will ask mercy,
     And be repentant and in will clearly
     To sin no more. He of His great goodness
     Will grant them therefore His grace and forgiveness.
     Lo, here ye may see, what a thing it is
     To bring up young people virtuously,
     In good custom; for grace doth never miss
     To them that use good prayers daily,
     Which hath preserved this maid undoubtedly,
     And kept her from actual deed of shame:
     Brought her to grace: preserved her good name.
     Wherefore, ye virgins and fair maidens all,
     Unto this example now take good heed;
     Serve God daily; the sooner ye shall
     To honesty and goodness no doubt proceed;
     And God shall send you ever his grace at need
     To withstand all evil temptations,
     That shall come to you by any occasions.
     And ye, fathers, mothers, and other, which be
     Rulers of young folks, your charge is doubtless
     To bring them up virtuously, and to see
     Them occupied still in some good business;
     Not in idle pastime or unthriftiness,
     But to teach them some art, craft, or learning,
     Whereby to be able to get their living.
     The bringers-up of youth in this region
     Have done great harm because of their negligence,
     Not putting them to learning nor occupations:
     So, when they have no craft nor science,
     And come to man's state, ye see the experience,
     That many of them compelled be
     To beg or steal by very necessity.
     But if there be therefore any remedy,
     The heads and rulers must first be diligent
     To make good laws, and execute them straitly,
     Upon such masters that be negligent.
     Alas! we make no laws, but punishment,
     When men have offended. But laws evermore
     Would be made to prevent the cause before.
     If the cause of the mischiefs were seen before,
     Which by conjecture to fall be most likely,
     And good laws and ordinance made therefore
     To put away the cause, that were best remedy.
     What is the cause, that there be so many
     Thefts and robberies? It is because men be
     Driven thereto by need and poverty.
     And what is the very cause of that need?
     Because they labour not for their living;
     And truth is, they cannot well labour indeed,
     Because in youth of their idle upbringing.
     But this thing shall never come to reforming,
     But the world continually shall be nought,
     As long as young people be evil up-brought.
     Wherefore the eternal God, that reigneth on high,
     Send his merciful grace and influence
     To all governors, that they circumspectly
     May rule their inferiors by such prudence,
     To bring them to virtue and due obedience,
     And that they and we all by his great mercy
     May be partners of his blessed glory.

AMEN.[71]

For a list of the editions, see Hazlitt_ ut infrâ. A facsimile of the title-page of one of the editions by Skot is here given. Neither of the editions by Pynson has the title.

This morality, or moral play, was published early in the reign of Henry VIII.,[72] and is given from a black-letter copy,[73] preserved in the library of the church of Lincoln. It was communicated to the editor with the greatest politeness by the Rev. Dr Stinton, chancellor of that church. The design of it was to inculcate great reverence for old mother church and her Popish superstitions.

As the most ingenious Dr Percy has given an analysis of this and the following moralities, they are, with his permission, prefixed to the present edition:—"The subject of this piece is the summoning of man out of the world by death; and its moral, that nothing will then avail him but a well-spent life and the comforts of religion. This subject and moral are opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for that was the name generally given by our ancestors to the prologue on their rude stage). Then God is represented, who, after some general complaints on the degeneracy of mankind, calls for Death, and orders him to bring before his tribunal Everyman, for so is called the personage who represents the human race. Everyman appears, and receives the summons with all the marks of confusion and terror. When Death is withdrawn, Everyman applies for relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kindred, Goods, or Riches, but they successfully renounce and forsake him. In this disconsolate state he betakes himself to Good Deeds, who, after upbraiding him with his long neglect of her, introduces him to her sister Knowledge, and she leads him to the holy man Confession, who appoints him penance; this he inflicts upon himself on the stage, and then withdraws to receive the sacraments of the priest. On his return he begins to wax faint; and, after Strength, Beauty, Discretion, and Five Wits, have all taken their final leave of him, gradually expires on the stage; Good Deeds still accompanying him to the last. Then an angel descends to sing his requiem; and the epilogue is spoken by a person called Doctor, who recapitulates the whole, and delivers the moral.

'This moral men may have in mind;
Ye hearers, take it of worth old and young,
And forsake pride, for he deceiveth you in the end,
And remember Beauty, Five Wits, Strength, and Discretion.
They all at the last do Everyman forsake;
Save his Good Deeds there doth he take:
But beware, and they be small,
Before God he hath no help at all.'

"From this short analysis it may be observed that Everyman is a grave, solemn piece, not without some rude attempts to excite terror and pity, and therefore may not improperly be referred to the class of tragedy. It is remarkable that in this old simple drama the fable is conducted upon the strictest model of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply one, the time of action is that of the performance, the scene is never changed, nor the stage ever empty. Everyman, the hero of the piece, after his first appearance, never withdraws, except when he goes out to receive the sacrament, which could not well be exhibited in public; and during this, Knowledge descants on the excellence and power of the priesthood, somewhat after, the manner of the Greek chorus. And, indeed, except in the circumstance of Everyman's expiring on the stage, the 'Samson Agonistes' of Milton is hardly formed on a severer plan."[74]

The woodcuts accompanying this and the succeeding piece (Hickescorner), occur in the original editions by Skot, and presumably were also in those by Pynson.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

I Pray you all give your audience,
And hear this matter with reverence,
By figure a moral play;
The Summoning of Everyman called it is,
That of our lives and ending shows,
How transitory we be all day:
This matter is wonders[75] precious,
But the intent of it is more gracious,
And sweet to bear away.
The story saith: man, in the beginning
Look well, and take good heed to the ending,
Be you never so gay:
Ye think sin in the beginning full sweet,
Which in the end causeth thy soul to weep,
When the body lieth in clay.
Here shall you see how Fellowship and Jollity,
Both Strength, Pleasure, and Beauty,
Will fade from thee as flower in May;
For ye shall hear, how our Heaven King
Calleth Everyman to a general reckoning:
Give audience, and hear what he doth say.

GOD[76] speaketh.

I perceive here in my Majesty,
How that all creatures be to me unkind,
Living without dread in worldly prosperity:
Of ghostly sight the people be so blind,
Drowned in sin, they knew me not for their God;
In worldly riches is all their mind,
They fear not my rightwiseness, the sharp rod;
My law that I showed, when I for them died,
They forget clean, and shedding of my blood red;
I hanged between two, it cannot be denied;
To get them life I suffered to be dead;
I healed their feet, with thorns hurt was my head:
I could do no more than I did truly,
And now I see the people do clean forsake me:
They use the seven deadly sins damnable,
As pride, covetise, wrath, and lechery,
Now in the world be made commendable:
And thus they leave, of angels the heavenly company,
Every man liveth so after his own pleasure,
And yet of their life they be nothing sure:
I see the more that I them forbear
The worse they be from year to year;
All that liveth appaireth[77] fast,
Therefore I will in all the haste
Have a reckoning of every man's person;
For, and I leave the people thus alone
In their life and wicked tempests,
Verily they will become much worse than beasts;
For now one would by envy another up eat;
Charity they do all clean forget.
I hoped well that every man
In my glory should make his mansion,
And thereto I had them all elect;
But now I see, like traitors deject,
They thank me not for the pleasure that I to them meant,
Nor yet for their being that I them have lent;
I proffered the people great multitude of mercy,
And few there be that asketh it heartly;
They be so cumbered with worldly riches,
That needs on them I must do justice,
On every man living without fear.
Where art thou, Death, thou mighty messenger?

Almighty God, I am here at your will,
Your commandment to fulfil.

Go thou to Everyman,
And show him in my name
A pilgrimage he must on him take,
Which he in no wise may escape;
And that he bring with him a sure reckoning
Without delay or any tarrying.

Lord, I will in the world go run over all,
And cruelly out-search both great and small;
Every man will I beset that liveth beastly,
Out of God's laws, and dreadeth not folly:
He that loveth riches I will strike with my dart,
His sight to blind, and fro heaven to depart,
Except that alms be his good friend,
In hell for to dwell, world without end.
Lo, yonder I see Everyman walking:
Full little he thinketh on my coming:
His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure;
And great pain it shall cause him to endure
Before the Lord, heaven's King.
Everyman, stand still; whither art thou going
Thus gaily? hast thou thy Maker forgot?

Why askest thou? Wouldest thou wit?

Yea, sir, I will show you; in great haste I am sent to thee
Fro God out of his Majesty.

What! sent to me?

Yea, certainly:
Though you have forgot him here,
He thinketh on thee in the heavenly sphere;
As, ere we depart, thou shalt know.

What desireth God of me?

That shall I show thee;
A reckoning he will needs have
Without any lenger respite.

To give a reckoning longer leisure I crave;
This blind matter troubleth my wit.

On thee thou must take a long journey,
Therefore thy book of count with thee thou bring,
For turn again thou cannot by no way:
And look thou be sure of thy reckoning;
For before God thou shalt answer and show
Thy many bad deeds, and good but a few,
How thou hast spent thy life, and in what wise,
Before the chief lord of paradise.
Have ado that[78] we were in that way,
For, wit thou well, thou shalt make none attorney.

Full unready I am such reckoning to give:
I know thee not; what messenger art thou?

I am Death, that no man dreadeth;
For every man I 'rrest, and no man spareth,
For it is God's commandment
That all to me should be obedient.

O Death, thou comest, when I had thee least in mind;
In thy power it lieth me to save;
Yet of my good will I give thee, if thou will be kind,
Yea, a thousand pounds shalt thou have,
And [thou] defer this matter till another day.

Everyman, it may not be by no way;
I set not by gold, silver, nor riches,
Ne by pope, emperor, king, duke, ne princes;
For, and I would receive gifts great,
All the world I might get;
But my custom is clean contrary;
I give thee no respite, come hence, and not tarry.

Alas! shall I have no lenger respite?
I may say Death giveth no warning:
To think on thee it maketh my heart sick;
For all unready is my book of reckoning:
But, [for] twelve year and I might have abiding,
My counting-book I would make so clear,
That my reckoning I should not need to fear.
Wherefore, Death, I pray thee for God's mercy,
Spare me, till I be provided of remedy.

Thee availeth not to cry, weep, and pray:
But haste thee lightly, that thou wert gone this journey;
And prove thy friends, if thou can;
For, wit thou well, the tide abideth no man,
And in the world each living creature
For Adam's sin must die of nature.

Death, if I should this pilgrimage take,
And my reckoning surely make,
Show me, for Saint Charity,
Should I not come again shortly?

No, Everyman, and thou be once there,
Thou mayest never more come here,
Trust me verily.

O gracious God, in the high seat celestial,
Have mercy on me in this most need.
Shall I have no company from this vale terrestrial
Of mine acquaince,[79] that way me to lead?

Yea, if any be so hardy,
That would go with thee, and bear thee company:
Hie thee that thou were gone to God's magnificence,
Thy reckoning to give before his presence.
What, weenest thou thy life is given thee,
And thy worldly goods also?

I had ween'd so verily.

Nay, nay; it was but lend thee;
For, as soon as thou art gone,
Another awhile shall have it, and then go therefro,
Even as thou hast done.
Everyman, thou art mad, thou hast thy wits five,
And here on earth will not amend thy life;
For suddenly I do come.

O wretched caitiff, whither shall I flee,
That I might escape this endless sorrow!
Now, gentle Death, spare me till to-morrow,
That I may amend me
With good advisement.

Nay, thereto I will not consent,
Nor no man will I respite;
But to the heart suddenly I shall smite
Without any advisement.
And now out of thy sight I will me hie;
See thou make thee ready shortly,
For thou mayest say, this is the day
That no man living may 'scape away.

Alas! I may well weep with sighs deep:
Now have I no manner of company
To help me in my journey, and me to keep;
And also my writing is full unready.
How shall I do now for to excuse me!
I would to God I had never be got;[80]
To my soul a full great profit it had be;
For now I fear pains huge and great.
The time passeth: Lord, help, that all wrought!
For though I mourn, it availeth nought:
The day passeth, and is almost ago;
I wot not well what for to do.
To whom were I best my complaint to make?
What, and I to Fellowship thereof spake,
And showed him of this sudden chance!
For in him is all mine affiance;
We have in the world so many a day
Be good friends in sport and play,
I see him yonder certainly;
I trust that he will bear me company,
Therefore to him will I speak to ease my sorrow,
Well met, good Fellowship, and good morrow.

FELLOWSHIP speaketh.

Everyman, good morrow, by this day:
Sir, why lookest thou so piteously?
If anything be amiss, I pray thee, me say,
That I may help to remedy.

Yea, good Fellowship, yea;
I am in great jeopardy.

My true friend, show to me your mind;
I will not forsake thee, to my life's end,
In the way of good company.

That was well spoken and lovingly.

Sir, I must needs know your heaviness;
I have pity to see you in any distress:
If any have you wronged, ye shall revenged be,
Though I on the ground be slain for thee;
Though that I know before that I should die.

Verily, Fellowship, gramercy.

Tush! by thy thanks I set not a straw;
Show me your grief, and say no more.

If I my heart should to you break,
And then you to turn your mind fro me,
And would not me comfort, when ye hear me speak,
Then should I ten times sorrier be.

Sir, I say as I will do in deed.

Then be you a good friend at need;
I have found you true here-before.

And so ye shall evermore;
For in faith, and thou go to hell,
I will not forsake thee by the way.

Ye speak like a good friend, I believe you well;
I shall deserve it, and I may.

I speak of no deserving, by this day;
For he that will say and nothing do,
Is not worthy with good company to go:
Therefore show me the grief of your mind,
As to your friend most loving and kind.

I shall show you how it is:
Commanded I am to go a journey,
A long way, hard and dangerous;
And give a strait account without delay
Before the High Judge Adonai;[81]
Wherefore, I pray you, bear me company,
As ye have promised in this journey.

That is matter indeed; promise is duty;
But, and I should take such a voyage on me,
I know it well, it should be to my pain:
Also it make[s] me afeard certain.
But let us take counsel here as well as we can,
For your words would fear a strong man.

Why, ye said, if I had need,
Ye would me never forsake, quick ne dead,
Though it were to hell truly.

So I said certainly;
But such pleasures be set aside, the sooth to say,
And also if ye took such a journey,
When should we come again?

Nay, never again till the day of doom.

In faith, then will not I come there:
Who hath you these tidings brought?

Indeed, Death was with me here.

Now, by God that all hath bought,
If Death were the messenger,
For no man that is living to-day
I will not go that loath journey,
Not for the father that begat me.

Ye promised otherwise, pardy.

I wot well I said so truly,
And yet if thou wilt eat and drink, and make good cheer,
Or haunt to women the lusty company,
I would not forsake you, while the day is clear,
Trust me verily.

Yea, thereto ye would be ready;
To go to mirth, solace and play,
Your mind will sooner apply
Than to bear me company in my long journey.

Now, in good faith, I will not that way;
But, and thou will murder, or any man kill,
In that I will help thee with a good will.

Oh, that is a simple advice indeed:
Gentle fellows[hip,] help me in my necessity;
We have loved long, and now I need,
And now, gentle Fellowship, remember me.

Whether ye have loved me or no,
By Saint John, I will not with thee go.

Yet, I pray thee, take the labour, and do so much for me,
To bring me forward, for Saint Charity,
And comfort me, till I come without the town.

Nay, and thou would give me a new gown,
I will not a foot with thee go;
But, and thou had tarried, I would not have left thee so:
And as now God speed thee in thy journey!
For from thee I will depart, as fast as I may.

Whither away, Fellowship? will you forsake me?

Yea, by my fay; to God I betake thee.

Farewell, good Fellowship; for this my heart is sore:
Adieu for ever, I shall see thee no more.

In faith, Everyman, farewell now at the end;
For you I will remember that parting is mourning.

Alack! shall we thus depart in deed,
O Lady, help, without any more comfort,
Lo,[82] Fellowship forsaketh me in my most need:
For help in this world whither shall I resort?
Fellowship here before with me would merry make;
And now little sorrow for me doth he take.
It is said, in prosperity men friends may find,
Which in adversity be full unkind.
Now whither for succour shall I flee,
Sith that Fellowship hath forsaken me?
To my kinsmen I will truly,
Praying them to help me in my necessity;
I believe that they will do so;
For kind will creep, where it may not go.[83]
I will go say; for yonder I see them go:
Where be ye now, my friends and kinsmen [lo?]

Here be we now at your commandment:
Cousin, I pray thee, show us your intent
In any wise, and do not spare.

Yea, Everyman, and to us declare
If ye be disposed to go any whither;
For, wot ye well, we[84] will live and die together.

In wealth and woe we will with you hold;
For over his kin a man may be bold.

Gramercy, my friends and kinsmen kind,
Now shall I show you the grief of my mind.
I was commanded by a messenger,
That is an high king's chief officer;
He bad me go on pilgrimage to my pain,
But I know well I shall never come again:
Also I must give a reckoning strait;
For I have a great enemy that hath me in wait,
Which intendeth me for to hinder.

What account is that which ye must render?
That would I know.

Of all my works I must show,
How I have lived, and my days spent;
Also of ill deeds that I have used
In my time, sith life was me lent,
And of all virtues that I have refused:
Therefore, I pray you, go thither with me
To help to make mine account, for Saint Charity.

What, to go thither? Is that the matter?
Nay, Everyman, I had liever fast bread and water,
All this five year and more.

Alas, that ever I was bore!
For now shall I never be merry,
If that you forsake me.

Ah, sir! what, ye be a merry man!
Take good heart to you, and make no moan.
But one thing I warn you, by Saint Anne,
As for me ye shall go alone.

My cousin, will you not with me go?

No, by our lady, I have the cramp in my toe:
Trust not to me; for, so God me speed,
I will[85] deceive you in your most need.

It availeth not us to tice:[86]
Ye shall have my maid with all my heart;
She loveth to go to feasts, there to be nice,
And to dance, and abroad to start:
I will give her leave to help you in that journey,
If that you and she may agree.

No, show me the very effect of your mind;
Will you go with me, or abide behind?

Abide behind! yea, that will I, and I may;
Therefore farewell till another day.

How should I be merry or glad?
For fair promises men to me make;
But, when I have most need, they me forsake;
I am deceived, that maketh me sad.

Cousin Everyman, farewell now;
For verily I will not go with you:
Also of mine own life an unready reckoning
I have to account, therefore I make tarrying;
Now God keep thee, for now I go.

Ah, Jesu, is all come hereto?
Lo, fair words maketh fools fain;[87]
They promise, and nothing will do certain.
My kinsmen promised me faithfully,
For to abide with me steadfastly;
And now fast away do they flee:
Even so Fellowship promised me.
What friend were best me of to provide?
I lose my time here longer to abide;
Yet in my mind a thing there is:
All my life I have loved riches;
If that my Good now help me might,
It would make my heart full light:
I will speak to him in this distress:
Where art thou, my Goods and Riches?

Who calleth me? Everyman? what, hast thou haste?
I lie here in corners trussed and piled so high,
And in chests I am locked so fast,
Also sacked in bags, thou mayest see with thine eye,
I cannot stir; in packs, lo, where I lie!
What would ye have, lightly me say.

Come hither, Good, in all the haste thou may;
For of counsel I must desire thee.

Sir, and ye in the world have sorrow or adversity,
That can I help you to remedy shortly.

It is another disease that grieveth me;
In this world it is not, I tell thee so,
I am sent for another way to go,
To give a strait account general
Before the highest Jupiter of all:
And all my life I have had my pleasure in thee,
Therefore I pray thee now go with me;
For, peraventure, thou mayest before God Almighty
My reckoning help to clean and purify,
For it is said ever among,
That money maketh all right that is wrong.

Nay, nay, Everyman, I sing another song;
I follow no man in such voyages,
For, and I went with thee,
Thou shouldest fare much the worse for me:
For because on me thou diddest set thy mind,
Thy reckoning I have made blotted and blind,
That thine account thou cannot make truly;
And that hast thou for the love of me.

That would grieve me full sore,
When I should come to that fearful answer:
Up, and let us go thither together.

Nay, not so; I am too brittle, I may not endure:
I will follow no man one foot, be ye sure.

Alas! I have thee loved, and had great pleasure
All my life-days on my good and treasure.

That is to thy damnation without lesing,
For my love is contrary to the love everlasting;
But if thou had me loved moderately during,
As to the poor give part for the love of me,
Then shouldest thou not in this dolour have be,
Nor in this great sorrow and care.

Lo, now was I deceived, ere I was ware,
And all, I may wete, mis-spending of time.

What, wenest thou that I am thine?

I had went[88] so.

Nay, Everyman, I say no:
As for a while I was lent thee;
A season thou hast had me in prosperity;
My condition is man's soul to kill,
If I save one, a thousand I do spill:
Weenest thou that I will follow thee?
Nay, not fro this world, verily.

I had weened otherwise.

Therefore to thy soul Good is a thief,
For when thou art dead, this is my guise,
Another to deceive in the same wise,
As I have do thee, and all to his soul's reprefe.

O false Good, cursed may thou be,
Thou traitor to God, thou hast deceived me,
And caught me in thy snare.

Marry, thou brought thyself in care,
Whereof I am right glad:
I must needs laugh, I cannot be sad.

Ah, Good, thou hast had long my hearty love;
I gave thee that which should be the Lord's above:
But wilt thou not go with me indeed?
I pray thee truth to say.

No, so God me speed;
Therefore farewell, and have good day.

Oh, to whom shall I make my moan,
For to go with me in that heavy journey?
First Fellowship he said he would with me gone;
His words were very pleasant and gay,
But afterward he left me alone.
Then spake I to my kinsmen all in despair,
And also they gave me words fair,
They lacked no fair speaking;
But all forsake me in the ending.
Then went I to my Goods that I loved best,
In hope to have found comfort; but there had I least:
For my Goods sharply did me tell,
That he bringeth many in hell.
Then of myself I was ashamed,
And so I am worthy to be blamed:
Thus may I well myself hate.
Of whom shall I now counsel take?
I think that I shall never speed,
Till that I go to my Good Deed;
But, alas! she is so weak,
That she can nother go nor speak:
Yet will I venter on her now.
My Good Deeds, where be you?

Here I lie cold in the ground;
Thy sins have me so sore bound,
That I cannot stir.

O Good Deeds, I stand in great fear;
I must you pray of counsel,
For help now should come right well.

Everyman, I have understanding,
That thou art summoned account to make
Before Messias of Jerusalem King;
And you do by me, that journey with[89] you will I take.

Therefore I come to you my moan to make:
I pray you, that ye will go with me.

I would full fain, but I cannot stand verily.

Why, is there anything on you fall?

Yea, sir, I may thank you of all;
If ye had perfectly cheered me,
Your book of account full ready now had be.
Look, the books of your works and deeds eke!
Behold how they lie under the feet,
To your soul's heaviness.

Our Lord Jesus help me,
For one letter herein can I not see.

Here is a blind reckoning in time of distress!

Good Deeds, I pray you, help me in this need,
Or else I am for ever damned indeed;
Therefore help me to make my reckoning
Before the Redeemer of all thing,
That king is, and was, and ever shall.

Everyman, I am sorry of your fall,
And fain would I help you, and I were able.

Good Deeds, your counsel, I pray you, give me.

That shall I do verily:
Though that on my feet I may not go,
I have a sister that shall with you also,
Called Knowledge, which shall with you abide,
To help you to make that dreadful reckoning.
                                [Enter Knowledge.

Everyman, I will go with thee, and be thy guide,
In thy most need to go by thy side.

In good condition I am now in every thing,
And am wholly content with this good thing,
Thanked be God my Creature.[90]

And when he hath brought thee there,
Where thou shalt heal thee of thy smart,
Then go thou with thy reckoning and thy good deeds together.
For to make thee joyful at the heart
Before the blessed Trinity.

My Good Deeds, I thank thee heartfully:
I am well content certainly
With your words sweet.

Now go we together lovingly
To Confession, that cleansing river.

For joy I weep: I would we there were;
But I pray you to instruct me by intellection,[91]
Where dwelleth that holy virtue Confession?

In the house of salvation;
We shall find him in that place,
That shall us comfort by God's grace.
Lo, this is Confession: kneel down, and ask mercy;
For he is in good conceit with God Almighty.

O glorious fountain that all uncleanness doth clarify,
Wash from me the spots of vices unclean,
That on me no sin may be seen;
I come with Knowledge for my redemption,
Redempt with heart and full contrition,
For I am commanded a pilgrimage to take,
And great accounts before God to make.
Now I pray you, Shrift, mother of salvation,
Help hither my good deeds for my piteous exclamation.

I know your sorrow well, Everyman:
Because with Knowledge ye come to me,
I will you comfort as well as I can;
And a precious jewel I will give thee,
Called penance, voider[92] of adversity:
Therewith shall your body chastised be
With abstinence and perseverance in God's service;
Here shall you receive that scourge of me,
Which is penance strong that ye must endure,
Remember thy Saviour was scourged for thee
With sharp scourges, and suffered it patiently:
So must thou, ere thou pass thy pilgrimage.
Knowledge, keep him in this voyage,
And by that time Good Deeds will be with thee;
But in anywise be sure of mercy,
For your time draweth fast; and ye will saved be,
Ask God mercy, and he will grant truly:
When with the scourge of penance man doth him bind,
The oil of forgiveness then shall he find.

Thanked be God for his gracious work;
For now I will my penance begin:
This hath rejoiced and lighted my heart,
Though the knots be painful and hard within.

Everyman, look your penance that ye fulfil,
What pain that ever it to you be;
And I shall give you counsel at will,
How your account ye shall make clearly.

O eternal God, O heavenly figure,
O way of rightwiseness, O goodly vision,
Which descended down in a virgin pure,
Because he would Everyman redeem,
Which Adam forfeited by his disobedience,
O blessed Godhead, elect and high Divine,
Forgive me my grievous offence;
Here I cry thee mercy in this presence:
O ghostly treasure, O ransomer and redeemer!
Of all the world hope and conduyter,
Mirror of joy, foundation of mercy,
Which enlumineth heaven and earth thereby,
Hear my clamorous complaint, though it late be,
Receive my prayers of thy benignity,
Though I be a sinner most abominable,
Yet let my name be written in Moses' table.
O Mary, pray to the Maker of all thing
Me for to help at my ending,
And save me from the power of my enemy;
For Death assaileth me strongly:
And, Lady, that I may by mean of thy prayer
Of your son's glory to be partiner.
By the mean of his passion I it crave;
I beseek you help me my soul to save.
Knowledge, give me the scourge of penance,
My flesh therewith shall give acquittance;
I will now begin, if God give me grace.

Everyman, God give you time and space!
Thus I bequeath you in the hands of our Saviour;
Now may you make your reckoning sure.

In the name of all the Holy Trinity,
My body punished sore shall be,
Take this body for the sin of the flesh;
Also thou delightest to go gay and fresh;
And in the way of damnation thou did me bring,
Therefore suffer now strokes and punishing:
Now of penance I will wade the water clear,
To save me from purgatory, that sharp fire.[93]

I thank God, now I can walk and go,
And am delivered of my sickness and woe;
Therefore with Everyman I will go, and not spare,
His good works I will help him to declare.

Now, Everyman, be merry and glad;
Your Good Deeds cometh now, ye may not be sad:
Now is your Good Deeds whole and sound,
Going upright upon the ground.

My heart is light, and shall be evermore;
Now will I smite faster than I did before.

Everyman pilgrim, my special friend,
Blessed be thou without end;
For thee is prepared the eternal glory:
Ye have me made whole and sound,
Therefore I will bide by thee in every stound.

Welcome, my Good Deeds, now I hear thy voice,
I weep for very sweetness of love.

Be no more sad, but evermore rejoice,
God seeth thy living in His throne above;
Put on this garment to thy behove,
Which with your tears is now all wet,
Lest before God it be unsweet,
When ye to your journey's end come shall.

Gentle Knowledge, what do ye it call?

It is the garment of sorrow,
From pain it will you borrow;
Contrition it is,
That getteth forgiveness,
It pleaseth God passing-well.

Everyman, will you wear it for your hele?[94]

Now blessed be Jesu, Mary's son;
For now have I on true contrition:
And let us go now without tarrying.
Good Deeds, have we clear our reckoning?

Yea, indeed, I have here.

Then I trust we need not to fear;
Now, friends, let us not depart in twain.

Nay, Everyman, that will we not certain.

Yet must thou lead with thee
Three persons of great might.

Who should they be?

Discretion and Strength they hyght,[95]
And thy Beauty may not abide behind.

Also ye must call to mind
Your Five Wits[96] as for your councillors.

You must have them ready at all hours.

How shall I get them hither?

You must call them all together,
And they will hear you incontinent.

My friends, come hither, and be present,
Discretion, Strength, my Five Wits and Beauty.

Here at your will we be all ready;
What will ye that we should do?

That ye would with Everyman go,
And help him in his pilgrimage:
Advise you, will ye go with him or not in that voyage?

We will bring him all thither
To help and comfort him, ye may believe me.

So will we go with him altogether.

Almighty God, loved may Thou be;
I give Thee laud[97] that I have hither brought
Strength, Discretion, Beauty, Five Wits: lack I nought:
And my Good Deeds, with Knowledge clear,
All be in my company at my will here;
I desire no more to my business.[98]

And I Strength will by you stand in distress,
Though thou wouldest in battle fight on the ground.

And though it were thorow the world round,
We will not depart for sweet ne for sour.

No more will I unto death's hour,
Whatsoever thereof befall.

Everyman, advise you first of all,
Go with a good advisement and deliberation;
We all give you virtuous monition
That all shall be well.

My friends, hark what I will you tell;
I pray God reward you in His heavenly sphere:
Now hearken all that be here;
For I will make my testament
Here before you all present:
In alms half my good I will give with my hands twain
In the way of charity with good intent,
And the other half still shall remain:
I it bequeath to be returned there it ought to be.
This I do in despite of the fiend of hell,
To go quit[99] out of his peril[100]
Ever after this day.

Everyman, hearken what I will say;
Go to priesthood, I you advise,
And receive of him in any wise
The holy sacrament and ointment[101] together,
Then shortly see ye turn again hither,
We will all abide you here.

Yea, Everyman, hie you that ye ready were:
There is no emperor, king, duke, ne baron,
That of God hath commission,
As hath the least priest in the world being;
For of the blessed sacraments pure and benign
He beareth the keys, and thereof hath cure
For man's redemption, it is ever sure,
Which God for our soul's medicine
Gave us out of his heart with great pain,
Here in this transitory life for thee and me:
The blessed sacraments seven there be,
Baptism, confirmation, with priesthood good,
And the sacrament of God's precious flesh and blood,
Marriage, the holy extreme unction, and penance;
These seven be good to have in remembrance,
Gracious sacraments of high divinity.

Fain would I receive that holy body,
And meekly to my ghostly father I will go.

Everyman, that is the best that ye can do;
God will you to salvation bring,
For good priesthood exceedeth all other thing;
To us holy scripture they do teach,
And converteth man fro sin heaven to reach;
God hath to them more power given
Than to any angel that is in heaven:
With five words he may consecrate
God's body in flesh and blood to take,
And handleth his Maker between his hands,[102]
The priest bindeth and unbindeth all bands
Both in earth and in heaven;
He[103] ministers all the sacraments seven:
Though we kiss thy feet, thou wert worthy:
Thou art the surgeon that cureth sin deadly,
No remedy may we find under God,
But all only priesthood.
Everyman, God gave priest[s] that dignity,
And setteth them in His stead among us to be;
Thus be they above angels in degree.

If priests be good, it is so surely,
But when Jesu heng on the cross with great smart,
There he gave us out of his blessed heart
The same sacrament in great torment.
He sold them not to us, that Lord omnipotent;
Therefore Saint Peter the Apostle doth say,
That Jesus' curse hath all they,
Which God their Saviour do buy or sell,
Or they for any money do take or tell,
Sinful priests giveth the sinners example bad,
Their children sitteth by other men's fires, I have heard,
And some haunteth women's company,
With unclean life, as lusts of lechery;
These be with sin made blind.

I trust to God, no such may we find:
Therefore let us priesthood honour,
And follow their doctrine for our soul's succour;
We be their sheep, and they [our] shepherds be,
By whom we all be kept in surety.
Peace! for yonder I see Everyman come,
Which hath made true satisfaction.

Methink it is he indeed.

Now Jesu Christ be your alder[104] speed!
I have received the sacrament for my redemption,
And then mine extreme unction;
Blessed be all they that counselled me to take it:
And now, friends, let us go without longer respite;
I thank God that ye have tarried so long.
Now set each of you on this rod your hand,
And shortly follow me;
I go before, there I would be:
God be our guide.

Everyman, we will not fro you go,
Till ye have gone this voyage long.

I Discretion will bide by you also.

And though this pilgrimage be never so strong,
I will never part you fro:
Everyman, I will be as sure by thee,
As ever I was by Judas Maccabee.

Alas! I am so faint I may not stand,
My limbs under me do fold:
Friends, let us not turn again to this land,
Not for all the world's gold;
For into this cave must I creep,

And turn to the earth, and there to sleep.

What, into this grave? Alas!

Yea, there shall ye consume more and less.

And what, should I smother here?
Yea, by my faith, and never more appear;
In this world live no more we shall,
But in heaven before the highest Lord of all.

I cross out all this: adieu, by Saint John;
I take my cap in my lap, and am gone.

What, Beauty? whither will ye?

Peace! I am deaf, I look not behind me,
Not, and thou wouldst give me—all the gold in thy chest.

Alas! whereto may I now trust?
Beauty doth fast away hie:
She promised with me to live and die.

Everyman, I will thee also forsake and deny,
The game liketh me not at all.

Why then ye will forsake me all:
Strength, tarry, I pray you, a little space.

Nay, sir, by the rood of grace,
I will hie me from thee fast,
Though thou weep till thy heart brast.

Ye would ever bide by me, ye said.

Yea, I have you far enough conveyed:
Ye be old enough, I understand,
Your pilgrimage to take on hand;
I repent me, that I hither came.

Strength, you to displease I am to blame;
Yet promise is debt;[105] this ye well wot.

In faith, as for that I care not:
Thou art but a fool to complain;
Thou spendest thy speech and wasteth thy brain:
Go, thrist[106] thee into the ground.

I had ween'd surer I should you have found:
But I see well, he that trusteth in his Strength,
Is greatly deceived at the length;
Both Strength and Beauty hath forsaken me,
Yet they promised me steadfast to be.

Everyman, I will after Strength be gone;
As for me, I will leave you alone.

Why, Discretion, will ye forsake me?

Yea, in faith, I will go fro thee;
For when Strength is gone before,
Then I follow after evermore.

Yet, I pray thee, for love of the Trinity,
Look in my grave once piteously.

Nay, so nigh will I not come.
Now farewell, fellows everichone.[107]

Oh, all thing faileth, save God alone,
Beauty, Strength, and Discretion;
For, when Death bloweth his blast,
They all run fro me full fast.

Everyman, of thee now my leave I take;
I will follow the other, for here I thee forsake.

Alas! then may I both wail and weep;
For I took you for my best friend.

I will no lenger thee keep:
Now farewell, and here an end.

Now, Jesu, help! all hath forsaken me.

Nay, Everyman, I will abide with thee,
I will not forsake thee indeed;
Thou shalt find me a good friend at need.

Gramercy, Good Deeds, now may I true friends see
They have forsaken me everychone;
I loved them better than my good deeds alone:
Knowledge, will ye forsake me also?

Yea, Everyman, when ye to death shall go;
But not yet for no manner of danger.

Gramercy, Knowledge, with all my heart.

Nay, yet I will not from hence depart,
Till I see where ye shall be come.

Methinketh, alas! that I must be gone
To make my reckoning, and my debts pay;
For I see my time is nigh spent away.
Take ensample, all ye that this do hear or see,
How they that I loved best now forsake me;
Except my Good Deeds, that bideth truly.

All earthly things is but vanity,
Beauty, Strength, and Discretion do man forsake,
Foolish friends and kinsmen, that fair spake;
All fleeth save Good Deeds, and that am I.

Have mercy on me, God most mighty,
And stand by me, thou mother and maid Mary.

Fear not, I will speak for thee.

Here I cry, God mercy!

Short our end and minish our pain:
Let us go, and never come again.

Into thy hands, Lord, my soul I commend,
Receive it, Lord, that it be not lost;
As thou me boughtest, so me defend,
And save me fro the fiend's boast,
That I may appear with that blessed host
That shall be saved at the day of doom:
In manus tuas, of might most,
For ever commendo spiritum meum.
                                  [Everyman dies.

Now hath he suffered that we all shall endure:
The Good Deeds shall make all sure;
Now hath he made ending,
Methinketh that I hear angels sing,
And make great joy and melody,
Where Everyman's soul shall received be.

Come, excellent elect spouse to Jesu,
Here above thou shalt go.
Because of thy singular virtue:
Now thy soul is taken thy body fro,
Thy reckoning is crystal clear;
Now shalt thou into the heavenly sphere,
Unto the which all ye shall come
That liveth well, after the day of doom.

This memory all men may have in mind;
Ye hearers, take it of worth, old and young,
And forsake pride, for he deceiveth you in the end,
And remember Beauty, Five Wits, Strength, and Discretion,
They all at last do Everyman forsake,
Save his Good Deeds; [them he] there doth take:
But beware, for, and they be small,
Before God he hath no help at all;
None excuse may be there for Everyman:
Alas, how shall he do then?
For after death amends may no man make,
For then mercy and pity doth him forsake;
If his reckoning be not clear, when he doth come,
God will say, Ite, maledicti, in ignem aeternum;
And he that hath his account whole and sound,
High in heaven he shall be crowned;
Unto which place God bring us all thither,
That we may live body and soul together;
Thereto help the Trinity:
Amen, say ye, for Saint Charity.[108]

FINIS.

_Hyckescorner. [At the end:] Enprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde. 4°, Black letter.

Hycke scorner. [At the end:] Thus endeth the enterlude of Hycke scorner.
Imprinted at London in foster laene by John Waley. 4°, Black letter_.

This piece is printed from a black letter copy in Mr Garrick's collection,[109] of which the following is a very accurate analysis, extracted from Dr Percy's "Relics of Ancient English Poetry," vol. i. p. 130:—

"Hickscorner bears no distant resemblance to comedy: its chief aim seems to be to exhibit characters and manners, its plot being much less regular than the foregoing. The prologue is spoken by Pity, represented under the character of an aged pilgrim; he is joined by Contemplation and Perseverance, two holy men who, after lamenting the degeneracy of the age, declare their resolution of stemming the torrent. Pity then is left upon the stage, and presently found by Freewill, representing a lewd debauchee who, with his dissolute companion, Imagination, relate their manner of life, and not without humour describe the stews and other places of base resort. They are presently joined by Hickscorner, who is drawn as a libertine returned from travel, and agreeably to his name scoffs at religion. These three are described as extremely vicious, who glory in every act of wickedness. At length two of them quarrel, and Pity endeavours to part the fray; on this they fall upon him, and put him into the stocks, and then leave him. Pity then descants in a kind of lyric measure on the profligacy of the age, and in this situation is found by Perseverance and Contemplation, who set him at liberty, and advise him to go in search of the delinquents. As soon as he is gone, Freewill appears again, and after relating in a very comic manner some of his rogueries and escapes from justice, is rebuked by the two holy men who, after a long altercation, at length convert him and his libertine companion, Imagination, from their vicious course of life, and then the play ends with a few verses from Perseverance, by way of epilogue.

"It would be needless to point out the absurdities in the plan and conduct of the foregoing play: they are evidently great. It is sufficient to observe that, bating the moral and religious reflections of Pity, &c., the piece is of a comic caste, and contains a humorous display of some of the vices of the age. Indeed, the author has generally been so little attentive to the allegory, that we need only substitute other names to his personages, and we have real characters and living manners."

The woodcuts prefixed to this and the foregoing play were very minutely traced and executed by a masterly hand; and there being something singular in giving the portraits of the dramatis personae, it is presumed the following will be particularly pleasing to the reader.[110]

[It appears to have been from this drama or interlude, that the saying arose of "Hickscorner's jests." (See Mr J.P. Collier's Diary, part iii. p. 13.)]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Now Jesu the gentle, that brought Adam fro hell,
Save you all, sovereigns, and solace you send:
And, of this matter that I begin to tell,
I pray you of audience, till I have made an end;
For I say to you, my name is Pity,
That ever yet hath been man's friend.
In the bosom of the second person in Trinity
I sprang as a plant, man's miss to amend;
You for to help I put to my hand:
Record I take of Mary that wept tears of blood;
I Pity within her heart did stand;
When she saw her son on the rood,
The sword of sorrow gave that lady wound;
When a spear clave her son's heart asunder,
She cried out, and fell to the ground;
Though she was woe, it was little wonder,
This delicate colour [had] that goodly lady,
Full pale and wan, she saw her son all dead,
Splayed on a cross with the five wells of pity,
Of purple velvet powdered with roses red.
Lo, I Pity thus made your errand to be sped,
Or else man for ever should have been forlore.
A maiden so laid his life to wed,
Crowned as a king the thorns pricked him sore.
Charity and I of true love leads the double rein;
Whoso me loveth damned never shall be.
Of some virtuous company I would be fain;
For all that will to heaven needs must come by me,
Chief porter I am in that heavenly city,
And now here will I rest me a little space,
Till it please Jesu of his grace
Some virtuous fellowship for to send.

Christ that was christened, crucified, and crowned,
In his bosom true love was gaged with a spear,
His veins brast and bruised, and to a pillar bound,
With scourges he was lashed, the knots the skin tare,
On his neck to Calvary the great cross he bare,
His blood ran to the ground, as Scripture doth tell:
His burden was so heavy, that down under it he fell,
Lo, I am kin to the Lord, which is God's son;
My name is written foremost in the book of life,
For I am perfect Contemplation,
And brother to holy church that is our Lord's wife.
John Baptist, Anthony, and Jerome, with many mo,
Followed me here in holt,[111] heath, and in wilderness;
I ever with them went where they did go,
Night and day toward the way of rightwiseness:
I am the chief lantern of all holiness,
Of prelates and priests I am their patron;
No armour so strong in no distress,
Habergeon, helm, ne yet no Jeltron,
To fight with Satan am I the champion,
That dare abide, and manfully stand:
Fiends flee away, where they see me come;
But I will show you why I came to this land
For to preach and teach of God's sooth saws,
Ayenst vice that doth rebel ayenst him and his laws.

God speed, good brother; fro whence came you now?

Sir, I came from Perseverance to seek you.

Why, sir, know you me?

Yea, sir, and have done long; your name is Pity.

Your name fain would I know.

Indeed I am called Contemplation,
That useth to live solitarily;
In woods and in wildness[112] I walk alone,
Because I would say my prayers devoutly;
I love not with me to have much company:
But Perseverance oft with me doth meet,
When I think on thoughts that is full heavenly;
Thus he and I together full sweetly doth sleep.

I thank God that we be met together.

Sir, I trust that Perseverance shortly will come hither.

Then I think to hear some good tiding.

I warrant you, brother, that he is coming.

The eternal God, that named was Messias,
He give you grace to come to his glory,
Wherever is joy in the celestial place,
When you of Satan winneth the victory,
Everyman ought to be glad to have in company,
For I am named good Perseverance,
That ever is guided by virtuous governance;
I am never variable, but doth continue,
Still going upward the ladder of grace,
And lode in me planted is so true,
And from the poor man I will never turn my face:
When I go by myself oft I do remember
The great kindness that God showed unto man,
For to be born in the month of December,
When the day waxeth short, and the night long,
Of his goodness that champion strong
Descended down fro the Father of rightwiseness,
And rested in Mary the flower of meekness.
Now to this place hither come I am
To seek Contemplation my kinsman.

What, brother Perseverance? ye be welcome.

And so be you also, Contemplation.

Lo, here is our master Pity.

Now truly ye be welcome into this country.

I thank ye heartily, sir Perseverance.

Master Pity, one thing is come to my remembrance;
What tithings hear you now?

Sir, such as I can I shall show you:
I have heard many men complain piteously;
They say they be smitten with the swerd of poverty.
In every place where I do go:
Few friends poverty doth find,
And these rich men been unkind;
For their neighbours they will nought do,
Widows doth curse lords and gentle men,
For they constrain them to marry with their men,
Yea, whether they will or no:
Men marry for good,[113] and that is damnable,
Yea, with old women that is fifty and beyond:
The peril now no man dread will;
All is not God's law that is used in land;
Beware will they not, till death in his hand
Taketh his sword, and smiteth asunder the life vein,
And with his mortal stroke cleaveth the heart atwain:
They trust so in mercy, the lantern of brightness,
That no thing do they dread God's rightwiseness.

O Jesu, sir, here is a heavy tiding.

Sir, this is true, that I do bring.

How am I beloved, master Pity, where ye come?

In good faith, people have now small devotion;
And as for with you, brother Contemplation,
There meddleth few or none.

Yet, I trust, that priests love me well?

But a few, i-wis, and some never a deal.

Why, sir, without me they may not live clean.

Nay, that is the least thought that they have of fifteen;
And that maketh me full heavy.

How, trow you that there be no remedy?

Full hard, for sin is now so grievous and ill,
That I think that it be growen to an impossible,
And yet one thing maketh me ever mourning:
That priests lack utterance to show their cunning;
And all the while that clerks do use so great sin,
Among the lay people look never for no mending.

Alas, that is a heavy case,
That so great sin is used in every place;
I pray God it amend.

Now God, that ever hath been man's friend,
Some better tidings soon us send!
For now I must be gone.
Farewell, good brethren here;
A great errand I have elsewhere,
That must needs be done:
I trust I will not long tarry;
Thither will I hie me shortly,
And come again, when I have done.

Hither again, I trust, you will come;
Therefore God be with you.

Sir, needs I must depart now;
Jesu me speed this day.

Now, brother Contemplation, let us go our way.

Aware, fellows, and stand a-room:
How say you? am not I a goodly person?
I trow, you know not such a guest:
What, sirs, I tell you, my name is Freewill,
I may choose whether I do good or ill;
But for all that I will do, as me list:
My conditions ye know not, perdè,
I can fight, chide, and be merry;
Full soon of my company ye would be weary,
And ye knew all.
What, fill the cup, and make good cheer!
I trow I have a noble here:
Who lent it me? By Christ, a frere;
And I gave him a fall.
Where be ye, sir? be ye at home?
Cock's passion, my noble is turned to a stone.
Where lay I last? Beshrew your heart, John;
Now, by these bones, she hath beguiled me:
Let see; a penny my supper, a piece of flesh ten-pence;
My bed right nought: let all this expense—
Now, by these bones, I have lost a halfpenny.
Who lay there? my fellow Imagination;
He and I had good communication
Of Sir John and Sybil,
How they were spied in bed together;
And he prayed her oft to come hither,
For to sing lo, le, lo, lowe.
They twain together had good sport;
But at the stews' side I lost a groat:
I trow I shall never i-the.[114]
My fellow promised me here to meet,
But I trow the whoreson be asleep
With a wench somewhere.
How, Imagination, come hither,
And you thrive, I lose a feather;
Beshrew your heart, appear.

What, how, how, who called after me?

Come near, ye shall never i-the,
Where have ye be so long?

By God, with me it is all wrong,
I have a pair of sore buttocks,
All in irons was my song,
Even now I sat gyved in a pair of stocks.

Cock's passion, and how so?

Sir, I will tell you what I have do:
I met with a wench, and she was fair,
And of love heartily I did pray her,
And so promised her money:
Sir, she winked on me, and said nought,
But by her look I knew her thought;
Then into love's dance we were brought,
That we played the pyrdewy:
I wot not what we did together,
But a knave catchpole nighed us near,
And so did us aspy;
A stripe he gave me, I fled my touch,
And from my girdle he plucked my pouch:
By your leave he left me never a penny:
Lo, nought have I but a buckle,
And yet I can imagine things subtle
For to get money plenty;
In Westminster Hall every term I am,
To me is kin many a great gentleman,
I am knowen in every country;
And I were dead, the lawyers' thrift were lost:
For this will I do, if men would do cost,
Prove right wrong, and all by reason,
And make men lese both house and land,
For all that they can do in a little season,
Peach men of treason privily I can,
And when me list, to hang a true man.
If they will be money tell,
Thieves I can help out of prison,
And into lords' favours I can get me soon,
And be of their privy council.
But, Freewill, my dear brother,
Saw you nought of Hickscorner?
He promised me to come hither.

Why, sir, knowest thou him?

Yea, yea, man; he is full nigh of my kin,
And in Newgate we dwelled together;
For he and I were both shackled in a fetter.

Sir, lay you beneath or on high on the seller?[115]

Nay, i-wis, among the thickest of yeomen of the collar.[116]

By God, then you were in great fear.

Sir, had I not been, two hundred had been thrust in an halter.

And what life have they there, all that great sort?

By God, sir, once a year some taw halts of Burport:[117]
Yea, at Tyburn there standeth the great frame.
And some take a fall that maketh their neck lame.

Yea, but can they then go no more?

Oh, no, man; the wrest is twist so sore,
For as soon as they have said In manus tuas once,
By God, their breath is stopped at once.

Why, do they pray in that place there?

Yea, sir, they stand in great fear,
And so fast tangled in that snare,
It falleth to their lot to have the same share.

That is a knavish sight to see them totter on a beam.

Sir, the whoresons could not convey[118] clean;
For, and they could have carried by craft as I can,
In process of years each of them should be a gentleman.
Yet as for me I was never thief;
If my hands were smitten off, I can steal with my teeth;
For ye know well, there is craft in daubing:[119]
I can look in a man's face and pick his purse,
And tell new tidings that was never true, i-wis,
For my hood is all lined with lesing.[120]

Yea, but went ye never to Tyburn a pilgrimage?

No, i-wis; nor none of my lineage,
For we be clerks all, and can our neck verse,
And with an ointment the judge's hand I can grease,
That will heal sores that be incurable.

Why, were ye never found reprovable?

Yes, once I stall a horse in the field,
And leapt on him for to have ridden my way:
At the last a baily me met and beheld,
And bad me stand; then was I in a fray:
He asked, whither with that horse I would gone;
And then I told him it was mine own:
He said I had stolen him; and I said nay:
This is, said he, my brother's hackney.
For, and I had not excused me, without fail,
By our lady, he would have lad me straight to jail;
And then I told him the horse was like mine,
A brown bay, a long mane, and did halt behine,
Thus I told him, that such another horse I did lack;
And yet I never saw him, nor came on his back:
So I delivered him the horse again.
And when he was gone, then was I fain:
For and I had not excused me the better,
I know well I should have danced in a fetter.

And said he no more to thee but so?

Yea, he pretended me much harm to do;
But I told him that morning was a great mist,
That what horse it was I ne wist:
Also I said, that in my head I had the megrin,
That made me dazzle so in mine eyen,
That I might not well see.
And thus he departed shortly from me.

Yea, but where is Hickscorner now?

Some of these young men hath hid him in
Their bosoms, I warrant ye:
Let us make a cry, that he may us hear.

How now, Hickscorner, appear;
I trow thou be hid in some corner.

Ale[121] the helm, ale, veer, shoot off, veer sail, veer-a.

Cock's body, hark, he is a ship on the sea.

God speed, God speed; who called after me?

What, brother, welcome by this precious body;
I am glad that I you see,
It was told me that you were hanged;
But out of what country come ye?

Sirs, I have been in many a country;
As in France, Ireland, and in Spain,
Portingal, Sevile, also in Almaine;
Friesland, Flanders, and in Burgoine,
Calabria, Pugle,[122] and Erragon,[123]
Britain, Biske, and also in Gascoine,
Naples, Greece, and in middes of Scotland;
At Cape,[124] Saint Vincent, and in the new found island,[125]
I have been in Gene[126] and in Cowe,
Also in the land of Rumbelow,[127]
Three mile out of hell;
At Rhodes, Constantine, and in Babylon[128]
In Cornwall, and in Northumberland,
Where men seethe rushes in gruel;
Yea, sir, in Chaldsea, Tartary, and India,
And in the Land of Women, that few men doth find:
In all these countries have I be.

Sir, what tidings hear ye now on the sea?

We met of ships a great navy,
Full of people that would into Ireland;
And they came out of this country:
They will never more come to England.

Whence were the ships of them? knowest thou none?

Harken, and I will show you their names each one:
First was the Regent, with the Michael of Brikilse;
The George, with the Gabriel, and the Anne of Fowey;
The Star of Saltash, with the Jesus of Plymouth;
Also the Hermitage, with the Barbara of Dartmouth,
The Nicolas and the Mary Bellouse of Bristow,
With the Ellen of London and James also:
Great was the people that was in them,
All true religious and holy women:
There was Truth and his kinsmen,
With Patience, Meekness, and Humility,
And all true maidens with their virginity,
Royal preachers, sadness and charity,
Right conscience and faith, with devotion,
And all true monks that keep their religion,
True buyers and sellers, and alms-deed doers,
Piteous people, that he of sin destroyers,
With just abstinence and good councillors,
Mourners for sin, with lamentation,
And good rich men that helpeth folk out of prison,
True wedlock was there also,
With young men that ever in prayer did go,
The ships were laden with such unhappy company,
But at the last God shope[129] a remedy,
For they all in the sea were drowned,
And on a quicksand they strake to ground;
The sea swallowed them everychone,
I wot well alive there scaped none.

Lo, now my heart is glad and merry;
For joy now let us sing "Derry, derry."

Fellows, they shall never more us withstand;
For I see them all drowned in the Rase of Ireland.

Yea, but yet hark, Hickscorner,
What company was in your ship, that came over?

Sir, I will aid[130] you to understand,
There were good fellows above five thousand,
And all they been kin to us three:
There was falsehood, favell,[131] and jollity,
Yea, thieves, and whores, with other good company,
Liars, backbiters, and flatterers the while,
Brawlers, liars, jetters, and chiders,
Walkers by night, with great murderers,
Overthwart guile[rs] and jolly carders,
Oppressors of people, with many swearers,
There was false law with horrible vengeance,
Froward obstination with mischievous governance,
Wanton wenches, and also michers,
With many other of the devil's officers;
And hatred, that is so mighty and strong,
Hath made a vow for ever to dwell in England.

But is that true, that thou dost show now?

Sir, every word as I do tell you.

Of whence is your ship? of London?

Yea, i-wis from thence did she come;
And she is named The Envy,
I tell you, a great vessel and a mighty:
The owner of her is called Ill-Will,
Brother to Jack Poller of Shooter's-Hill.

Sir, what office in the ship bare ye?

Marry, I kept a fair shop of bawdry,
I had three wenches that were full praty,
Jane true and thriftless, and wanton Sybil,
If you ride her a journey, she will make you weary,
For she is trusty at need:
If ye will hire her for your pleasure,
I warrant, tire her shall ye never,
She is so sure in deed;
Ride, and you will, ten times a-day,
I warrant you she will never say nay,
My life I dare lay to wed.[132]

Now pluck up your hearts, and make good cheer;
These tidings liketh me wonder well,
Now virtue shall draw arear arear:
Hark, fellows, a good sport I can you tell,
At the stews we will lie to-night,
And by my troth, if all go right,
I will beguile some praty wench,
To get me money at a pinch.
How say you? shall we go thither?
Let us keep company altogether,
And I would that we had God's curse,
If we somewhere do not get a purse;
Every man bear his dagger naked in his hand,
And if we meet a true man, make him stand,
Or else that he bear a stripe;
If that he struggle, and make any work,
Lightly strike him to the heart,
And throw him into Thames quite.

Nay, three knaves in a leash is good at nale:[133]
But thou lubber Imagination,
That cuckold thy father, where is he become?
At Newgate doth he lie still at jail?

Avaunt, whoreson, thou shalt bear me a stripe;
Say'st thou, that my mother was a whore?

Nay, sir, but the last night
I saw Sir John and she tumbled on the floor.

Now, by Cock's heart, thou shalt lose an arm.

Nay, sir, I charge you do him no harm.

And thou make too much, I will break thy head too.

By Saint Mary, and I wist that, I would be ago.

Aware, aware! the whoreson shall aby,
His priest will I be, by Cock's body.

Keep peace, lest knaves' blood be shed.

By God, if his was nought, mine was as bad.

By Cock's heart, he shall die on this dagger.

By our Lady, then will ye be strangled in a halter.

The whoreson shall eat him,[134] as far as he shall wade.

Beshrew your heart, and put up your blade,
Sheathe your whittle, or by Jis,[135] that was never born,
I will rap you on the costard with my horn;
What, will ye play all the knave?

By Cock's heart, and thou a buffet shalt have.

Lo, sirs, here is a fair company, God us save;
For if any of us three be mayor of London,
I-wis, i-wis, I will ride to Rome on my thumb:
Alas! ah, see; is not this a great feres?
I would they were in a mill-pool above the ears;
And then I durst warrant, they would depart anon.

Help, help, for the passion of my soul;
He hath made a great hole in my poll,
That all my wit is set to the ground:
Alas! a leech for to help my wound.

Nay, i-wis, whoreson, I will bite thee, ere I go.

Alas! good sir, what have I do?

Ware, make room, he shall have a stripe, I trow.

Peace, peace, sirs, I command you.

Avaunt, old churl; whence comest thou?
And thou make too much, I shall break thy brow,
And send thee home again.

Ah, good sir, the peace I would have kept fain;
Mine office is to see no man slain;
And where they do amiss, to give them good counsel,
Sin to forsake, and God's law them tell.

Ah, sir, I ween'd thou hadst been drowned and gone:
But I have spied, that there scaped one.

Imagination, do by the counsel of me,
Be agreed with Freewill, and let us good fellows be;
And then, as for this churl Pity,
Shall curse the time that ever he came to land.

Brother Freewill, give me your hand,
And all mine ill will I forgive thee.

Sir, I thank you heartily;
But what shall we do with this churl Pity?

I will go to him, and pick a quarrel,
And make him a thief, and say he did steal
Of mine forty pound in a bag.

By God, that tidings will make him sad;
And I will go fetch a pair of gyves,
For in good faith he shall be set fast by the heels.

Have ado lightly, and be gone,
And let us twain with him alone.

Now, farewell, I beshrew you everychone.

Ho, ho, Freewill you threw, and no mo.

Thou lewd fellow, say'st thou that thy name is Pity?
Who sent thee hither to control me?

Good sir, it is my property
For to despise sinful living,
And unto virtue men to bring,
If that they will do after me.

What, sir, art thou so pure holy?
Ah, see, this caitiff would be praised, I trow;
And you thrive this year, I will lose a penny.
Lo, sirs, outward he beareth a fair face;
But, and he meet with a wench in a privy place,
I trow he would show her but little grace:
By God, ye may trust me.

Lo, will ye not see this caitiff's meaning?
He would destroy us all, and all our kin,
Yet had I liever see him hanged by the chin,
Rather than that should be brought about;
And with this dagger thou shalt have a clout,
Without thou wilt be lightly be gone.

Nay, brother, lay hand on him soon;
For he japed my wife, and made me cuckold,
And yet the traitor was so bold,
That he stale forty pound of mine in money.

By Saint Mary, then he shall not scape;
We will lead him straight to Newgate,
For ever there shall he lie.

Ah, see, ah, see, sirs, what I have brought,
A medicine for a pair of sore shins;
At the King's Bench, sirs, I have you sought,
But I pray you, who shall wear these?

By God, this fellow that may not go hence,
I will go give him these hose rings;
Now, i-faith, they be worth forty pence,
But to his hands I lack two bonds.

Hold, whoreson, here is an halter;
Bind him fast, and make him sure.

O men, let truth, that is the true man,
Be your guider, or else ye be forlorn;
Lay no false witness, as nigh as ye can,
On none; for afterward ye will repent it full sore.

Nay, nay, I care not therefore.

Yea, when my soul hangeth on the hedge-cast stones,
For I tell thee plainly by Cock's bones,
Thou shalt be guided, and laid in irons,
They fared even so.

Well-a-way,[136] sir, what have I do?

Well, well, that thou shalt know, ere thou go.

O sirs, I see it cannot be amended,
You do me wrong, for I have not offended:
Remember God that is our heaven king,
For he will reward you after your deserving;
When death with his mace doth you arrest;
We all to him owe fea'ty and service,
From the ladder of life down he will thee thrust,
Then mastership may not help, nor great office.

What, death, and he were here, he should sit by thee;
Trowest thou, that he be able to strive with us three?
Nay, nay, nay.

Well, fellows, now let us go our way;
For at Shooter's Hill we have a game to play.

In good faith, I will tarry no lenger space.

Beshrew him for me, that is last out of this place.

Lo, Lords, they may curse the time they were born,
For the weeds that overgroweth the corn,
They troubled me guiltless, and wote not why,
For God's love yet will I suffer patiently:
We all may say well-a-way, for sin that is now-a-day.
Lo, virtue is vanished for ever and aye;
Worse was it never.[137]
We have plenty of great oaths,
And cloth enough in our clothes,
But charity many men loathes,
Worse was it never.
Alas, now is lechery called love indeed,
And murder named manhood in every need,
Extortion is called law, so God me speed;
Worse was it never.
Youth walketh by night with swords and knives,
And ever among true men leseth their lives,
Like heretics we occupy other men's wives,
Now-a-days in England:
Bawds be the destroyers of many young women,
And full lewd counsel they give unto them;
How you do marry, beware, you young men,
The wise never tarrieth too long;
There be many great scorners,
But for sin there be few mourners;
We have but few true lovers
In no place now-a-days;
There be many goodly-gilt knaves,
And I know, as many apparelled wives,
Yet many of them be unthrifty of their lives,
And all set in pride to go gay.
Mayors on sin doeth no correction,
While[138] gentle men beareth truth adown;
Avoutry[139] is suffered in every town,
Amendment is there none,
And God's commandments we break them all ten.
Devotion is gone many days sin.[140]
Let us amend us we true Christian men,
Ere death make you groan.
Courtiers go gay, and take little wages,
And many with harlots at the tavern haunts,
They be yeomen of the wreath that be shackled in gyves;
On themselves they have no pity:
God punisheth full sore with great sickness,
As pox, pestilence, purple, and axes,
Some dieth suddenly that death full perilous,
Yet was there never so great poverty.
There be some sermons made by noble doctors;
But truly the fiend doth stop men's ears,
For God nor good man some people not fears;
Worse was it never.
All truth is not best said,
And our preachers now-a-days be half afraid:
When we do amend, God would be well apaid;
Worse was it never.

What, Master Pity, how is it with you?

Sir, we be sorry to see you in this case now.

Brethren, here were three perilous men,
Freewill, Hickscorner, and Imagination;
They said, I was a thief, and laid felony upon me,
And bound me in irons, as ye may see.

Where be the traitors become now?

In good faith, I cannot show you.

Brother, let us unbind him of his bonds.

Unloose the feet and the hands.

I thank you for your great kindness,
That you two show in this distress;
For they were men without any mercy,
That delighteth all in mischief and tyranny.

I think, they will come hither again,
Freewill and Imagination, both twain:
Them will I exhort to virtuous living,
And unto virtue them to bring,
By the help of you, Contemplation.

Do my counsel, brother Pity;
Go you, and seek them through the country,
In village, town, borough, and city,
Throughout all the realm of England:
When you them meet, lightly them arrest,
And in prison put them fast,
Bind them sure in irons strong;
For they be so fast and subtle;
That they will you beguile,
And do true men wrong.

Brother Pity, do as he hath said,
In every quarter look you espy,
And let good watch for them be laid,
In all the haste that thou can, and that privily;
For, and they come hither, they shall not scape,
For all the craft that they can make.

Well, then will I hie me as fast as I may,
And travel through every country;
Good watch shall be laid in every way,
That they steal not into sanctuary.
Now farewell, brethren, and pray for me;
For I must go hence in deed.

Now God be your good speed.

And ever you defend, when you have need.

Now, brethren both, I thank you.

Make you room for a gentleman, sirs, and peace;
"Dieu garde, seigneurs, tout le preasse,"[141]
And of your jangling if ye will cease,
I will tell you where I have been:
Sirs, I was at the tavern, and drank wine,
Methought I saw a piece that was like mine,
And, sir, all my fingers were arrayed[142] with lime,
So I conveyed a cup mannerly:
And yet, i-wis, I played all the fool,
For there was a scholar of mine own school;
And, sir, the whoreson espied me.
Then was I 'rested, and brought in prison;
For woe then I wist not what to have done,
And all because I lacked money,
But a friend in court is worth a penny in purse:[143]
For Imagination, mine own fellow, i-wis,
He did help me out full craftily.
Sirs, he walked through Holborn,
Three hours after the sun was down,
And walked up towards Saint Giles-in-the-Field:
He hoved still, and there beheld,
But there he could not speed of his prey,
And straight to Ludgate he took the way;
Ye wot well, that pothecaries walk very late,
He came to a door and privily spake
To a prentice for a penny-worth of euphorbium,[144]
And also for a halfpenny-worth of alum plumb;
This good servant served him shortly,
And said, is there ought else that you would buy?
Then he asked for a mouthful of quick brimstone;[145]
And down into the cellar, when the servant was gone,
Aside as he kest[146] his eye,
A great bag of money did he spy,
Therein was an hundred pound:
He trussed him to his feet, and yede his way round,
He was lodged at Newgate at the Swan,
And every man took him for a gentleman;
So on the morrow he delivered me
Out of Newgate by this policy:
And now will I dance and make royal cheer.
But I would Imagination were here,
For he is peerless at need;
Labour to him, sirs, if ye will your matters speed.
Now will I sing, and lustily spring;
But when my fetters on my legs did ring,
I was not glad, perde; but now Hey, troly, loly,
Let us see who can descant on this same;
To laugh and get money, it were a good game,
What, whom have we here?
A priest, a doctor, or else a frere.
What, Master Doctor Dotypoll?
Cannot you preach well in a black boll,
Or dispute any divinity?
If ye be cunning, I will put it in a prefe:[147]
Good sir, why do men eat mustard with beef?
By question can you assoil me?

Peace, man, thou talkest lewdly,
And of thy living, I reed,[148] amend thee.

Avaunt, caitiff, dost thou thou me!
I am come of good kin, I tell thee!
My mother was a lady of the stews' blood born,
And (knight of the halter) my father ware an horn;
Therefore I take it in full great scorn,
That thou shouldest thus check me.

Abide, fellow, thou hast little courtesy,
Thou shalt be charmed, ere thou hence pass,
For thou troubled Pity, and laid on him felony:
Where is Imagination, thy fellow that was?

I defy you both; will you arrest me?

Nay, nay; thy great words may not help thee,
Fro us thou shalt not escape.

Make room, sirs, that I may break his pate;
I will not be taken for them both.

Thou shalt abide, whether thou be lief or loth;
Therefore, good son, listen unto me,
And mark these words that I do tell thee:
Thou hast followed thine own will many a day,
And lived in sin without amendment;
Therefore in thy conceit essay
To axe God mercy, and keep His commandment,
Then on thee He wilt have pity,
And bring thee to heaven that joyful city.

What, whoreson? Will ye have me now a fool?
Nay, yet had I liever be captain of Calais;
For, and I should do after your school,
To learn to patter to make me peevish,
Yet had I liever look with a face full thievish:
And therefore, prate no lenger here,
Lest my knave's fist hit you under the ear.
What, ye daws, would ye reed me
For to lese my pleasure in youth and jollity,
To bass and kiss my sweet trully mully,
As Jane, Kate, Bess, and Sybil?
I would that hell were full of such prims,
Then would I renne thither on my pins,
As fast as I might go.

Why, sir, wilt thou not love virtue,
And forsake thy sin for the love of God Almighty?

What God Almighty, by God's fast at Salisbury,
And I trow Easter-day fell on Whitsunday that year,
There were five score save an hundred in my company,
And at petty Judas we made royal cheer,
There had we good ale of Michaelmas brewing;
There heaven-high leaping and springing,
And thus did I
Leap out of Bordeaux unto Canterbury,
Almost ten mile between.

Freewill, forsake all this world wilfully here,
And change by time; thou oughtest to stand in fear;
For fortune will turn her wheel so swift,
That clean fro thy wealth she will thee lift.

What, lift me, who? and Imagination were here now,
I-wis with his fist he would all-to clout you:
Hence, whoreson, tarry no lenger here;
For by Saint Pintle the apostle I swear,
That I will drive you both home,
And yet I was never wont to fight alone:
Alas, that I had not one to bold[149] me,
Then you should see me play the man shamefully;
Alas, it would do me good to fight;
How say you, lords, shall I smite?
Have among you, by this light:
Hence, whoresons, and home at once,
Or with my weapon I shall break your bones.
Avaunt, you knave: walk, by my counsel.

Son, remember the great pains of hell,
They are so horrible that no tongue can tell;
Beware, lest thou thither do go.

Nay, by Saint Mary, I hope not so;
I will not go to the devil, while I have my liberty,
He shall take the labour to fet me, and he will have me;
For he that will go to hell by his will voluntarily,
The devil and the whirlwind go with him:
I will you never fro thence tidings bring;
Go you before, and show me the way,
And as to follow you I will not say nay:
For, by God's body, and you be in once,
By the mass, I will shit[150] the door at once,
And then ye be take in a pitfall.

Now, Jesus, soon defend us from that hole,
For, "Qui est in inferno nulla est redemptio:"
Holy Job spake these words full long ago.

Nay, I have done; and you laid out Latin with scope,
But therewith can you clout me a pair of boots?[151]
By our lady, ye should have some work of me,
I would have them well underlaid and easily,
For I use alway to go on the one side;
And trow ye how? by God, in the stocks I sat till,
I trow a three weeks, and more a little stound,
And there I laboured sore day by day,
And so I tread my shone inward in good fay;
Lo, therefore methink you must sole them round.
If you have any new boots, a pair I would buy,
But I think your price be too high.
Sir, once at Newgate I bought a pair of stirrups,[152]
A mighty pair and a strong,
A whole year I ware them so long,
But they came not fully to my knee,
And to clout them it cost not me a penny:
Even now, and ye go thither, ye shall find a great heap,
And you speak in my name, ye shall have good cheap.

Sir, we came never there, ne never shall do.

Marry, I was taken in a trap there, and tied by the toe,
That I halted a great while, and might not go.
I would ye both sat as fast there;
Then should ye dance as a bear,
And all by gangling of your chains.

Why, sir, were ye there?

Yea, and that is seen by my brains;
For, ere I came there, I was as wise as a woodcock,
And, I thank God, as witty as a haddock.
Yet I trust to recover, as other does,
For, and I had once as much wit as a goose,
I should be merchant of the bank;
Of gold then I should have many a frank,
For if I might make three good voyages to Shooter's Hill,[153]
And have wind and weather at my will,
Then would I never travel the sea more:
But it is hard to keep the ship fro the shore,
And if it hap to rise a storm,
Then thrown in a raft, and so about borne
On rocks or brachs[154] for to run,
Else to strike aground at Tyburn,
That were a mischievous case,
For that rock of Tyburn is so perilous a place,
Young gallants dare not venture into Kent;
But when their money is gone and spent,
With their long boots they row on the bay,[155]
And any man of war[156] lie by the way,
They must take a boat and throw the helm ale;[157]
And full hard it is to scape that great jeopardy,
For, at Saint Thomas of Watering and they strike a sail,
Then must they ride in the haven of hemp without fail;
And were not these two jeopardous places indeed,
There is many a merchant that thither would speed:
But yet we have a sure channel at Westminster,
A thousand ships of thieves therein may ride sure;
For if they may have anchor-hold and great spending,
They may live as merry as any king.

God wot, sir, there is a piteous living,
Then ye dread not the great Master above:
Son, forsake thy miss[158] for His love,
And then mayst thou come to the bliss also.

Why, what would you that I should do?

For to go toward heaven.

Marry, and you will me thither bring,
I would do after you.[159]

I pray you, remember my words now:
Freewill, bethink thee that thou shalt die,
And of the hour thou are uncertain,
Yet by thy life thou mayest find a remedy;
For, and thou die in sin, all labour is in vain,
Then shall thy soul be still in pain.
Lost and damned for evermore;
Help is past, though thou would fain,
Then thou wilt curse the time that thou were bore.

Sir, if ye will undertake that I saved shall be,
I will do all the penance that you will set me.

If that thou for thy sins he sorry,
Our Lord will forgive thee them.

Now of all my sins I axe God mercy;
Here I forsake sin, and trust to amend:
I beseech Jesu that is most mighty
To forgive all that I have offend.

Our Lord now will show thee His mercy,
A new name thou need none have;
For all that will to heaven high,
By his own freewill he must forsake folly,
Then is he sure and safe.

Hold here a new garment,
And hereafter live devoutly,
And for thy sins do ever repent:
Sorrow for thy sins is very remedy:
And, Freewill, ever to virtue apply,
Also to sadness[160] give ye attendance,
Let him never out of remembrance.

I will never from you, sir Perseverance;
With you will I abide both day and night,
Of mind never to be variable,
And God's commandments to keep them right,
In deed and word, and ever full stable.

Then heaven thou shalt have without fable,
But look that thou be steadfast,
And let thy mind with good will last.

Huff, huff, huff! who sent after me?
I am Imagination, full of jollity,
Lord, that my heart is light,[161]
When shall I perish? I trow, never;
By Christ, I reck not a feather:
Even now I was dubbed a knight,
Where at Tyburn of the collar,
And of the stews I am made controller—
Of all the houses of lechery;
There shall no man play doccy[162] there,
At the Bell, Hartshorn, ne elsewhere,
Without they have leave of me.
But, sirs, wot ye why I am come hither?
By our lady, to gather good company together:
Saw ye not of my fellow Freewill?
I am afraid lest he be searching on a hill;
By God, then one of us is beguiled.
What fellow is this that in this coat is filed?
Cock's death, whom have we here?
What, Freewill, mine own fere?[163]
Art thou out of thy mind?

God grant the way to heaven that I may find;
For I forsake thy company.

God's arms, my company? and why?

For thou livest too sinfully.

Alas, tell me how it is with thee.

Forsake thy sin for the love of me.

Cock's heart, art thou waxed mad?

When I think on my sin, it makes me full sad.

God's wounds, who gave thee that counsel?

Perseverance and Contemplation, I thee tell.

A vengeance on them, I would they were in hell.

Amend, Imagination, and mercy cry.

By God's sides, I had liever be hanged on high;
Nay, that would I not do: I had liever die.
By God's passion, and I had a long knife,
I would bereave these two whoresons of their life:
How, how? twenty pounds for a dagger!

Peace, peace, good son, and speak softer,
And amend, ere death draw his draught;
For on thee he will steal full soft,
He giveth never no man warning,
And ever to thee he is coming:
Therefore remember thee well.

Ah, whoreson, if I were jailer of hell,
I-wis, some sorrow should thou feel;
For to the devil I would thee sell,
Then should ye have many a sorry meal,
I would never give you meat ne drink,
Ye should fast, whoresons, till ye did stink,
Even as a rotten dog; yea, by Saint Tyburn of Kent.

Imagination, think what God did for thee;
On Good Friday He hanged on a tree,
And spent all His precious blood,
A spear did rive His heart asunder,
The gates He brake up with a clap of thunder,
And Adam and Eve there delivered He.

What devil! what is that to me?
By God's fast, I was ten year in Newgate,
And many more fellows with me sat,
Yet he never came there to help me ne my company.

Yes, he holp thee, or thou haddest not been here now.

By the mass, I cannot show you,
For he and I never drank together,
Yet I know many an ale stake;[164]
Neither at the stews, i-wis, he never came thither:
Goeth he arrayed in white or in black?
For, and he out of prison had holp me,
I know well once I should him see,
What gown weareth he, I pray you?

Sir, he halp you out by his might.

I cannot tell you, by this light;
But methought that I lay there too long,
And the whoreson fetters were so strong,
That had almost brought my neck out of joint.

Amend, son, and thou shall know him,
That delivered thee out of prison;
And if thou wilt forsake thy miss,
Surely thou shalt come to the bliss,
And be inheritor of heaven.

What, sir, above the moon?
Nay, by the mass, then should I fall soon;
Yet I keep not to climb so high;
But to climb for a bird's nest,
There is none between east and west,
That dare thereto venter better than I:
But to venter to heaven—what, and my feet slip?
I know well then I should break my neck,
And, by God, then had I the worse side;
Yet had I liever be by the nose tied
In a wench's arse somewhere,
Rather than I would stand in that great fear,
For to go up to heaven—nay, I pray you, let be.

Imagination, wilt thou do by the counsel of me?

Yea, sir, by my troth, whatsomever it be.

Amend yet for my sake,
It is better betime than too late;
How say you? will you God's hests fulfil?

I will do, sir, even as you will;
But, I pray you, let me have a new coat,
When I have need, and in my purse a groat,
Then will I dwell with you still.

Beware, for when thou art buried in the ground,
Few friends for thee will be found,
Remember this still.

No thing dread I so sore as death,
Therefore to amend I think it be time;
Sin have I used all the days of my breath,
With pleasure, lechery, and misusing,[165]
And spent amiss my five wits; therefore I am sorry:
Here of all my sins I axe God mercy.

Hold, here is a better clothing for thee,
And look that thou forsake thy folly;
Be steadfast, look that thou fall never.

Now here I forsake my sin for ever.

Sir, wait thou now on Perseverance,
For thy name shall be called Good Remembrance;
And I will dwell with Contemplation,
And follow him wherever he become.

Well, are ye so both agreed?

Yea, sir, so God me speed.

Sir, ye shall wait on me soon,
And be God's servant day and night,
And in every place where ye become,
Give good counsel to every wight:
And men axe your name, tell you Remembrance,
That God's law keepeth truly every day;
And look that ye forget not repentance,
Then to heaven ye shall go the next[166] way,
Where ye shall see in the heavenly quere
The blessed company of saints so holy,
That lived devoutly while they were here:
Unto the which bliss I beseech God Almighty
To bring there your souls that here be present,
And unto virtuous living that ye may apply,
Truly for to keep His commandments;
Of all our mirths here we make an end,
Unto the bliss of heaven Jesus your souls bring.[167]

AMEN.

A mery Play between the Pardoner and the frere, the curate and neybour Pratte. [Col.] Imprynted by Wyllyam Rastell, the v. day of Apryll, the yere of our lorde m.ccccc.xxxiii. Small folio.

This piece by John Heywood differs from those which have preceded it. It is destitute of the allegorical element, and like some other productions which are to follow, is a mere dramatic interlocution, lightly and inartificially constructed, with little or no plot. A former editor[168] remarks: "It was printed in 1533, but must have been written before 1521, because Leo X. is spoken of in it as living."

Deus hic, the Holy Trinity,
Preserve all that now here be!
Dear brethren, if ye will consider
The cause, why I am come hither,
Ye would be glad to know my intent:
For I come not hither for money nor for rent,
I come not hither for meat nor for meal,
But I come hither for your soul's heal:
I come not hither to poll nor to shave,
I come not hither to beg nor to crave,
I come not hither to gloss nor to flatter,
I come not hither to babble nor to clatter,
I come not hither to fable nor to lie,
But I come hither your souls to edify.
For we friars are bound the people to teach,
The gospel of Christ openly to preach,
As did the apostles by Christ their master sent,
To turn the people and make them to repent.
But since the apostles from heaven would not come,
We friars now must occupy their room.
We friars are bound to search men's conscience,
We may not care for groats nor for pence,
We friars have professed wilful poverty,
No penny in our purse have may we;
Knife nor staff may we none carry,
Except we should from the gospel vary.
For worldly adversity may we be in no sorrow,
We may not care to-day for our meat to-morrow,
Barefoot and barelegged must we go also:
We may not care for frost nor snow;
We may have no manner care, ne think
Nother for our meat nor for our drink;
But let our thoughts fro such things be as free
As be the birds that in the air flee.
For why our Lord, cleped sweet Jesus,
In the gospel speaketh to us thus:
Through all the world go ye, saith He,
And to every creature speak ye of me;
And show of my doctrine and cunning,
And that they may be glad of your coming.
If that you enter in any house anywhere,
Look that ye salute them, and bid my peace be there;
And if that house be worthy and elect,
Th'ilk peace there then shall take effect;
And if that house be cursed or pervert,
Th'ilk peace then shall to yourself revert.
And furthermore, if any such there be,
Which do deny for to receive ye,
And do despise your doctrine and your lore,
At such a house tarry ye no more;
And from your shoes scrape away the dust
To their reprefe; and I, both true and just,
Shall vengeance take of their sinful deed.
Wherefore, my friends, to this text take ye heed:
Beware how ye despise the poor freres,
Which are in this world Christ's ministers;
But do them with an hearty cheer receive,
Lest they happen your houses for to leave;
And then God will take vengeance in His ire.
Wherefore I now, that am a poor friar,
Did inquire where any people were
Which were disposed the Word of God to hear;
And as I came hither, one did me tell
That in this town right good folk did dwell,
Which to hear the Word of God would be glad;
And as soon as I thereof knowledge had,
I hither hied me as fast as I might,
Intended by the grace of God Almighty,
And by your patience and supportation,
Here to make a simple collation;
Wherefore I require all ye in this prese[nce]
For to abide and give due audience.
But, first of all,
Now here I shall
To God my prayer make,
To give ye grace
All in this place
His doctrine for to take.

[And then kneeleth down the friar saying his prayers, and in the meanwhile entereth the pardoner with all his relics, to declare what each of them been, and the whole power and virtue thereof.

God and Saint Leonard send ye all his grace,
As many as been assembled in this place!
Good devout people that here do assemble,
I pray God that ye may all well resemble
The image after which you are wrought,
And that ye save that Christ in you bought.
Devout Christian people, ye shall all wit,
That I am comen hither ye to visit;
Wherefore let us pray thus, ere I begin:
Our Saviour preserve ye all from sin,
And enable ye to receive this blessed pardon,
Which is the greatest under the sun:
Granted by the Pope in his bulls under lead,
Which pardon ye shall find, when ye are dead;
That offereth outher groats or else pence,
To these holy relics which, ere I go hence,
I shall here show in open audience,
Exhorting ye all to do to them reverence.
But first ye shall know well that I come from Rome;
Lo, here my bulls, all and some:
Our liege Lord seal here on my patent
I bear with me my body to warrant;
That no man be so bold, be he priest or clerk,
Me to disturb of Christ's holy wark;
Nor have no disdain nor yet scorn
Of these holy relics which saints have worn.
First here I show ye of a holy Jew's hip[169]
A bone—I pray you, take good keep
To my words and mark them well:
If any of your beasts' bellies do swell,
Dip this bone in the water that he doth take
Into his body, and the swelling shall slake;
And if any worm have your beasts stung,
Take of this water, and wash his tongue,
And it will be whole anon; and furthermore
Of pox and scabs, and every sore,
He shall be quite whole that drinketh of the well
That this bone is dipped in: it is truth that I tell
And if any man, that any beast oweth,[170]
Once in the week, ere that the cock croweth,
Fasting will drink of this well a draught,
As that holy Jew hath us taught,
His beasts and his stores shall multiply.
And, masters all, it helpeth well,
Though a man be foul in jealous rage,
Let a man with this water make his pottage,
And never more shall he his wife mistrist,[171]
Though he in sooth the fault by her wist,
Or had she been taken with friars two or three.
Here is a mitten eke, as ye may see:
He that his hand will put in this mitten,
He shall have increase of his grain,
That he hath sown, be it wheat or oats,
So that he offer pence or else groats,
And another holy relic eke here see ye may:
The blessed arm of sweet Saint Sunday;
And whosoever is blessed with this right hand,
Cannot speed amiss by sea nor by land.
And if he offereth eke with good devotion,
He shall not fail to come to high promotion,
And another holy relic here may ye see:
The great toe of the Holy Trinity;
And whosoever once doth it in his mouth take,
He shall never be diseased with the toothache;
Cancer nor pox shall there none breed:
This that I show ye is matter indeed.
And here is of our lady a relic full good:
Her bongrace which she ware, with her French hood,
When she went out always for sun-burning:
Women with child which be in mourning
By virtue thereof shall be soon eased,
And of their travail full soon also released,
And if this bongrace they do devoutly kiss,
And offer thereto, as their devotion is.
Here is another relic eke, a precious one,
Of All-Hallows the blessed jaw bone,
Which relic without any fail
Against poison chiefly doth prevail;
For whomsoever it toucheth without doubt,
All manner venom from him shall issue out;
So that it shall hurt no manner wight.
Lo, of this relic the great power and might,
Which preserveth from poison every man!
Lo, of Saint Michael eke the brain-pan,
Which for the headache is a preservative
To every man or beast that beareth life;
And further it shall stand him in better stead,
For his head shall never ache, when that he is dead,
Nor he shall feel no manner grief nor pain,
Though with a sword one cleave it then a-twain;
But be as one that lay in a dead sleep.
Wherefore to these relics now come crouch and creep,
But look that ye offering to them make,
Or else can ye no manner profit take.
But one thing, ye women all, I warrant you:
If any wight be in this place now,
That hath done sin so horrible, that she
Dare not for shame thereof shriven be,
Or any woman, be she young or old,
That hath made her husband cuckold:
Such folk shall have no power nor no grace
To offer to my relics in this place;
And whoso findeth herself out of such blame,
Come hither to me, on Christ's holy name.
And because ye
Shall unto me
Give credence at the full
Mine auctority
Now shall ye see
Lo, here the Pope's bull!

[Now shall the friar begin his sermon, and even at the same time the pardoner beginneth also to show and speak of his bulls and auctorities come from, Rome.

"Date et dabitur vobis:"
Good devout people, this place of Scripture—

Worshipful masters, ye shall understand—

Is to you that have no literature—

That Pope Leo the Tenth hath granted with his hand—

Is to say in our English tongue—

And by his bulls confirmed under lead—

As depart your goods the poor folk among—

To all manner people both quick and dead—

And God shall then give unto you again—

Ten thousand years and as many Lents of pardon—

This is the gospel, so is written plain—

When they are dead, their souls for to guardon—[172]

Therefore give your alms in the largest wise—

That will with their penny or alms deed—

Keep not your goods: fye, fye, on covetise!

Put to their hands to the good speed—

That sin with God is most abhominable—

Of the holy chapel of sweet Saint Leonard—

And is eke the sin that is most damnable—

Which late by fire was destroyed and marred—

In Scripture eke but I say, sirs, how—

Ay, by the mass, one cannot hear—

What a babbling maketh yonder fellow!

For the babbling of yonder foolish frere—

In Scripture eke is there many a place—

And also, masters, as I was about to tell—

Which showeth that many a man so far-forth lacketh grace—

Pope Julius the Sixth hath granted fair and well—

That when to them God hath abundance sent—

And doth twelve thousand years of pardon to them send—

They would distribute none to the indigent—

That ought to this holy chapel lend—

Whereat God having great indignation—

Pope Boniface the Ninth also—

Punished these men after a divers fashion—

Pope Julius, Pope Innocent, with divers popes mo—

As the gospel full nobly doth declare—

Hath granted to the sustaining of the same—

How dives Epulus reigning in welfare—

Five thousand years of pardon to every of you by name—

And on his board dishes delicate—

And clean remission also of their sin—

Poor Lazarus came begging at his gate—

As often times as you put in—

Desiring some food his hunger to relieve—

Any money into the Pardoner's coffer—

But the rich man nothing would him give—

Or any money up unto it offer—

Not so much as a few crumbs of bread—

Or he that offereth penny or groat—

Wherefore poor Lazarus of famine straight was dead—

Or he that giveth the Pardoner a new coat—

And angels his soul to heaven did carry—

Or take of me other image or letter—

But now the rich man, of the contrary—

Whereby this poor chapel may fare the better—

When he was dead, went to misery and pain.

And (God wot) it is a full gracious deed—

Wherefore evermore he shall remain—

For which God shall quite you well your mede—

In brenning fire, which shall never cease—

Now help our poor chapel, if it be your will—

But I say, thou Pardoner, I bid thee hold thy peace!—

And I say, thou friar, hold thy tongue still!—

What, standest thou there all the day smattering!—

Marry, what standest thou there all the day clattering!—

Marry, fellow, I come hither to preach the Word of God,
Which of no man may be forbode;
But heard with silence and good intent,
For why it teacheth them evident
The very way and path that shall them lead
Even to heaven's gates, as straight as any thread.
And he that letteth the Word of God of audience,
Standeth accursed in the great sentence;
And so art thou for interrupting me.

Nay, thou art a cursed knave, and that shalt thou see;
And all such that to me make interruption,
The Pope sends them excommunication
By his bulls here ready to be read,
By bishops and his cardinals confirmed;
And eke if thou disturb me any thing,
Thou art also a traitor to the king.
For here hath he granted me under his broad seal,
That no man, if he love his heal,[173]
Should me disturb or let in any wise;
And if thou dost the king's commandment despise,
I shall make thee be set fast by the feet,
And, where thou saidst that thou art more meet
Among the people here for to preach,
Because thou dost them the very way teach,
How to come to heaven above:
Therein thou liest, and that shall I prove,
And by good reason I shall make thee bow,
And know that I am meeter than art thou.
For thou, when thou hast taught them once the way,
Thou carest not whether they come there, yea or nay;
But when that thou hast done altogether,
And taught them the way for to come hither,
Yet all that thou canst imagine
Is but to use virtue, and abstain fro sin.
And if they fall once, then thou canst no more:
Thou canst not give them a salve for their sore.
But these my letters be clean purgation,
Although never so many sins they have done.
But when thou hast taught them the way and all,
Yet, ere they come there, they may have many a fall
In the way, ere that they come thither
For why the way to heaven is very slidder.
But I will teach them after another rate,
For I shall bring them to heaven's gate,
And be their guides, and conduct all things,
And lead them thither by the purse-strings,
So that they shall not fall, though that they would.

Hold thy peace, knave, thou art very bold:
Thou pratest, in faith, even like a Pardoner.

Why despisest thou the Pope's minister?
Masters, here I curse him openly,
And therewith warn all this whole company
By the Pope's great auctority,
That ye leave him, and harken unto me;
For, till he be assoiled, his words take none effect,
For out of holy church he is now clean reject.

My masters, he doth but jest and rave;
It forceth not for the words of a knave;
But to the Word of God do reverence,
And hear me forth with due audience.
Masters, I showed you ere while of alms-deed—

Masters, this pardon which I showed you before—

And how ye should give poor folk at their need—

Is the greatest that ever was, sith God was bore—

And if of your parts that thing once were done—

For why without confession or contrition—

Doubt not but God should give you retribution—

By this shall ye have clean remission—

But now further it ought to be declared—

And forgiven of the sins seven—

Who be these poor folk, that should have your reward—

Come to this pardon, if ye will come to heaven—

Who be those poor folk, of whom I speak and name?—

Come to this pardon, if ye will be in bliss—

Certes, we poor friars are the same—

This is the pardon, which ye cannot miss—

We friars daily take pain, I say—

This is the pardon, which shall men's souls win—

We friars daily do both fast and pray—

This is the pardon, the ridder of your sin—

We friars travail and labour every hour—

This is the pardon that purchaseth all grace—

We friars take pain for the love of our Saviour—

This is a pardon for all manner of trespass—

We friars also go on limitation[174]—

This is the pardon, of which all mercy doth spring—

For to preach to every Christian nation—

This is the pardon, that to heaven shall ye bring—

But I say, thou Pardoner, thou wilt keep silence soon!—

Yea, it is like to be, when I have done!—

Marry, therefore the more knave art thou, I say,
That perturbest the Word of God, I say;
For neither thyself wilt hear God's doctrine,
Ne suffer other their ears to incline,
Wherefore our Saviour, in His holy Scripture,
Giveth thee thy judgment, thou cursed creature,
Speaking to thee after this manner:
"Maledictus qui audit verbum Dei negligenter"—
Woe be that man, saith our Lord, that giveth no audience,
Or heareth the Word of God with negligence.

Now thou hast spoken all, sir daw,
I care not for thee an old straw;
I had liever thou were hanged up with a rope,
Than I, that am come from the Pope,
And thereby God's minister, while thou standest and prate,
Should be fain to knock without the gate.
Therefore preach hardly thy bellyful,
But I nevertheless will declare the Pope's bull.

Now, my friends, I have afore showed ye—

Now, my masters, as I have afore declared—

That good it is to give your charity—

That pardoners from you may not be spared—

And further I have at length to you told—

Now hereafter shall follow and ensue—

Who be these people that ye receive should—

That followeth of pardons the great virtue—

That is to say us friars poor—

We pardoners for your souls be as necessary—

That for our living must beg fro door to door—

As is the meat for our bodies hungry—

For of our own proper we have no proper thing—

For pardons is the thing that bringeth men to heaven—

But that we get of devout people's giving—

Pardons delivereth them fro the sins seven—

And in our place be friars three score and three—

Pardons for every crime may dispense—

Which only live on men's charity—

Pardon purchaseth grace for all offence—

For we friars wilful charity profess—

Yea, though ye had slain both father and mother—

We may have no money nother more nor less—

And this pardon is chief above all other—

For worldly treasure we may nought care—

For who to it offereth groat or penny—

Our souls must be rich and our bodies bare—

Though sins he had done never so many—

And one thing I had almost left behind—

And though that he had all his kindred slain—

Which before came not to my mind—

This pardon shall rid them from everlasting pain—

And doubtless, it is none other thing—

There is no sin so abhominable—

But when ye will give your alms and offering—

Which to remit this pardon is not able—

Look that ye distribute it wisely—

As well declareth the sentence of this letter—

Not to every man that for it will cry—

Ye cannot, therefore, bestow your money better—

For if ye give your alms in that wise—

Let us not here stand idle all the day—

It shall not both to them and us suffice—

Give us some money, ere that we go our way—

But I say, thou lewd fellow thou,
Haddest none other time to show thy bulls but now?
Canst not tarry and abide till soon,
And read them then, when preaching is done?

I will read them now, what sayest thou thereto?
Hast thou anything therewith to do?
Thinkest that I will stand and tarry for thy leisure?
Am I bound to do so much for thy pleasure?

For my pleasure? nay I would thou knowest it well:
It becometh the knave never a deal
To prate thus boldly in my presence,
And let the Word of God of audience.

Let the Word of God, quod a? nay let a whoreson drivel
Prate here all day, with a foul evil,
And all thy sermon goeth on covetise,
And biddest men beware of avarice;
And yet in thy sermon dost thou none other thing,
But for alms stand all the day begging!

Leave thy railing, I would thee advise—

Nay, leave thou thy babbling, if thou be wise—

I would thou knowest it, knave, I will not leave a whit—

No more will I, I do thee well to wit—

It is not thou shall make me hold my peace—

Then speak on hardly, if thou thinkest it for thy ease—

For I will speak, whither thou wilt or no—

In faith, I care not, for I will speak also—

Wherefore hardly let us both go to—

See which shall be better heard of us two—

What, should ye give ought to parting pardoners—

What, should ye spend on these flattering liars—

What, should ye give ought to these bold beggars—

As be these babbling monks and these friars—

Let them hardly labour for their living—

Which do nought daily but babble and lie—

It much hurteth them good men's giving—

And tell you fables dear enough at a fly—

For that maketh them idle and slothful to wark—

As doth this babbling friar here to-day—

That for none other thing they will cark—

Drive him hence, therefore, in the twenty-devil way!

Hardly they would go both to plough and cart—

On us pardoners hardly do your cost—

And if of necessity once they felt the smart—

For why your money never can be lost—

But we friars be not in like estate—

For why there is in our fraternity—

For our hands with such things we may not maculate—

For all brethren and sistren that thereof be—

We friars be not in like condition—

Devoutly song every year—

We may have no prebends ne exhibition—

As he shall know well that cometh there—

Of all temporal service are we forbode—

At every of the five solemn feasts—

And only bound to the service of God—

A mass and dirge to pray for the good rest—

And therewith to pray for every Christian nation—

Of the souls of the brethren and sistren all—

That God witsafe to save them fro damnation—

Of our fraternity in general—

But some of you so hard be of heart—

With a hearse there standing well arrayed and dight—

Ye cannot weep, though ye full sore smart—

And torches and tapers about it brenning bright—

Wherefore some man must ye hire needs—

And with the bells eke solemnly ringing—

Which must intreat God for your misdeeds—

And priests and clerks devoutly singing—

Ye can hire no better, in mine opinion—

And furthermore, every night in the year—

Than us God's servants, men of religion—

Twelve poor people are received there—

And specially God heareth us poor friars—

And there have both harborow and food—

And is attentive unto our desires—

That for them is convenient and good—

For the more of religion the more heard of our Lord—

And furthermore, if there be any other—

And that it so should, good reason doth accord—

That of our fraternity be sister or brother—

Therefore, doubt not, masters, I am even he—

Which hereafter happen to fall in decay—

To whom ye should part with your charity—

And if ye then chance to come that way—

We friars be they that should your alms take—

Nigh unto our foresaid holy place—

Which for your soul's health do both watch and wake—

Ye shall there tarry for a month's space—

We friars pray, God wot, when ye do sleep—

And be there found of the place's cost—[175]

We for your sins do both sob and weep—

Wherefore now, in the name of the Holy Ghost—

To pray to God for mercy and for grace—

I advise you all, that now here be—

And thus do we daily with all our whole place—

For to be of our fraternity—

Wherefore distribute of your temporal wealth—

Fie on covetise! stick not for a penny:—

By which ye may preserve your souls' health—

For which ye may have benefits so many—

I say, wilt thou not yet stint thy clap?
Pull me down the Pardoner with an evil hap!

Master Friar, I hold it best
To keep your tongue, while ye be in rest—

I say, one pull the knave off his stool!

Nay, one pull the friar down like a fool!

Leave thy railing and babbling of friars,
Or, by Jis, I'sh lug thee by the sweet ears![176]

By God, I would thou durst presume to it!—

By God, a little thing might make me to do it—

And I shrew thy heart, and thou spare—

By God, I will not miss thee much, thou slouch;
And if thou play me such another touch,
I'sh knock thee on the costard, I would thou it knew—

"Marry that I would see, quod blind Hew." [177]

Well, I will begin, and then let me see,
Whether thou darest again interrupt me,
And what thou would once to it say—

Begin and prove, whether I will, yea or nay—

And to go forth, whereas I left right now—

Because some percase will think amiss of me—

Our Lord in the gospel showeth the way how—

Ye shall now hear the Pope's authority.

By Gog's soul, knave, I suffer thee no lenger—

I say some good body lend me his hanger,
And I shall him teach by God Almighty,
How he shall another time learn for to fight!
I shall make that bald crown of his to look red;
I shall leave him but one ear on his head!

But I shall leave thee never an ear, ere I go:

Yea, whoreson friar, wilt thou soe—

[Then they fight.

Loose thy hands away from mine ears—

Then take thou thy hands away from my hairs;
Nay, abide, thou whoreson, I am not down yet;
I trust first to lay thee at my feet.

Yea, whoreson, wilt thou scrat and bite?

Yea, marry, will I, as long as thou dost smite.—

[Enter the Curate.

Hold your hands, a vengeance on ye both two,
That ever ye came hither to make this a-do!
To pollute my church, a mischief on you light!
I swear to you, by God Almight,
Ye shall both repent, every vein of your heart,
As sore as ye did ever thing, ere ye depart.

Master Parson, I marvel ye will give licence
To this false knave in this audience,
To publish his ragman-rolls[178] with lies
I desired him, i-wis, more than once or twice
To hold his peace, till that I had done;
But he would hear no more than the man in the moon—

Why should I suffer thee more than thou me?
Master Parson gave me licence before thee;
And I would thou knowest it, I have relics here
Other manner stuff than thou dost bear.
I will edify more with the sight of it,
Than will all the prating of holy writ;
For that except that the preacher himself live well,
His predication will help never a dell,
And I know well that thy living is nought:
Thou art an apostate, if it were well sought.
An homicide thou art, I know well enough,
For myself knew where that thou slough
A wench with thy dagger in a couch:
And yet, as thou say'st in thy sermon, that no man shall touch.

No more of this wrangling in my church!
I shrew your hearts both for this lurch:
Is there any blood shed here between these knaves?
Thanked be God they had no staves
Nor edge-tools;[179] for then it had been wrong.
Well, ye shall sing another song!
Neighbour Prat, come hither, I you pray—

Why, what is this nice fray?

I cannot tell you; one knave disdains another;
Wherefore take ye the one, and I shall take the other.
We shall bestow them there as is most convenient;
For such a couple, I trow, they shall repent
That ever they met in this church here.
Neighbour, ye be constable; stand ye near,
Take ye that lay knave, and let me alone
With this gentleman; by God and by Saint John,
I shall borrow upon priesthood somewhat;
For I may say to thee, neighbour Prat,
It is a good deed to punish such, to the ensample
Of such other, how that they shall mell
In like fashion, as these caitiffs do.

In good faith, Master Parson, if ye do so,
Ye do but well to teach them to beware.

Master Prat, I pray ye me to spare;
For I am sorry for that that is done;
Wherefore I pray ye forgive me soon,
For that I have offended within your liberty;
And by my troth, sir, ye may trust me
I will never come hither more,
While I live, and God before.

Nay, I am once charged with thee,
Wherefore, by Saint John, thou shalt not escape me,
Till thou hast scoured a pair of stocks.

Tut, he weeneth all is but mocks!
Lay hand on him; and come ye on, sir friar,
Ye shall of me hardly have your hire;
Ye had none such this seven year,
I swear by God and by our lady dear.

Nay, Master Parson, for God's passion,
Intreat[180] not me after that fashion;
For, if ye do, it will not be for your honesty.

Honesty or not, but thou shall see,
What I shall do by and by:
Make no struggling, come forth soberly:
For it shall not avail thee, I say.

Marry, that shall we try even straightway.
I defy the churl priest, and there be no more than thou.
I will not go with thee, I make God a vow.
We shall see first which is the stronger:
God hath sent me bones; I do thee not fear.

Yea, by thy faith, wilt thou be there?
Neighbour Prat, bring forth that knave,
And thou, sir friar, if thou wilt algates[181] rave.

Nay, churl, I thee defy!
I shall trouble thee first;
Thou shalt go to prison by and by;
Let me see, now do thy worst!

[Prat with the Pardoner and the Parson with the Friar.

Help, help, neighbour Prat, neighbour Prat,
In the worship of God, help me somewhat!

Nay, deal as thou canst with that elf,
For why I have enough to do myself.
Alas! for pain I am almost dead;
The red blood so runneth down about my head.
Nay, and thou canst, I pray thee help me.

Nay, by the mass, fellow, it will not be;
I have more tow on my distaff than I can well spin;
The cursed Friar doth the upper hand win.

Will ye leave then, and let us in peace depart?

Yea, by our lady, even with all our heart.

Then adieu to the devil, till we come again.

And a mischief go with you both twain![182]

When the Rev. T.F. Dibdin asserted ("Typographical Antiquities," ii. 9.) that "in the Drama there is no single work yet found, which bears the name of Winken de Worde as the printer of it," he committed one of those singular over-sights of which very learned men have before been sometimes guilty. "Hickscorner," perhaps the most ancient printed dramatic piece in our language, and well-known to those who are at all acquainted with the history of our stage, was from his press, and his colophon is at its conclusion: "Enprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde." Mr Dibdin, in opposition to his own statement, inserts it among the works of that early professor of the typographic art.

The subsequent dramatic production is also from the types of Wynkyn de
Worde, but it was not discovered in the Library of Trinity College,
Dublin, until after the appearance of the second volume of Mr Dibdin's
new edition of Ames.[183]

[Yet a copy was in the "Bibliotheca Anglo-Poetica," 1815, and in 1817 the piece was reprinted for the Roxburghe Club].

"Hickscorner" is without date, but "The World and the Child" was printed in July 1522. Only one other copy of it is known, and it is here republished from a faithful transcript of the original.[184] As a specimen of our ancient moralities, it is of an earlier date, and in several respects more curious, than almost any other piece in the present collection. From a line in the epilogue, it might be inferred that it was performed before the king and his Court.

MUNDUS. Sirs, cease of your saws what so befall,
And look ye bow bonerly[185] to my bidding,
For I am ruler of realms, I warn you all,
And over all fodes[186] I am king:
For I am king, and well known in these realms round,
I have also palaces i-pight:
I have steeds in stable stalwart and strong,
Also streets and strands full strongly i-dight:
For all the world[187] wide I wot well is my name,
All riches readily it renneth in me,
All pleasure worldly, both mirth and game.
Myself seemly in sale[188] I send with you to be,
For I am the world, I warn you all,
Prince of power and of plenty:
He that cometh not, when I do him call,
I shall him smite with poverty,
For poverty I part[189] in many a place
To them that will not obedient be.
I am a king in every case:
Methinketh I am a God of grace,
The flower of virtue followeth me!
Lo, here I sit seemly in se,[190]
I command you all obedient be,
And with free will ye follow me.

INFANS. Christ our king, grant you clearly to know the case.
To meve[191] of this matter that is in my mind,
[And] clearly declare it, Christ grant me grace.
Now, seemly sirs, behold on me,
How mankind doth begin:
I am a child, as you may see,
Gotten in game and in great sin.
Forty weeks my mother me found,[192]
Flesh and blood my food was tho:
When I was ripe from her to sound,
In peril of death we stood both two.
Now to seek death I must begin,
For to pass that strait passage
For body and soul, that shall then twin,[193]
And make a parting of that marriage.
Forty weeks I was freely fed
Within my mother's possession:
Full oft of death she was a-dread,
When that I should part her from:
Now into the world she hath me sent,
Poor and naked, as ye may see,
I am not worthily wrapped nor went,
But poorly pricked in poverty.
Now into the world will I wend,
Some comfort of him for to crave.
All hail! comely crowned king,
God that all made you see and save!

MUNDUS. Welcome, fair child, what is thy name?

INFANS. I wot not, sir, withouten blame;
But oftime my mother in her game
Called me Dalliance.

MUNDUS. Dalliance, my sweet child,
It is a name that is right wild,[194]
For when thou waxest old,
It is a name of no substance,
But, my fair child, what wouldst thou have?

INFANS. Sir, of some comfort I you crave:
Meat and clothes my life to save,
And I your true servant shall be.

MUNDUS. Now, fair child, I grant thee thine asking:
I will thee find while thou art ying,[195]
So thou wilt be obedient to my bidding.
These garments gay I give to thee,
And also I give to thee a name,
And clepe thee Wanton in every game,
Till fourteen year be come and gone,
And then come again to me.

WANTON. Gramercy, world, for mine array;
For now I purpose me to play.

MUNDUS. Farewell, fair child, and have good day:
All recklessness is kind for thee.

WANTON. Ha, ha, Wanton is my name:
I can many a quaint game.
Lo, my top I drive in same,
See, it turneth round!
I can with my scourge-stick
My fellow upon the head hit,
And lightly[196] from him make a skip,
And blear on him my tongue.
If brother or sister do me chide,
I will scratch and also bite:
I can cry, and also kick,
And mock them all berew.[197]
If father or mother will me smite,
I will ring with my lip,
And lightly from him make a skip,
And call my dame shrew.
Aha, a new game have I found:
See this gin, it renneth round!
And here another have I found,
And yet mo can I find.
I can mow[198] on a man,
And make a lesing[199] well I can,
And maintain it right well then.
This cunning came me of kind,
Yea, sirs, I can well geld a snail,
And catch a cow by the tail:
This is a fair cunning,
I can dance and also skip,
I can play at the cherry-pit,[200]
And I can whistle you a fit,[201]
Sires, in a willow rine:
Yea, sirs, and every day,
When I to school shall take the way
Some good man's garden I will essay,
Pears and plums to pluck.
I can spy a sparrow's nest,
I will not go to school but when me lest,[202]
For there beginneth a sorry feast,
When the master should lift my dock.
But, sirs, when I was seven year of age,
I was sent to the world to take wage,[203]
And this seven year I have been his page,
And kept his commandment.
Now I will wend to the world the worthy emperor.
Hail! Lord of great honour,
This seven year I have served you in hall and in bow'r
With all my true intent.[204]

MUNDUS. Now welcome, Wanton, my darling dear.
A new name I shall give thee here:
Love-Lust, Liking, in fere;
These thy names they shall be,
All game and glee, and gladness,
All love-longing in lewdness.
This seven year forsake all sadness,
And then come again to me.

LUST AND LIKING. Ha, ha, now Lust and Liking is my name.
I am as fresh as flowers in May,
I am seemly-shapen in same,
And proudly apparelled in garments gay:
My looks been full lovely to a lady's eye,
And in love-longing my heart is sore set:
Might I find a fode[205] that were fair and free,
To lie in hell till doomsday for love I would not let.
My love for to win
All game and glee,
All mirth and melody,
All revel and riot,
And of boast will I never blin.
But, sirs, now I am nineteen winter old,
I-wis, I wax wonder bold:
Now I will go to the world
A higher science to assay:
For the World will me avance,
I will keep his governance,
His pleasing will I pray,
For he is a king in all substance.
All hail! master, full of might,
I have you served both day and night:
Now I comen, as I you benight.[206]
One and twenty winter is comen and gone.

MUNDUS. Now welcome, Love-Lust and Liking,
For thou hast been obedient to my bidding.
I increase thee in all thing,
And mightly[207] I make thee a man:
Manhood Mighty shall be thy name.
Bear thee prest[208] in every game,
And wait[209] well that thou suffer no shame,
Neither for land nor for rent:
If any man would wait thee with blame,
Withstand him with thy whole intent,
Full sharply thou beat him to shame
With doughtiness of deed:
For of one thing, Manhood, I warn thee,
I am most of bounty,
For seven kings sewen[210] me
Both by day and night.
One of them is the king of pride,
The king of envy doughty in deed,
The king of wrath that boldly will abide,
For mickle is his might:
The king of covetise is the fourth:
The fifth king he hight sloth,
The king of gluttony hath no jollity,
There[21l] poverty is pight:[212]
Lechery is the seventh king,
All men in him have great delighting,
Therefore worship him above all thing,
Manhood, with all thy might.

MANHOOD. Yea, sir king, without lesing
It shall be wrought.[213]
Had I knowing of the first king, without lesing
Well joyen I mought.

MUNDUS. The first king hight pride.

MANHOOD. Ah, Lord, with him fain would I bide.

MUNDUS. Yea, but wouldst thou serve him truly in every tide?[214]

MANHOOD. Yea, sir, and thereto my troth I plight:
That I shall truly pride present
I swear by Saint Thomas of Kent.[215]
To serve him truly is mine intent,
With main and all my might.

MUNDUS. Now, Manhood, I will array thee new
In robes royal of right[216] good hue,
And I pray thee principally be true,
And here I dub thee a knight,
And haunt alway to chivalry.
I give thee grace and also beauty:
Gold and silver great plenty,
Of the wrong to make thee right.

MANHOOD. Gramercy, World and Emperor,
Gramercy, World and Governor,
Gramercy, comfort in all colour,
And now I take my leave. Farewell!

MUNDUS. Farewell, Manhood, my gentle knight:
Farewell, my son, seemly in sight.
I give thee a sword, and also strength and might
In battle boldly to bear thee well.

MANHOOD. Now I am dubbed a knight bend,[217]
Wonder wide shall wax my fame:
To seek adventures now will I wend,
To please the world in glee and game.

MUNDUS. Lo, sirs, I am a prince perilous y-proved,
I-proved full perilous and pithily y-pight:
As a lord in each land I am beloved,
Mine eyen do shine as lantern bright.
I am a creature comely out of care,
Emperors and kings they kneel to my knee:
Every man is afeard, when I do on him stare,
For all merry middle earth maketh mention of me.
Yet all is at my hand-work, both by down and by dale,
Both the sea and the land, and the fowls that fly:
And I were once moved, I tell you in tale,
There durst no[218] star stir that standeth in the sky,
For I am Lord and leader, so that in land
All boweth to my bidding bonnerly about.
Who that stirreth with any strife or waiteth me with wrong,
I shall mightly make him to stammer and stoop:
For I am richest in mine array,
I have knights and towers,
I have brightest[219] ladies in bowers.
Now will I fare on these flowers:
Lordings, have good day.

MANHOOD. Peace, now peace, ye fellows all about:
Peace now, and harken to my saws,
For I am Lord both stalworthy and stout,
All lands are led by my laws.
Baron was there never born that so well him bare,
A better ne a bolde[r] nor a brighter of ble,[220]
For I have might and main over countries far,
And Manhood Mighty am I named in every country.
For Salerno and Samers,[221] and Andaluse:[222]
Calais, Kent, and Cornwall have I conquered clean,
Picardy and Pontoise, and gentle Artois,
Florence, Flanders, and France, and also Gascoigne.
All I have conquered as a knight:
There is no emperor so keen,
That dare me lightly tene,[223]
For lives and limbs I lene,
So mickle is my might.
For I have boldly blood full piteously dispilled:
There many hath left fingers and feet, both head and face.
I have done harm on heads, and knights have I killed;
And many a lady for my love hath said alas.
Brigand harness[224] I have beaten to back and to bones,
And beaten also many a groom[225] to ground:
Breastplates I have beaten, as Stephen was with stones,
So fell a fighter in a field was there never y-found.
To me no man is maked,[226]
For Manhood Mighty that is my name.
Many a lord have I do lame:[227]
Wonder wide walketh my fame,
And many a king's crown have I cracked.
I am worthy and wight, witty and wise:
I am royal arrayed to reven under the ris,[228]
I am proudly apparelled in purpur and bis,
As gold I glister in gear:
I am stiff, strong, stalwart, and stout,
I am the royallest readily that renneth in this rout,
There is no knight so grisly that I dread nor doubt,
For I am so doughtly dight there may no dint me dere,
And the king of pride full prest with all his proud presence,
And the king of lechery lovely his letters hath me sent,
And the king of wrath full wordily with all his intent,
They will me maintain with main and all their might:
The king of covetise, and the king of gluttony,
The king of sloth, and the king of envy,
All those send me their livery.
Where is now so worthy a wight?
Yea, as a wight witty,
Here in this seat sit I,
For no loves let I
Here for to sit.

CONSCIENCE. Christ, as he is crowned king,
Save all this comely company,
And grant you all his dear blessing,
That bonnerly bought you on the rood-tree.
Now pray you prestly on every side
To God omnipotent,
To set our enemy sharply on side,
That is the devil and his covent:
And all men to have a clear knowing
Of heaven bliss, that high tower,
Methink it is a nessary[229] thing
For young and old, both rich and poor,
Poor Conscience for to know,
For Conscience clear it is my name.
Conscience counselleth both high and low,
And Conscience commonly beareth great blame,
Yea, and oftentimes set in shame:
Wherefore I reed you men, both in earnest and in game,
Conscience that ye know,
For I know all the mysteries of man.
They be as simple as they can,
And in every company where I come
Conscience is out-cast:
All the world doth Conscience hate,
Mankind and Conscience been at debate,
For if mankind might Conscience take
My body would they brast:
Brast, yea, and wark me much woe.

MANHOOD. Say how, fellow, who gave thee leave this way to go?
What! weenest thou I dare not come thee to?
Say, thou harlot,[230] whither in haste?

CONSCIENCE. What! let me go, sir; I know you nought.

MANHOOD. No, bitched brothel, thou shalt be taught,
For I am a knight, and I were sought;
The world hath avanced me.

CONSCIENCE. Why, good sir knight, what is your name?

MANHOOD. Manhood, mighty in mirth and in game,
All power of pride have I tane:[231]
I am as gentle as jay on tree.

CONSCIENCE. Sir, though the world have you to manhood brought,
To maintain manner ye were never taught;
No, Conscience clear, ye know right nought,
And this longeth[232] to a knight.

MANHOOD. Conscience! what the devil man is he?

CONSCIENCE! Sir, a teacher of the spirituality.

MANHOOD. Spirituality! what the devil may that be?

CONSCIENCE. Sir, all that be leaders into light.

MANHOOD. Light! yea, but hark, fellow, yet light fain would I see.

CONSCIENCE! Will ye so, sir knight, then do after me.

MANHOOD. Yea, and it to pride's pleasing be;
I will take thy teaching.

CONSCIENCE. Nay, sir, beware of pride, and you do well.
For pride Lucifer fell into hell:
Till doomsday there shall he dwell,
Withouten any outcoming;
For pride, sir, is but a vain glory.

MANHOOD. Peace, thou brothel, and let those words be,
For the world and pride hath avanced me
To me men lewt[233] full low.

CONSCIENCE. And to beware of pride, sir, I would counsel you;
And think on King Robert of Sicile,[234]
How he for pride in great poverty fell,
For he would not Conscience know.

MANHOOD. Yea, Conscience, go forth thy way,
For I love pride, and will go gay:
All thy teaching is not worth a stra',[235]
For pride clepe I my king.

CONSCIENCE. Sir, there is no king but God alone,
That bodily bought us with pain and passion,
Because of man's soul's redemption:
In Scripture thus we find.

MANHOOD. Say, Conscience, sith thou wouldst have pride from me,
What sayest thou by the king of lechery?
With all mankind he must be,
And with him I love to ling.

CONSCIENCE. Nay, Manhood, that may not be:
From lechery fast you flee.
For incumbrance it will bring thee,
And all that to him will lind.[236]

MANHOOD. Say, Conscience, of the king of sloth.
He hath behight me mickle troth,
And I may not forsake him for ruth.
For with him I think to rest.

CONSCIENCE. Manhood, in Scripture thus we find,
That sloth is a traitor to heaven king:
Sir knight, if you will keep your king[237]
From sloth clean you cast.

MANHOOD. Say, Conscience, the king of gluttony:
He sayeth he will not forsake me,
And I purpose his servant to be
With main and all my might.

CONSCIENCE. Think, Manhood, on substance,
And put out gluttony for cumbrance,
And keep you with good governance,
For this longeth to a knight.

MANHOOD. What, Conscience, from all my masters thou wouldst have me:
But I will never forsake envy,
For he is king of company,
Both with more and lass.[238]

CONSCIENCE. Nay, Manhood, that may not be.
And[239] ye will cherish envy;
God will not well pleased be
To comfort you in that case.

MANHOOD. Ay, ay, from five kings thou hast counselled me,
But from the king of wrath I will never flee,
For he is in every deed doughty,
For him dare no man rowt.

CONSCIENCE. Nay, Manhood, beware of wrath;
For it is but superfluity that cometh and goeth:
Yea, and all men his company hateth,
For oft they stand in doubt.[240]

MANHOOD. Fie on thee, false flattering frere:[241]
Thou shalt rue the time that thou came here.
The devil mot set thee on a fire,
That ever I with thee meet,
For thou counsellest me from all gladness,
And would me set into all sadness;
But ere thou bring me in this madness,
The devil break thy neck!
But, sir frere, evil mot thou the,[242]
From six kings thou hast counselled me,
But that day shall thou never see
To counsel me from covetise.

CONSCIENCE. No, sir, I will not you from covetise bring,
For covetise I clepe a king.
Sir, covetise in good doing
Is good in all wise:
But, sir knight, will ye do after me,
And covetise your king shall be?

MANHOOD. Ye, sir, my troth I plight to thee.
That I will wark at thy will.

CONSCIENCE. Manhood, will ye by this word stand?

MANHOOD. Yea, Conscience, here my hand.
I will never from it fong,[243]
Neither loud ne still.

CONSCIENCE. Manhood, ye must love God above all thing.
His name in idleness ye may not ming:
Keep your holy-day from worldly doing:
Your father and mother worship aye:
Covet ye to sle no man,
Ne do no lechery with no woman:
Your neighbour's good take not by no way,
And all false witness ye must denay:
Neither ye must not covet no man's wife,
Nor no good that him be-lith.
This covetise shall keep you out of strife.
These been the commandments ten:
Mankind, and ye these commandments keep,
Heaven bliss I you behete,[244]
For Christ's commandments are[245] full sweet,
And full necessary to all men.

MANHOOD. What, Conscience, is this thy covetise?

CONSCIENCE. Yea, manhood, in all wise:
And covet to Christ's service,
Both to matins and to mass.
Ye must, Manhood, with all your might,
Maintain holy church's right,
For this longeth to a knight
Plainly in every place.

MANHOOD. What, Conscience, should I leave all game and glee?

CONSCIENCE. Nay, Manhood, so mot I the,
All mirth in measure is good for thee:
But, sir, measure is in all thing.

MANHOOD. Measure, Conscience? what thing may measure be?

CONSCIENCE. Sir, keep you in charity,
And from all evil company,
For doubt of folly doing.

MANHOOD. Folly! what thing callest thou folly!

CONSCIENCE. Sir, it is pride, wrath, and envy,
Sloth, covetise, and gluttony,
Lechery the seventh is:
These seven sins I call folly.

MANHOOD. What, thou liest! to this seven
The world delivered me,
And said they were kings of great beauty,
And most of main and mights.
But yet I pray thee, sir, tell me,
May I not go arrayed honestly?

CONSCIENCE. Yes, Manhood, hardily
In all manner of degree.

MANHOOD. But I must have sporting of play.

CONSCIENCE. Sickerly,[246] Manhood, I say not nay:
But good governance keep both night and day,
And maintain meekness and all mercy.

MANHOOD. All mercy, Conscience: what may that be?

CONSCIENCE. Sir, all discretion that God gave thee.

MANHOOD. Discretion I know not, so mot I the.

CONSCIENCE. Sir, it is all the wits that God hath you send.

MANHOOD. Ah, Conscience! Conscience! now I know and see
Thy cunning is much more than mine:
But yet I pray thee, sir, tell me,
What is most necessary for man in every time?

CONSCIENCE. Sir, in every time beware of folly:
Folly is full of false flattering;
In what occupation that ever ye be,
Alway, ere ye begin, think on the ending for blame.
Now farewell, Manhood, I must wend.

MANHOOD. Now farewell, Conscience, mine own friend.

CONSCIENCE. I pray you, Manhood, have God in mind,
And beware of folly and shame.

MANHOOD. Yes, yes: yea, come wind and rain,
God let him never come here again.
Now he is forward, I am right fain,
For in faith, sir, he had near counselled me all amiss.
Ah, ah! now I have bethought me, if I shall heaven win,
Conscience teaching I must begin,
And clean forsake the kings of sin,
That the world me taught;
And Conscience' servant will I be,
And believe, as he hath taught me,
Upon one God and persons three,
That made all things of nought:
For Conscience clear I clepe my king,
And his knight in good doing:
For right of reason, as I find,
Conscience teaching is true:
The world is full of boast,
And saith he is of might most:
All his teaching is not worth a cost;
For Conscience he doth refuse.
But yet will I him not forsake,
For mankind he doth merry make:
Though the world and Conscience be at debate,
Yet the world will I not despise,
For both in church and in cheaping,[247]
And in other places being,
The world findeth me all thing,
And doth me great service.
Now here full prest
I think to rest,
Now mirth is best.

FOLLY. What, heigho! care away!
My name is Folly, I am not gay.
Is here any man that will say nay
That renneth in this rout?
Ah, sir, God give you good eve.

MANHOOD. Stand utter,[248] fellow, where dost thou thy courtesy preve?

FOLLY. What, I do but claw mine arse, sir, by your leave.
I pray you, sir, rive me this clout.

MANHOOD. What, stand out, thou sained[249] shrew!

FOLLY. By faith, sir, there the cock crew;
For I take record of this rew
My thedom[250] is near past.

MANHOOD. Now, truly, it may well be so.

FOLLY. By God, sir, yet have I fellows mo,
For in every country, where I go,
Some man his thrift hath lost.

MANHOOD. But hark, fellow, art thou any crafts-man?

FOLLY. Yea, sir, I can bind a sieve and tink a pan,
And thereto a curious buckler-player I am.
Arise, fellow, will thou assay?

MANHOOD. Now truly, sir, I trow thou canst but little skill of play.

FOLLY. Yes, by Cock's bones, that I can.
I will never flee for no man,
That walketh by the way.

MANHOOD. Fellow, though thou have cunning,
I counsel thee leave thy boasting,
For here thou may thy fellow find,
Whether thou wilt, at long or short.

FOLLY. Come, look and thou darest, arise and assay.

MANHOOD. Yea, sir, but yet Conscience biddeth me nay.

FOLLY. No, sir, thou darest not in good fay,
For truly thou failest no[w], false heart.

MANHOOD. What sayest thou? have I a false heart?

FOLLY. Yea, sir, in good fay.

MANHOOD. Manhood will not that I say nay.
Defend thee, Folly, if that you may,
For in faith I purpose to wete what thou art.
How sayest thou now, Folly, hast thou not a touch?

FOLLY. No, i-wis, but a little on my pouch.
On all this meyne[251] will me vouch
That standeth here about.

MANHOOD. And I take record on all this rew,
Thou hast two touches, though I say but few.

FOLLY. Yea, this place is not without a shrew:
I do you all out of due.

MANHOOD. But hark, fellow, by thy faith, where was thou bore?

FOLLY. By my faith, in England have I dwelled yore,
And all mine ancestors me before.
But, sir, in London is my chief dwelling.

MANHOOD. In London? where, if a man thee sought?

FOLLY. Sir, in Holborn I was forth brought,
And with the courtiers, I am betaught,
To Westminster I used to wend.

MANHOOD. Hark, fellow, why dost thou to Westminster draw?

FOLLY. For I am a servant of the law.
Covetise is mine own fellow:
We twain plete[252] for the king,
And poor men that come from upland,
We will take their matter in hand,
Be it right or be it wrong,
Their thrift with us shall wend.

MANHOOD. Now hear, fellow, I pray thee, whither wendest thou than?

FOLLY. By my faith, sir, into London I ran,
To the taverns to drink the wine:
And then to the inns I took the way,
And there I was not welcome to the ostler,
But I was welcome to the fair tapester,
And to all the household I was right dear,
For I have dwelled with her many a day.

MANHOOD. Now I pray thee, whither took thou then the way?

FOLLY. In faith, sir, over London bridge I ran,
And the straight way to the Stews I came,
And took lodging for a night:
And there I found my brother lechery.
There men and women did Folly,
And every man made of me as worthy,
As though I had been a knight.

MANHOOD. I pray thee yet tell me mo of thine adventures.

FOLLY. In faith, even straight to all the freres,
And with them I dwelled many years,
And they crowned Folly a king.

MANHOOD. I pray thee, fellow, whither wendest thou tho?

FOLLY. Sir, all England to and fro:
Into abbeys and into nunneries also,
And alway Folly doth fellows find.

MANHOOD. Now hark, fellow, I pray thee tell me thy name.

FOLLY. I-wis, I hight both Folly and Shame.

MANHOOD. Ah, ah! thou art he that Conscience did blame,
When he me taught.
I pray thee, Folly, go hence, and follow not me.

FOLLY. Yes, good sir, let me your servant be.

MANHOOD. Nay, so mot I the,
For then a shrew had I caught.

FOLLY. Why, good sir, what is your name?

MANHOOD. Manhood Mighty, that beareth no blame.

FOLLY. By the rood, and Manhood mistereth[253] in every game
Some deal to cherish Folly:
For Folly is fellow with the world,
And greatly beloved by many a lord,
And if ye put me out of your ward,
The world right wrath will be.

MANHOOD. Yea, sir, yet had I liever the world be wrath,
Than lese the cunning that Conscience me gave.

FOLLY. A cuckoo for Conscience[254]; he is but a daw:
He cannot else but preach.

MANHOOD. Yea, I pray thee, leave thy lewd clattering,
For Conscience is a councillor for a king.

FOLLY. I would not give a straw for his teaching:
He doth but make men wrath.
But wottest thou what I say, man?
By that ilk[255] truth that God me gave,
Had I that bitched Conscience in this place,
I should so beat him with my staff,
That all his stones should stink.

MANHOOD. I pray thee, Folly, go hence and follow not me.

FOLLY. Yes, sir, so mot I the,
Your servant will I be.
I axe but meat and drink.

MANHOOD. Peace, man: I may not have thee for thy name,
For thou sayest thy name is both Folly and Shame.

FOLLY. Sir, here in this clout I knit Shame,
And clepe me but proper Folly.

MANHOOD. Yea, Folly, will thou be my true servant?

FOLLY. Yea, Sir Manhood, here my hand.

MANHOOD. Now let us drink at this comnant,[256]
For that is courtesy.

FOLLY. Marry, master, ye shall have in haste.
Ah, ah, sirs, let the cat wink,[257]
For all ye wot not what I think,
I shall draw him such a draught of drink,
That Conscience he shall away cast.
Have, master, and drink well
And let us make revel, revel,
For I swear by the church of Saint Michael,
I would we were at stews:
For there is nothing but revel rout.
And we were there, I had no doubt
I should be knowen all about,
Where Conscience they would refuse.

MANHOOD. Peace, Folly, my fair friend,
For, by Christ, I would not that Conscience should me here find.

FOLLY. Tush, master, thereof speak no thing,
For Conscience cometh no time here.

MANHOOD. Peace, Folly, there is no man that knoweth me.

FOLLY. Sir, here my troth I plight to thee,
And thou wilt go thither with me,
For Knowledge have thou no care.

MANHOOD. Peace, but it is hence a great way.

FOLLY. Pardè, sir, we may be there on a day.
Yea, and we shall be right welcome, I dare well say,
In Eastcheap for to dine:
And then we will with lombards[258] at passage[259] play,
And at the Pope's-Head sweet wine assay,
We shall be lodged well a-fine.

MANHOOD. What sayest thou, Folly, is this the best?

FOLLY. Sir, all this is Manhood, well thou knowest.

MANHOOD. Now, Folly, go we hence in haste.
But fain would I change my name:
For well I wot, if Conscience meet me in this tide,
Right well I wot, he would me chide.

FOLLY. Sir, for fear of you his face he shall hide:
I shall clepe you Shame.

MANHOOD. Now gramercy, Folly, my fellow infere,[260]
Go we hence, tarry no lenger here.
Till we be gone, methink it seven year:
I have gold and good to spend.

FOLLY. Ah, ah! master, that is good cheer,
And ere it be passed half a year,
I shall thee shear right a lewd frere,
And hither again thee send. [Aside.

MANHOOD. Folly, go before, and teach me the way.

FOLLY. Come after, Shame, I thee pray,
And Conscience clear ye cast away.
Lo, sirs, this Folly teacheth aye:
For where Conscience cometh with his cunning,
Vet Folly full featly shall make him blind.
Folly before, and Shame behind.
Lo, sirs, thus fareth the world alway.

MANHOOD. Now, I will follow Folly, for Folly is my man:
Yea, Folly is my fellow, and hath given me a name:
Conscience called me Manhood, Folly calleth me Shame.
Folly will me lead to London to learn revel;
Yea, and Conscience is but a flattering brothel;
For ever he is carping of care:
The world and Folly counselleth me to all gladness,
Yea, and Conscience counselleth me to all sadness;
Yea, too much sadness might bring me into madness.
And now have good day, sirs,
To London to seek Folly will I fare.

CONSCIENCE. Say, Manhood, friend, whither will ye go?

MANHOOD. Nay, sir, in faith my name is not so.
Why, frere, what the devil hast thou to do,
Whether I go or abide?

CONSCIENCE. Yes, sir, I will counsel you for the best

MANHOOD. I will none of thy counsel, so have I rest:
I will go whither me lest,[261]
For thou canst nought else but chide.

CONSCIENCE. Lo, sirs, a great ensample you may see,
The frailness of mankind,
How oft he falleth in folly
Through temptation of the fiend:
For when the fiend and the flesh be at one assent,
Then Conscience clear is clean outcast.
Men think not on the great judgment,
That the seely soul shall have at the last,
But would God all men would have in mind
Of the great day of doom,
How he shall give a great reckoning
Of evil deeds that he hath done:
But [it is] needless, sith it is so,
That Manhood is forth with Folly wende,
To seech[262] Perseverance now will I go,
With the grace of God omnipotent.
His counsels been in fere:
Perseverance' counsel is most dear,
Next to him is Conscience, clear
From sinning.
Now into this presence to Christ, I pray,
To speed me well in my journey:
Farewell, lordings, and have good day:
To seek Perseverance will I wend.

PERSEVERANCE. Now, Christ, our comely creator,[263] clearer than crystal
clean,
That craftly made every creature by good recreation,
Save all this company that is gathered here bi-dene,[264]
And set all your souls into good salvation.
Now, good God, that is most wisest and welde of wits,
This company counsel, and comfort, and glad,
And save all this simplitude that seemly here sits.
Now, good God, for his mercy, that all men made:
Now, Mary mother, meekest that I mean,
Shield all this company from evil inversation,
And save you from our enemy, as she is bright and clean,
And at the last day of doom deliver you from everlasting damnation,
Sirs, Perseverance is my name,
Conscience born brother [that] is,
He sent me hither mankind to indoctrine,
That they should to no vices incline:
For oft mankind is governed amiss,
And through Folly mankind is set in shame,
Therefore in this presence to Christ I pray,
Ere that I hence wend away,
Some good word that I may say
To borrow[265] man's soul from blame.

AGE. Alas! alas! that me is woe!
My life, my liking, I have forlorn
My rents, my riches, it is all y-go:
Alas the day that I was born!
For I was born Manhood most of might,
Stiff, strong, both stalwart and stout,
The world full worthily hath made me a knight:
All bowed to my bidding bonerly about:
Then Conscience, clear, comely and kind,
Meekly he met me in seat, there I sat,
He learned me a lesson of his teaching,
And the seven deadly sins full loathly he did hate:
Pride, wrath, and envy, and covetise in kind,
The world all these sins delivered me until,[266]
Sloth, covetise, and leechery, that is full of false flattering,
All these Conscience reproved both loud and still.
To-Conscience I held up my hand,[267]
To keep Christ's commandments.
He warned me of Folly, that traitor, and bad me beware,
And thus he went his way:
But I have falsely me forsworn,
Alas the day that I was born!
For body and soul I have forlorn.
I clang, as a clod in clay,
In London many a day;
At the passage I would play,
I thought to borrow and never pay.
Then was I sought and set in stocks,
In Newgate I lay under locks,
If I said aught, I caught many knocks.
Alas where was Manhood tho?
Alas, my lewdness hath me lost.
Where is my body so proud and prest?
I cough and rought,[268] my body will burst,
Age doth follow me so.
I stare and stacker[269] as I stand,
I groan glisly upon the ground.
Alas, death, why lettest thou me live so long?
I wander as a wight in woe and care;
For I have done ill.
Now wend I will
My self to spill,
I care not whither nor where.

PERSEVERANCE. Well y-met, sir, well y-met; and whither away?

AGE. Why, good sir, whereby do ye say?

PERSEVERANCE. Tell me, sir, I you pray,
And I with you will wend.

AGE. Why, good sir, what is your name?

PERSEVERANCE. Forsooth, sir, Perseverance, the same.

AGE. Sir, ye are Conscience' brother, that me did blame,
I may not with you linger.

PERSEVERANCE. Yes, yes, Manhood, my friend in fere.

AGE. Nay, sir, my name is in another manner.
For Folly his own self was here,
And hath cleped me Shame.

PERSEVERANCE. Shame?
Nay, Manhood, let him go:
Folly and his fellows also,
For they would thee bring into care and woe,
And all that will follow his game.

AGE. Yea, game who so game:
Folly hath given me a name,
So, wherever I go,
He cleped me Shame.
Now Manhood is gone,
Folly hath followed me so.
When I first from my mother came,
The world made me a man,
And fast in riches I ran,
Till I was dubbed a knight;
And then I met with Conscience clear,
And he me set in such manner,
Me thought his teaching was full dear,
Both by day and night.
And then Folly met me,
And sharply he beset me,
And from Conscience he fet[270] me:
He would not fro me go,
Many a day he kept me,
And to all folks he cleped me
Shame:[271]
And unto all sins he set me,
Alas, that me is woe!
For I have falsely me forsworn.
Alas, that I was born!
Body and soul, I am but lorn,
Me liketh neither glee nor game.

PERSEVERANCE. Nay, nay, Manhood, say not so.
Beware of Manhood, for he is a foe.
A new name I shall give you too:
I clepe you Repentance,
For, and you here repent your sin,
Ye are possible heaven to win:
But with great contrition ye must begin,
And take you to abstinence:
For though a man had do alone
The deadly sins everychone,
And he with contrition make his moan
To Christ our heaven king,
God is all so glad of him,
As of the creature that never did sin.

AGE. Now, good sir, how should I contrition begin?

PERSEVERANCE. Sir, in shrift of mouth without varying;
And another ensample I shall show you too.
Think on Peter and Paul, and other mo:
Thomas, James, and John also,
And also Mary Magdalene.
For Paul did Christ's people great villainy,
And Peter at the passion forsook Christ thrice,
And Magdalene lived long in lechery,
And St Thomas believed not in the resurrection:
And yet these to Christ are darlings dear,
And now be saints in heaven clear.
And therefore, though ye have trespassed here,
I hope ye be sorry for your sin.

AGE. Yea, Perseverance, I you plight,
I am sorry for my sin both day and night.
I would fain learn with all my might,
How I should heaven win.

PERSEVERANCE. Sir,[272] to win heaven five necessary things there been,
That must be knowen to all mankind.
The five wits doth begin,
Sir, bodily and spiritually.

AGE. Of the five wits I would have knowing.

PERSEVERANCE. Forsooth, sir, hearing, seeing, and smelling,
The remanant tasting and feeling:
These being the five wits bodily,
And, sir, other five wits there been.

AGE. Sir Perseverance, I know not them.

PERSEVERANCE. Now, Repentance, I shall you ken.
They are the power of the soul:
Clear in mind, there is one,
Imagination and all reason,
Understanding and compassion:
These belong unto Perseverance.

AGE. Gramercy, Perseverance, for your true teaching.
But, good sir, is there any more behind
That is necessary to all mankind,
Freely for to know?

PERSEVERANCE. Yea, Repentance, more there be,
That every man must on believe:
The twelve articles of the faith,
That mankind must on trow.
The first, that God is in one substance,
And also that God is in three persons,
Beginning and ending without variance,
And all this world made of nought.
The second, that the Son of God sickerly
Took flesh and blood of the Virgin Mary,
Without touching of man's flesh-company:
This must be in every man's thought.
The third, that the same God-Son,
Born of that holy virgin,
And she after his birth maiden as she was beforne,
And clearer in all kind.
Also the fourth, that same Christ, God and man,
He suffered pain and passion,
Because of man's soul redemption,
And on a cross did hing.
The fifth article I shall you tell:
Then the spirit of Godhead went to hell,
And bought out the souls that there did dwell
By the power of His own might.
The sixth article I shall you say:
Christ rose upon the third day,
Very God and man without nay:
That all shall deem and dight,
He sent man's soul into heaven
Aloft all the angels everychone,
There is the Father, the Son, and the soothfast Holy Ghost.
The eighth article we must believe on,
That same God shall come down,
And deem man's soul at the day of doom,
And on mercy then must we trust.
The ninth article without strife,
Every man, maiden and wife,
And all the bodies that ever bare life,
And at the day of doom body and soul shall 'ppear.
Truly the tenth article is,
All they that hath kept God's service
They shall be crowned in heaven bliss,
And Christ's servants to Him full dear.
The eleventh article, the sooth to sayne,
All that hath falsely to God guided them
They shall be put into hell pain,
There shall be no sin-covering.
Sir, after the twelfth we must worch,
And believe in all the sacraments of holy church,
That they been necessary, both last and first,
To all manner of mankind.
Sir, ye must also hear and know tho commandments ten.
Lo, sir, this is your belief;[273] and all men
Do after it, and ye shall heaven win
Without doubt, I know.

AGE. Gramercy, Perseverance, for your true teaching
For in the spirit of my soul will I find,
That it is necessary to all mankind
Truly for to know.
Now, sirs, take all ensample by mo,
How I was born in simple degree,
The world royal received me,
And dubbed me a knight,
Then Conscience met me,
So after him came Folly:
Folly falsely deceived me,
Then Shame my name hyght.[274]

PERSEVERANCE. Yea, and now is your name Repentance,
Through the grace of God almight.
And therefore without any distance
I take my leave of king and knight,
And I pray to Jesu, which has made us all,
Cover you with his mantle perpetual. Amen.[275]

"A Tragedy or Interlude manifesting the chief promises of God unto man by all ages in the old law, from the fall of Adam to the incarnation of the Lord Jesus Christ. Compiled by John Bale, Anno Domini MDXXXVIII. In the word (which is now called the eternal son of God) was life from the beginning, and that life was the light of men. This light yet shineth in the darkness, but the darkness comprehendeth it not."—JOAN I.[276] … 4°, black letter.

John Bale, author of the morality of "God's Promises," is more known as an historian and controversialist than as a dramatic writer. He was [the son of Henry and Margaret Bale, and was] born on the 21st of November 1495, at Cove, a small village near Dunwich, in Suffolk. His parents, having many other children, and not being in very affluent circumstances, sent him, at the age of twelve years, to the monastery of Carmelites at Norwich,[277] where he received part of his education, and whence he removed to [Jesus] College,[278] Cambridge.[279] While he continued at the University, being as he says seriously stirred up by the illustrious the Lord Wentworth, he renounced the tenets of the Church of Rome; and, that he might never more serve so execrable a beast, I took, says he, to wife the faithful Dorothy, in obedience to that divine command, "Let him that cannot contain, marry," Bishop Nicolson insinuates that his dislike to a state of celibacy was the means of his conversion, more than any doubts which he entertained about the truth of his faith. The change of his religion exposed him to the persecution of the Romish clergy, particularly of Lee, Archbishop of York, and Stokesley, Bishop of London; but he found an able and powerful protector in the person of Lord Cromwell, the favourite of Henry the Eighth. On the death of this nobleman, he withdrew into the Low Countries, and resided there eight years; in which time he wrote several pieces in the English language. On the accession of King Edward the Sixth, he was recalled into England, and obtained the living of Bishopstoke, in the county of Southampton. During his residence at his living, he was almost brought to the point of death by an ague; when hearing that the king was come in progress to Southampton, five miles only from where he dwelt, he went to pay his respects to him. "I toke my horse," says he, "about 10 of the clocke, for very weaknesse scant able to sytt him, and so came thydre. Betwixt two and three of the clocke, the same day, I drew towardes the place where as his majestie was, and stode in the open strete ryght against the gallerye. Anon, my frinde Johan Fylpot, a gentylman, and one of hys previe chambre, called unto him two more of hys companyons, which in moving their heades towardes me, shewed me most frendely countenaunces. By one of these three the kynge havynge informacion that I was there in the strete, he marveled thereof, for so much as it had bene tolde hym a lytle afore that I was bothe dead and buried. With that hys grace came to the wyndowe, and earnestly behelde me a poore weake creature, as though he had upon me so symple a subject an earnest regard, or rather a very fatherly care." This visit to the king occasioned his immediate appointment to the bishopric of Ossory, which was settled the next day, as he declared[280] afterwards, against his will, of the king's own mere motion only, without suit of friends, meed, labour, expenses, or any other sinister means else. On the [2d February] 1553,[281] he was consecrated at Dublin by the archbishop of that see, and underwent a variety of persecutions from the Popish party in Ireland, which at length compelled him to leave his diocese, and conceal himself in Dublin. Endeavouring to escape thence in a small trading vessel, he was taken prisoner by the captain of a Dutch man-of-war, who rifled him of all his money, apparel, and effects. The ship was then driven by stress of weather into St Ives in Cornwall, where he was taken up on suspicion of high treason, but soon discharged. From thence, after a cruise of several days, the ship arrived in Dover Road, and he was again put in danger by a false accusation. On his arrival in Holland, he was kept prisoner three weeks, and then obtained his liberty on payment of a sum of money. From Holland he retired to Basil in Switzerland, and continued abroad during the remainder of Queen Mary's reign. On the accession of Queen Elizabeth, he returned to England; but being disgusted with the treatment he met with in Ireland, he went thither no more. He was promoted on the 15th of January 1560, to a prebend in the Cathedral Church of Canterbury, and died in that city in [or before] November 1563, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. According to the manners of the times in which he wrote, he appears to have taken very indecent liberties with all his antagonists in his religious controversies, and to have considered himself as not bound by any rules of decorum in replying to those from whom he differed in matters, wherein the interests of religion were concerned. The acrimony of his style on these occasions acquired him the appellation of "Bilious Bale," and it was applied to him with singular propriety. His principal work is esteemed the "Scriptorum illustrium majoris Brytaniae quam nunc Angliam et Scotiam vocant Catalogus;" a Japheto per 3618 annos usque ad annum hunc domini 1557, &c., first printed imperfectly at Wesel in 1549, and afterwards more completely in 1557 and 1559.[282] He was the author of a great number of dramatic pieces, [four[283]] of which only appear to have been published.

This present copy is taken from an old black letter edition in 4to, in the valuable collection of David Garrick, Esq.[284] The title-page being damaged, I am unable to give the date of it.

What is remarkable in this drama is that it is divided into seven acts,[285] and at the end of each act has a kind of chorus, which was performed with voices and instruments.

PATER COELESTIS. ADAM primus homo.
Justus NOAH. ABRAHAM fidelis.
MOSES sanctus. DAVID rex pius.
ESAIAS propheta. JOANNES baptista.
               BALEUS prolocutor.[286]

BALEUS prolocutor.

If profit may grow, most Christian audience,
By knowledge of things which are not transitory
And here for a time, of much more congruence
Advantage might spring by the search of causes heavenly,
As those matters are that the gospel specify.
Without whose knowledge no man to the truth can fall,[287]
Nor ever attain to the life perpetual.
For he that knoweth not the living God eternal,
The Father, the Son, and also the Holy Ghost,
And what Christ suffered for redemption of us all,
What he commanded, and taught in every coast,
And what he forbode, that man must needs be lost,
And clean secluded from the faithful chosen sort,
In the heavens above, to his most high discomfort.
You therefore, good friends, I lovingly exhort
To weigh such matters, as will be uttered here,
Of whom ye may look to have no trifling sport
In fantasies feigned, nor such-like gawdish gear,
But the things that shall your inward stomach cheer,
To rejoice in God for your justification,
And alone in Christ to hope for your salvation.
Yea, first ye shall have the eternal generation
Of Christ, like as John in his first chapter writes,
And consequently of man the first creation,
The abuse and fall, through his first oversight,
And the rise-again through God's high grace and might:
By promises first which shall be declared all:
Then by his own Son, the worker principal.
After that Adam bewaileth here his fall,
God will show mercy to every generation,
And to his kingdom of his great goodness call
His elected spouse or faithful congregation,
As here shall appear by open protestation,
Which from Christ's birth shall to his death conclude:
They come, that thereof will show the certitude.

PATER COELESTIS. In the beginning, before the heavens were create,
In me and of me was my Son sempiternal,
With the Holy Ghost, in one degree or estate
Of the high Godhead, to me the father coequal,
And this my Son was with me one God essential,
Without separation at any time from me.
True God he is, of equal dignity.
Since the beginning my Son hath ever be,
Joined with his Father in one essential being.
All things were create by him in each degree,
In heaven and earth, and have their diverse working:
Without his power was never made anything,
That was wrought; but through his ordinance
Each have his strength and whole countenance.
In him is the life and the just recoverance
For Adam and his, which nought but death deserved.
And this life to men is an high perseverance
Or a light of faith, whereby they shall be saved.
And this light shall shine among the people darkened
With unfaithfulness. Yet shall they not with him take,
But of wilful heart his liberal grace forsake.
Which will compel me against man for to make
In my displeasure, and send plagues of correction,
Most grievous and sharp, his wanton lusts to slake
By water and fire, by sickness and infection,
Of pestilent sores molesting his complexion,
By troublous war, by dearth and painful scarceness,
And after this life by an extreme heaviness.
I will first begin with Adam for his lewdness,
Which for an apple neglected my commandment.
He shall continue in labour for his rashness,
His only sweat shall provide his food and raiment.
Yea, yet must he have a greater punishment,
Most terrible death shall bring him to his end,
To teach him how he his Lord God shall offend.

Hic praeceps in terram cadit ADAMUS, ac post quartum versum denuo resurgit.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Merciful father, thy pitiful grace extend
To me careful wretch, which have me sore abused,
Thy precept breaking. O Lord, I mind to amend,
If thy great goodness would now have me excused;
Most heavenly Maker, let me not be refused,
Nor cast from thy sight for one poor sinful crime;
Alas! I am frail, my whole kind is but slim.

PATER COELESTIS. I wot it is so, yet art thou no less faulty,
Then thou hadst been made of matter much more worthy.
I gave thee reason and wit to understand
The good from the evil, and not to take on hand,
Of a brainless mind, the thing which I forbade thee.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Such heavy fortune hath chiefly chanced me,
For that I was left to mine own liberty.

PATER COELESTIS. Then thou art blameless, and the fault thou layest to me?

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Nay, all I ascribe to my own imbecility.
No fault in thee, Lord, but in my infirmity,
And want of respect in such gifts as thou gavest me.

PATER COELESTIS. For that I put thee at thine own liberty,
Thou oughtest my goodness to have in more regard.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Avoid it I cannot: thou layest it to me so hard.
Lord, now I perceive what power is in man,
And strength of himself, when thy sweet grace is absent.
He must needs but fall, do he the best he can,
And danger himself, as appeareth evident;
For I sinned not too long as thou wert present;
But when thou wert gone, I fell to sin by and by,
And thee displeased. Good Lord, I axe thee mercy.

PATER COELESTIS. Thou shalt die for it, with all thy posterity.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. For one fault, good Lord, avenge not thyself on me,
Who am but a worm or a fleshly vanity.

PATER COELESTIS. I say thou shalt die, with thy whole posterity.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Yet mercy, sweet Lord, if any mercy may be.

PATER COELESTIS. I am immutable, I may change no decree;
Thou shalt die, I say, without any remedy.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Yet, gracious Father, extend to me thy mercy,
And throw not away the work which thou hast create
To thine own image, but avert from me thy hate.

PATER COELESTIS. But art thou sorry from bottom of thy heart?

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Thy displeasure is to me most heavy smart.

PATER COELESTIS. Then will I tell thee what thou shalt stick unto:
Life to recover, and my good favour also.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Tell it me, sweet Lord, that I may thereafter go.

PATER COELESTIS. This is my covenant to thee and all thy offspring.
For that thou hast been deceived by the serpent,
I will put hatred betwixt him for his doing
And the woman kind. They shall hereafter dissent;
His seed with her seed shall never have agreement;
Her seed shall press down his head unto the ground,
Slay his suggestions, and his whole power confound.
Cleave to this promise with all thy inward power,
Firmly inclose it in thy remembrance fast;
Fold it in thy faith with full hope day and hour,
And thy salvation it will be at the last.
That seed shall clear thee of all thy wickedness past,
And procure thy peace with most high grace in my sight.
See thou trust to it, and hold not the matter light.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Sweet Lord, the promise that thyself here hath made me
Of thy mere goodness, and not of my deserving,
In my faith I trust shall so established be
By help of thy grace, that it shall be remaining,
So long as I shall have here continuing,
And show it I will to my posterity,
That they in like case have thereby felicity.

PATER COELESTIS. For a closing up, take yet one sentence with thee.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. At thy pleasure, Lord, all things might ever be.

PATER COELESTIS. For that my promise may have the deeper effect
In the faith of thee and all thy generation,
Take this sign with it as a seal thereto connect.
Creep shall the serpent for his abhomination;
The woman shall sorrow in painful propagation.
Like as thou shalt find this true in outward working.
So think the other, though it be an hidden thing.

ADAM PRIMUS HOMO. Incessant praising to thee, most heavenly Lord,
For this thy succour and undeserved kindness:
Thou bindest me in heart thy gracious gifts to record,
And to bear in mind now, after my heaviness,
The bruit of thy name with inward joy and gladness.
Thou disdainest not, as well appeareth this day,
To fetch to thy fold thy first sheep going astray.
Most Mighty Maker, thou castest not yet away
Thy sinful servant, which hath done most offence.
It is not thy mind for ever I should decay,
But thou reservest me of thy benevolence,
And hast provided for me a recompense
By thy appointment, like as I have received
In thy strong promise, here openly pronounced.
This goodness, dear Lord, of me is undeserved,
I so declining from thy first instruction
At so light motions. To one that thus hath swerved,
What a Lord art thou to give such retribution!
I, damnable wretch, deserved execution
Of terrible death without all remedy,
And to be put out of all good memory.
I am enforced to rejoice here inwardly,
An imp though I be of hell, death, and damnation,
Through my own working: for I consider thy mercy
And pitiful mind for my whole generation.
It is thou, sweet Lord, that workest my salvation
And my recover. Therefore of a congruence
From hence thou must have my heart and obedience.
Though I be mortal by reason of my offence,
And shall die the death,[289] like as God hath appointed:
Of this am I sure, through his high influence,
At a certain day again to be revived.
From ground of my heart this shall not be removed.
I have it in faith, and therefore I will sing
This anthem to him that my salvation shall bring.

Tunc sonora voce, provolutis genibus, Antiphonam incipit, O sapientia, quam prosequetur chorus cum organis, eo interim exeunte.

Vel sub eodem tono poterit sic Anglicè cantare.

O eternal sapience, that proceedest from the mouth of the highest, reaching forth with a great power from the beginning to the end, with heavenly sweetness disposing all creatures, come now and instruct us the true way of thy godly prudence.

Finit Actus primus.

PATER COELESTIS. I have been moved to strike man diversely.
Since I left Adam in this same earthly mansion;
For why he hath done to me displeasures many,
And will not amend his life in any condition:
No respect hath he to my word nor monition,
But doth what him lust without discreet advisement,
And will in no wise take mine advertisement.
Cain hath slain Abel his brother, an innocent,
Whose blood from the earth doth call to me for vengeance:
My children with men so carnally consent,
That their vain working is unto me much grievance:
Mankind is but flesh in his whole dalliance.
All vice increaseth in him continually,
Nothing he regardeth to walk unto my glory.
My heart abhorreth his wilful misery,
His cankered malice, his cursed covetousness,
His lusts lecherous, his vengeable tyranny,
Unmerciful murther and other ungodliness.
I will destroy him for his outrageousness.
And not him only, but all that on earth do stere,[290]
For it repenteth me that ever I made them here.

JUSTUS NOAH. Most Gentle Maker, with his frailness somewhat bear;
Man is thy creature, thyself cannot say nay.
Though thou punish him, to put him somewhat in fear,
His fault to knowledge,[291] yet seek not his decay.
Thou mayest reclaim him, though he goeth now astray,
And bring him again, of thy abundant grace,
To the fold of faith, he acknowledging his trespass.

PATER COELESTIS. Thou knowest I have given to him convenient space,
With lawful warnings, yet he amendeth in no place.
The natural law, which I wrote in his heart,
He hath outrased, all goodness putting apart:
Of health the covenant, which I to Adam made,
He regardeth not, but walketh a damnable tread.[292]

JUSTUS NOAH. All this is true, Lord, I cannot thy words reprove,
Let his weakness yet thy merciful goodness move.

PATER COELESTIS. No weakness is it, but wilful working all,
That reigneth in man through mind diabolical.
He shall have therefore like as he hath deserved.

JUSTUS NOAH. Lose him not yet, Lord, though he hath deeply swerved.
I know thy mercy is far above his rudeness,
Being infinite, as all other things are in thee.
His folly therefore now pardon of thy goodness,
And measure it not beyond thy Godly pity.
Esteem not his fault farther than help may be,
But grant him thy grace, as he offendeth so deeply,
Thee to remember, and abhor his misery.
Of all goodness, Lord, remember thy great mercy
To Adam and Eve, breaking thy first commandment.
Them thou relieved with thy sweet promise heavenly,
Sinful though they were, and their lives negligent.
I know that mercy with thee is permanent,
And will be ever, so long as the world endure:
Then close not thy hand from man, which is thy creature.
Being thy subject, he is underneath thy cure,
Correct him thou mayest, and so bring him to grace.
All lieth in thy hands, to leave or to allure,
Bitter death to give, or grant most sovereign solace.
Utterly from man avert not then thy face;
But let him savour thy sweet benevolence
Somewhat, though he feel thy hand for his offence.

PATER COELESTIS. My true servant Noah, thy righteousness doth move me
Somewhat to reserve for man's posterity.
Though I drown the world, yet will I save the lives
Of thee and thy wife, thy three sons and their wives,
And of each kind two, to maintain you hereafter.

JUSTUS NOAH. Blessed be thy name, most Mighty Merciful Maker,
With thee to dispute it were inconvenient.

PATER COELESTIS. Why dost thou say so? be bold to speak thy intent.

JUSTUS NOAH. Shall the other die without any remedy?

PATER COELESTIS. I will drown them all for their wilful, wicked folly,
That man hereafter thereby may know my power,
And fear to offend my goodness day and hour.

JUSTUS NOAH. As thy pleasure is, so might it always be,
For my health thou art, and soul's felicity.

PATER COELESTIS. After that this flood have had his raging passage,
This shall be to thee my covenant everlasting.
The seas and waters so far never more shall rage,
As all flesh to drown, I will so temper their working;
This sign will I add also, to confirm the thing.
In the clouds above, as a seal or token clear,
For safeguard of man my rainbow shall appear.
Take thou this covenant for an earnest confirmation
Of my former promise to Adam's generation.

JUSTUS NOAH. I will, blessed Lord, with my whole heart and mind.

PATER COELESTIS. Farewell then, just Noah, here leave I thee behind.

JUSTUS NOAH. Most Mighty Maker, ere I from hence depart,
I must give thee praise from the bottom of my heart.
Whom may we thank, Lord, for our health and salvation,
But thy great mercy and goodness undeserved?
Thy promise in faith is our justification,
As it was Adam's, when his heart therein rested,
And as it was theirs, which therein also trusted.
This faith was grounded in Adam's memory,
And clearly declared in Abel's innocency.
Faith in that promise old Adam did justify,
In that promise faith made Eve to prophecy.
Faith in that promise proved Abel innocent,
In that promise faith made Seth full obedient.
That faith taught Enos on God's name first to call,
And made Methuselah the oldest man of all.
That faith brought Enoch to so high exercise,
That God took him up with him into paradise.
Of that faith the want made Cain to hate the good,
And all his offspring to perish in the flood.
Faith in that promise preserved both me and mine.
So will it all them which follow the same line.
Not only this gift thou hast given me, sweet Lord,
But with it also thine everlasting covenant,
Of trust for ever, thy rainbow bearing record,
Nevermore to drown the world by flood inconstant,
Making the waters more peaceable and pleasant,
Alas! I cannot to thee give praise condign,
Yet will I sing here with heart meek and benign.

Magna tunc voce Antiphonam incipit, O oriens splendor, &c., in genua cadens; quam chorus prosequetur cum organis ut supra.

Vel Anglicè sub eodem tono.

O most orient clearness, and light shining of the sempiternal brightness! O clear sun of justice and heavenly righteousness, come hither and illumine the prisoner sitting now in the dark prison and shadow of eternal death.

Finit Actus secundus.

PATER COELESTIS. Mine high displeasure must needs return to man,
Considering the sin that he doth day by day;
For neither kindness nor extreme handling can
Make him to know me by any faithful way,
But still in mischief he walketh to his decay.
If he do not soon his wickedness consider,
He is like, doubtless, to perish altogether.
In my sight he is more venom than the spider,
Through such abuses as he hath exercised,
From the time of Noah to this same season hither.
An uncomely act without shame Ham commised,
When he of his father the secret parts revealed.
In like case Nimrod against me wrought abusion,
As he raised up the castle of confusion.
Ninus hath also, and all by the devil's illusion,
Through image-making upraised idolatry,
Me to dishonour. And now in the conclusion
The vile Sodomites live so unnaturally,
That their sin vengeance asketh continually,
For my covenant's sake I will not drown with water,
Yet shall I visit their sins with other matter.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Yet, merciful Lord, thy graciousness remember
To Adam and Noah, both in thy word and promise:
And lose not the souls of men in so great number,
But save thine own work, of thy most discreet goodness.
I wot thy mercies are plentiful and earnest.
Never can they die nor fail, thyself enduring,
This hath faith fixed fast in my understanding.

PATER COELESTIS. Abraham, my servant, for thy most faithful meaning,
Both thou and thy stock shall have my plenteous blessing.
Where the unfaithful, under my curse evermore,
For their vain working shall rue their wickedness sore.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Tell me, blessed Lord, where will thy great malice
light?
My hope is, all flesh shall not perish in thy sight.

PATER COELESTIS. No, truly, Abraham, thou chancest upon the right.
The thing I shall do I will not hide from thee,
Whom I have blessed for thy true fidelity:
For I know thou wilt cause both thy children and servants
In my ways to walk, and trust unto my covenants,
That I may perform with thee my earnest promise.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. All that will I do, by assistance of thy goodness.

PATER COELESTIS. From Sodom and Gomorrah the abhominations call
For my great vengeance, which will upon them fall:
Wild fire and brimstone shall light upon them all.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Pitiful Maker, though they have kindled thy fury,
Cast not away yet the just sort with the ungodly.
Paraventure there may be fifty righteous persons
Within those cities, wilt thou lose them all at once,
And not spare the place, for those fifty righteous' sake?
Be it far from thee such rigour to undertake.
I hope there is not in thee so cruel hardness,
As to cast away the just men with the rechless,
And so to destroy the good with the ungodly.
In the judge of all be never such a fury.

PATER COELESTIS. At Sodom, if I may find just persons fifty,
The place will I spare for their sakes verily.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. I take upon me to speak here in thy presence,
More than becomes me; Lord, pardon my negligence:
I am but ashes, and were loth thee to offend.

PATER COELESTIS. Say forth, good Abraham, for ill dost thou not intend.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Happily there may be five less in the same number:
For their sakes I trust thou wilt not the rest accumber.[293]

PATER COELESTIS. If I among them might find but five-and-forty,
Then would I not lose for that just company.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. What if the city may forty righteous make?

PATER COELESTIS. Then will I pardon it for those same forty's sake.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Be not angry, Lord, though I speak indiscreetly.

PATER COELESTIS. Utter thy whole mind, and spare me not hardily.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Paraventure there may be thirty found among them.

PATER COELESTIS. May I find thirty, I will nothing do unto them.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. I take upon me too much, Lord, in thy sight.

PATER COELESTIS. No, no, good Abraham, for I know thy faith is right.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. No less, I suppose, than twenty can it have.

PATER COELESTIS. Could I find twenty, that city would I save.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Once yet will I speak my mind, and then no more.

PATER COELESTIS. Spare not to utter so much as thou hast in store.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. And what, if there might be ten good creatures found?

PATER COELESTIS. The rest for their sakes might so be safe and sound,
And not destroyed for their abhomination.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. O Merciful Maker, much is thy toleration
And sufferance of sin. I see it now indeed,
Witsafe yet of favour out of these cities to lead
Those that be faithful, though their flocks be but small.

PATER COELESTIS. Loth and his household I will deliver all,
For righteousness sake, which is of me and not them.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Great are thy graces in the generation of Shem.
PATER COELESTIS. Well, Abraham, well for thy true faithfulness,
Now will I give thee my covenant or third promise.
Look thou believe it, as thou covetest righteousness.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Lord, so regard me, as I receive it with gladness.

PATER COELESTIS. Of many peoples the father I will make thee,
All generations in thy seed shall be blessed.
As the stars of heaven, so shall thy kindred be;
And by the same seed the world shall be redressed.
In circumcision shall this thing be expressed,
As in a sure seal, to prove my promise true;
Print this in thy faith, and it shall thy soul renew.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. I will not one jot, Lord, from thy will dissent,
But to thy pleasure be always obedient,
Thy laws to fulfil, and most precious commandment.

PATER COELESTIS. Farewell, Abraham, for here in place I leave thee.

ABRAHAM FIDELIS. Thanks will I render, like as it shall behove me.
Everlasting praise to thy most glorious name,
Which saved Adam through faith in thy sweet promise
Of the woman's seed, and now confirmest the same
In the seed of me. Forsooth, great is thy goodness:
I cannot perceive, but that thy mercy is endless
To such as fear thee in every generation,
For it endureth without abbreviation.
This have I printed in deep consideration,
No worldly matter can rase it out of mind.
For once it will be the final restoration
Of Adam and Eve, with other that hath sinned;
Yea, the sure health and raise of all mankind.
Help have the faithful thereof, though they be infect,
They, condemnation, where as it is reject.
Merciful Maker, my crabbed voice direct,
That it may break out in some sweet praise to thee;
And suffer me not thy due laws to neglect,
But let me show forth thy commendations free,
Stop not my windpipes, but give them liberty,
To sound to thy name, which is most gracious,
And in it rejoice with heart melodious.

Tunc alta voce canit Antiphonam, O rex gentium, choro eandem prosequente cum organis, ut prius:

Vel Anglicè hoc modo.

O most Mighty Governor of thy people, and in heart most desired, the hard rock and true cornerstone, that of two maketh one, uning the Jews with the Gentiles in one church, come now and relieve mankind, whom thou hast formed of the vile earth.

Finit Actus tertius.

PATER COELESTIS. Still so increaseth the wickedness of man.
That I am moved with plagues him to confound.
His weakness to aid I do the best I can,
Yet he regardeth me no more than doth an hound.
My word and promise in his faith taketh no ground,
He will so long walk in his own lusts at large,
That nought he shall find his folly to discharge.
Since Abraham's time, which was my true elect,
Ishmael have I found both wicked, fierce, and cruel,
And Esau in mind with hateful murder infect.
The sons of Jacob to lusts unnatural fell,
And into Egypt did they their brother sell
Laban to idols gave faithful reverence,
Dinah was corrupt through Shechem's violence.
Reuben abused his father's concubine,
Judah gat children of his own daughter-in-law;
Yea, here in my sight went after a wicked line.
His seed Onan spilt, his brother's name to withdraw.
Achan lived here without all Godly awe.
And now the children of Israel abuse my power,
In so vile manner, that they move me every hour.

MOSES SANCTUS. Pacify thy wrath, sweet Lord, I thee desire,
As thou art gentle, benign, and patient,
Lose not that people in fierceness of thine ire,
For when thou hast showed such tokens evident,
Converting this rod into a lively serpent,
And the same serpent into this rod again,
Thy wonderful power declaring very plain.
For their sakes also puttest Pharaoh to pain
By ten diverse plagues, as I shall here declare:
By blood, frogs, and lice; by flies, death, blotches, and blain.
By hail, by grasshoppers, by darkness, and by care:
By a sudden plague all their firstgotten ware
Thou slewest in one night for his fierce cruelness.
From that thy people withhold not now thy goodness.

PATER COELESTIS. I certify thee, my chosen servant Moses,
That people of mine is full of unthankfulness.

MOSES SANCTUS. Dear Lord, I know it, alas! yet weigh their weakness,
And bear with their faults of thy great bounteousness.
In a flaming bush, having to them respect,
Thou appointed'st me their passage to direct:
And through the Red Sea thy right hand did us lead,
Where Pharaoh's host the flood overwhelmed indeed.
Thou went'st before them in a shining cloud all day,
And in the dark night in fire thou showed'st their way.
Thou sent them manna from heaven, to be their food.
Out of the hard stone thou gavest them water good.
Thou appointed'st them a land of milk and honey.
Let them not perish for want of thy great mercy.

PATER COELESTIS. Content they are not with foul nor yet with fair,
But murmur and grudge, as people in despair.
As I sent manna, they had it in disdain,
Thus of their welfare they many times complain.
Over Amalech I gave them the victory.

MOSES SANCTUS. Most Glorious Maker, all that is to thy glory,
Thou sentest them also a law from heaven above,
And daily showest them many tokens of great love.
The brazen serpent thou gavest them for their healing,
And Balaam's curse thou turned'st into a blessing.
I hope thou wilt not disdain to help them still.

PATER COELESTIS. I gave them precepts which they will not fulfil.
Nor yet acknowledge me for their God and good Lord,
So do their vile deeds with their wicked hearts accord,
While thou hast talked with me familiarly
In Sinai's mountain the space but of days forty,
Those sights all they have forgotten clearly,
And are turned to shameful idolatry.
For their God they have set up a golden calf.

MOSES SANCTUS. Let me say somewhat, Sweet Father, in their behalf.

PATER COELESTIS. I will first conclude, and then say on thy mind.
For that I have found that people so unkind,
Not one of them shall enjoy the promise of me,
For entering the land, but Caleb and Joshua.

MOSES SANCTUS. Thy eternal will evermore fulfilled be.
For disobedience thou slewest the sons of Aaron,
The earth swallowed in both Dathan and Abiram.
The adders did sting other wicked persons else,
In wonderful number. Thus hast thou punished rebels.

PATER COELESTIS. Never will I spare the cursed iniquity
Of idolatry for no cause, thou mayest trust me.

MOSES SANCTUS. Forgive them yet, Lord, for this time, if it may be.

PATER COELESTIS. Thinkest thou that I will so soon change my decree?
No, no, friend Moses; so light thou shalt not find me,
I will punish them, all Israel shall it see.

MOSES SANCTUS. I wot, thy people hath wrought abhomination.
Worshipping false gods, to thy honour's derogation.
Yet merciful thou mayest upon them look
And if thou wilt not, thrust me out of thy book.

PATER COELESTIS. Those great blasphemers shall out of my book clean,
But thou shalt not so, for I know what thou dost mean.
Conduct my people, mine angel shall assist thee,
That sin at a day will not uncorrected be.
And for the true zeal that thou to my people hast,
I add this covenant unto my promises past.
Raise them up I will a prophet from among them.
Not unlike to thee, to speak my words unto them.
Whoso heareth not that he shall speak in my name,
I will revenge it to his perpetual shame.
The Passover lamb will be a token just
Of this strong covenant. This have I clearly discussed
In my appointment this hour for your deliverance.

MOSES SANCTUS. Never shall this thing depart from my remembrance.
Laud be for ever to thee, most merciful Lord,
Which never withdrawest from man thy heavenly comfort,
But from age to age thy benefits doth record,
What thy goodness is, and hath been to his sort.
As we find thy grace, so ought we to report.
And doubtless it is to us most bounteous,
Yea, for all our sins most ripe and plenteous.
Abraham our father found the benevolence.
So did good Isaac in his distress among.
To Jacob thou wert a guide most gracious,
Joseph thou savedst from dangerous deadly wrong.
Melchisedec and Job felt thy great goodness strong,
So did good Sarah, Rebeccah, and fair Rachel,
With Zipporah my wife, the daughter of Revel,
To praise thee, sweet lord, my faith doth me compel,
For thy covenants' sake, wherein rest our salvation,
The seed of promise all other seeds excel,
For therein remaineth our full justification.
From Adam and Noah, in Abraham's generation,
That seed procureth God's mighty grace and power,
For the same seed's sake, I will sing now this hour.

Clara tunc voce Antiphonam incipit, O Emmanuel, quam chorus (ut prius) prosequetur cum organis.

Vel Anglicè canat:

O high King Emmanuel, and our liege lord! the long expectation of
Gentiles, and the mighty saviour of their multitude, the health and
consolation of sinners, come now for to save us as our Lord and our
Redeemer.

Finit Actus quartus.

PATER COELESTIS. For all the favour I have showed Israel,
Delivering her from Pharaoh's tyranny,
And giving the land fluentem lac & mel,
Yet will she not leave her old idolatry,
Nor know me for God. I ahhor her misery:
Vexed her I have with battles and decays,
And must I plague her, I see no other ways.

DAVID REX PIUS. Remember yet, lord, thy worthy servant Moses,
Walking in thy sight, without rebuke of thee.
Both Aaron, Jethro, Eleazar, and Phineas,
Evermore feared to offend thy majesty,
Much thou acceptedst thy servant Josua.
Caleb and Othniel sought thee with all their heart,
Aioth and Shangar for thy folk did their part.
Gideon and Tola thy enemies put to smart,
Jair and Jephtha gave praises to thy name.
These to leave idols thy people did court
Samson the strongest for his part did the same.
Samuel and Nathan thy messages did proclaim.
What though fierce Pharaoh wrought mischief in thy sight:
He was a Pagan, lay not that in our light.
I wot the Benjaminites abused the ways of right,
So did Eli's sons, and the sons of Samuel.
Saul in his office was slothful day and night,
Wicked was Shimei, so was Ahithophel.
Measure not by them the faults of Israel,
Whom thou hast loved of long time so entirely,
But of thy great grace remit her wicked folly.

PATER COELESTIS. I cannot abide the vice of idolatry,
Though I should suffer all other villany.
When Joshua was dead, that sort from me did fall
To the worshipping of Ashteroth and Baal,
Full unclean idols, and monsters bestial.

DAVID REX PIUS. For it they have had thy righteous punishment,
And for as much as they did wickedly consent
To the Philistines and Canaanites, ungodly
Idolaters, taking to them in matrimony,
Thou threwest them under the king of Mesopotamia,
After thou subduedst them for their idolatry
Eighteen years to Eglon, the king of Moabites,
And twenty years to Jabin, the king of Canaanites,
Oppressed they were seven years of the Midianites,
And eighteen years vexed of the cruel Ammonites.
In three great battles, of threescore thousand and five
Of this thy people, not one was left alive.
Have mercy now, lord, and call them to repentance.

PATER COELESTIS. So long as they sin, so long shall they have grievance.
David my servant, somewhat must I say to thee:
For that thou lately hast wrought such vanity.

DAVID REX PIUS. Spare not, blessed lord, but say thy pleasure to me.

PATER COELESTIS. Of late days thou hast misused Beersheba,
The wife of Uriah, and slain him in the field.

DAVID REX PIUS. Mercy, Lord, mercy, for doubtless I am defiled.

PATER COELESTIS. I constitute thee a king over Israel,
And thee preserved from Saul, which was thy enemy.
Yea, in my favour so much thou didst excel,
That of thy enemies I gave thee victory.
Philistines and Syrians to thee came tributary.
Why hast thou then wrought such folly in my sight,
Despising my word against all godly right?

DAVID REX PIUS. I have sinned, Lord; I beseech thee, pardon me.

PATER COELESTIS. Thou shalt not die, David, for this iniquity,
For thy repentance; but thy son by Beersheba
Shall die, for as much as my name is blasphemed
Among my enemies, and thou the worst esteemed.
From thy house for this the sword shall not depart.

DAVID REX PIUS. I am sorry, Lord, from the bottom of my heart.

PATER COELESTIS. To further anger thou dost me yet compel.

DAVID REX PIUS. For what matter, Lord? I beseech thy goodness tell.

PATER COELESTIS. Why didst thou number the people of Israel?
Supposest in thy mind therein thou hast done well?

DAVID REX PIUS. I cannot say nay, but I have done indiscreetly,
To forget thy grace for a human policy.

PATER COELESTIS. Thou shalt of these three choose which plague thou wilt
have
For that sinful act, that I thy soul may save:
A scarceness seven years, or else three months' exile,
Either for three days the pestilence most vile,
For one thou must have: there is no remedy.

DAVID REX PIUS. Lord, at thy pleasure, for thou art full of mercy.

PATER COELESTIS. Of a pestilence then three score thousand and ten
In three days shall die of thy most puissant men.

DAVID REX PIUS. O Lord, it is I which have offended thy grace,
Spare them and not me, for I have done the trespass.

PATER COELESTIS. Though thy sins be great, thy inward heart's contrition
Doth move my stomach in wonderful condition.
I find thee a man according to my heart;
Wherefore this promise I make thee, ere I depart.
A fruit there shall come forth issuing from thy body,
Whom I will advance upon thy seat for ever.
His throne shall become a seat of heavenly glory,
His worthy sceptre from right will not dissever,
His happy kingdom of faith shall perish never.
Of heaven and of earth he was author principal,
And will continue, though they do perish all
This sign shalt thou have for a token special,
That thou mayest believe my words unfeignedly.
Where thou hast minded, for my memorial,
To build a temple, thou shalt not finish it truly.
But Solomon thy son shall do that action worthy,
In token that Christ must finish everything
That I have begun, to my praise everlasting.

DAVID REX PIUS. Immortal glory to thee, most heavenly King,
For that thou hast given continual victory
To me thy servant ever since my annointing,
And also before, by many conquests worthy.
A bear and lion I slew through thy strength only.
I slew Golias, which was six cubits long.
Against thy enemies thou madest me ever strong.
My fleshly frailness made me do deadly wrong,
And clean to forget thy laws of righteousness.
And though thou visitedst my sinfulness among
With pestilent plagues and other unquietness,
Yet never tookest thou from me the plenteousness
Of thy godly spirit, which thou in me didst plant.
I, having remorse, thy grace could never want;
For, in conclusion, thy everlasting covenant
Thou gavest unto me for all my wicked sin;
And hast promised here by protestation constant,
That one of my seed shall such high fortune win,
As never did man since this world did begin.
By his power he shall put Satan from his hold,
In rejoice whereof to sing will I be bold.

Canora voce tunc incipit Antiphonam, O Adonai, quam (ut prius) prosequetur chorus cum organis.

Vel sic Anglicè:

O Lord God Adonai, and guide of the faithful house of Israel, which sometime appearedest in the flaming bush to Moses, and to him didst give a law in Mount Sinai, come now for to redeem us in the strength of thy right hand.

Finit Actus quintus.

PATER COELESTIS. I brought up children from their first infancy,
Which now despiseth my godly instructions.
An ox knoweth his lord, an ass his master's duty;
But Israel will not know me nor my conditions.
O froward people, given all to superstitions:
Unnatural children, expert in blasphemies,
Provoketh me to hate by their idolatries.
Take heed to my words, ye tyrants of Sodom,
In vain ye offer your sacrifice to me.
Discontent I am with you, beasts of Gomorrah,
And have no pleasure when I your offerings see;
I abhor your fasts and your solemnity;
For your traditions my ways ye set apart,
Your works are in vain, I hate them from the heart.

ESAIAS PROPHETA. Thy city, sweet Lord, is now become unfaithful,
And her conditions are turned upside down.
Her life is unchaste, her acts be very hurtful,
Her murder and theft hath darkened her renown.
Covetous rewards doth so their conscience drown,
That the fatherless they will not help to right,
The poor widow's cause come not afore their sight.
Thy peaceable paths seek they neither day nor night;
But walk wicked ways after their fantasy.
Convert their hearts, Lord, and give them thy true light,
That they may perceive their customable folly:
Leave them not helpless in so deep misery,
But call them from it of thy most special grace,
By thy true prophets, to their soul's health and solace.

PATER COELESTIS. First they had fathers, then had they patriarchs,
Then dukes, then judges, to their guides and monarchs.
Now have they stout kings, yet are they wicked still,
And will in no wise my pleasant laws fulfil.
Always they apply to idol-worshipping,
From the vile beggar to the anointed king.

ESAIAS PROPHETA. For that cause thou hast in two divided them,
In Samaria the one, the other in Jerusalem.
The king of Judah in Jerusalem did dwell,
And in Samaria the king of Israel.
Ten of the twelve tribes became Samaritans,
And the other two were Hierosolimitans.
In both these countries, according to their doings,
Thou permittedst them to have most cruel kings.
The first of Judah was wicked king Rehoboam,
Of Israel the first was that cruel Jeroboam;
Abijam then followed, and in the other Nadab,
Then Baasha, then Etah, then Zimri, Jehoram, and Ahab.[294]
Then Ahaziah, then Athaliah, then Jehoash;
On the other part was Jotham and Ahaz.
To rehearse them all that have done wretchedly
In the sight of thee, it were long verily.

PATER COELESTIS. For the wicked sin of filthy idolatry,
Which the ten tribes did in the land of Samaria.
In space of one day fifty thousand men I slew,
Three of their cities also I overthrew,
And left the people in such captivity,
That in all the world they wist not whither to flee.
The other two tribes, when they from me went back
To idolatry, I left in the hand of Sesack,
The king of Egypt, which took away their treasure,
Conveyed their cattle, and slew them without measure.
In time of Ahaz, an hundred thousand and twenty
Were slain at one time for their idolatry.
Two hundred thousand from thence were captive led,
Their goods dispersed, and they with penury fed.
Seldom they fail it, but either the Egyptians
Have them in bondage, or else the Assyrians.
And alone they may thank their idolatry.

ISAIAS PROPHETA. Well yet, blessed Lord, relieve them with thy mercy.
Though they have been ill by other princes' days.
Yet good Zedekiah hath taught them goodly ways.
When the prince is good, the people are the better;
And as he is nought, their vices are the greater.
Heavenly Lord, therefore send them the consolation,
Which thou hast covenanted with every generation.
Open thou the heavens, and let the lamb come hither,
Which will deliver thy people altogether.
Ye planets and clouds, cast down your dews and rain,
That the earth may bear out healthful savour plain.

PATER COELESTIS. May the wife forget the child of her own body?

ISAIAS PROPHETA. Nay, that she cannot in any wise verily.

PATER COELESTIS. No more can I them which will do my commandments,
But must preserve them from all inconvenients.

ISAIAS PROPHETA. Blessed art thou, Lord, in all thy acts and judgments.

PATER COELESTIS. Well, Isaias, for this thy fidelity
A covenant of health thou shalt have also of me.

ISAIAS PROPHETA.[295] For Zion's sake now I will not hold my peace,
And for Jerusalem to speak will I not cease,
Till that righteous Lord become as a sunbeam bright,
And their just saver as a lamp extend his light.

PATER COELESTIS. A rod shall shoot forth from the old stock of Jesse,
And a bright blossom from that root will arise,
Upon whom always the spirit of the Lord shall be,
The spirit of wisdom, the spirit of heavenly practice,
And the spirit that will all goodness devise.
Take this for a sign: a maid of Israel
Shall conceive and bear that Lord Immanuel.

ISAIAS PROPHETA. Thy praises condign no mortal tongue can tell,
Most worthy Maker and king of heavenly glory,
For all capacities thy goodness doth excel,
Thy plenteous grace no brain can compass truly,
No wit can conceive the greatness of thy mercy,
Declared of late in David thy true servant
And now confirmed in this thy latter covenant.
Of goodness thou madest Solomon of wit most pregnant,
Asa and Jehosaphat, with good king Hezekiah,
In thy sight to do what was to thee right pleasant.
To quench idolatry, thou raisedest up Elijah,
Jehu, Elisha, Micas, and Abdias,
And Naaman Syrus thou purgedest of a lepry.
Thy works wonderful who can but magnify?
Arise, Jerusalem, and take faith by and by,
For the very light that shall save thee is coming.
The Son of the Lord appear will evidently,
When he shall resort, see that no joy be wanting.
He is thy saver and thy life everlasting,
Thy release from sin and thy whole righteousness.
Help me in this song to acknowledge his great goodness.

Concinna tunc voce Antiphonam inchoat, O radix Jesse quam chorus prosequeter cum organis.

Vel Anglicè hoc modo canet.

O fruitful root of Jesse, that shall be set as a sign among people, against the worldly rulers shall fiercely open their mouths. Whom the Gentiles worship as their heavenly Lord, come now for to deliver us, and delay the time no longer.

Finit Actus sextus.

PATER COELESTIS. I have with fierceness mankind oftentimes corrected,
And again I have allured him by sweet promise,
I have sent sore plagues, when he hath me neglected,
And then by and by most comfortable sweetness.
To win him to grace, both mercy and righteousness,
I have exercised, yet will he not amend;
Shall I now lose him, or shall I him defend?
In his most mischief most high grace will I send,
To overcome him by favour, if it may be.
With his abusions no longer will I contend
But now accomplish my first will and decree.
My word being flesh, from hence shall set him free,
Him teaching a way of perfect righteousness,
That he shall not need to perish in his weakness.

JOHANNES BAPTISTA. Manasses, Lord, is past which turned from thee his
heart,
Ahaz and Ammon have now no more ado,
Jechonias with other, which did themselves avert
From thee to idols, may now no farther go.
The two false judges, and Baal's wicked priests also,
Phassur and Shemias, with Nebuchadnezzar,
Antiochus and Triphon, shall thee displease no more.
Three score years and ten thy people into Babylon
Were captive and thrall for idols' worshipping.
Jerusalem was lost, and left void of dominion,
Brent was their temple, so was their other building;
Their high priests were slain, their treasure came to nothing.
The strength and beauty of thine own heritage.
Thus didst thou leave them in miserable bondage.
Oft had they warnings, sometimes by Ezekiel,
And other prophets, as Isaias and Jeremiah,
Sometimes by Daniel, sometimes by Hosea and Joel,
By Amos and Obadiah, by Jonah and by Zephaniah,
By Nahum and Micah, by Haggai, and by Zachariah,
By Malachi, and also by Habakkuk,
By Olda the widow, and by the prophet Baruch.
Remember Josias, which took the abhomination
From the people, then restoring thy laws again.
Of Rechab consider the faithful generation,
Whom to wine-drinking no friendship might constrain.
Remember Abimelech, the friend of truth certain,
Zerubabel the prince, which did repair the temple,
And Jesus Josedec, of virtue the example.
Consider Nehemiah and Ezra the good scribe,
Merciful Tobiah and constant Mordecai:
Judith and queen Esther of the same godly tribe:
Devout Mathias and Judas Macabeus.
Have mind of Eleazar and then Joannes Hircanus,
Weigh the earnest faith of this godly company,
Though the other clean fall from thy memory.