Wolleward and watschod wente I forth aftur
As a recheles renke that recheth nat of sorwe,
And yede forth ylike a lorel al my lyf-tyme,
Til I waxe wery of the world and wilnede efte to slepe
And lened me to lenten and long tyme I slepte.
 Of gurles and of gloria laus greetliche me dremede
And how osanna by orgene olde folke songe.
One semblable to the Samaritan, and somdeel to Peres the Plouhman,
Barfot on an asse bake botles cam prikynge
Withouten spores other spere—sprakeliche he lokede,
As is the kynde of a knyhte that cometh to be dobbet,
To geten here gult spores and galoches ycouped.
And thenne was Faith in a fenestre and criede ‘ A, filii David !’
As doth an heraud of armes when auntres cometh to joustes.
Olde Jewes of Jerusalem for joye they songen,
  Benedictus qui venit in nomine domini.
 Thenne I afraynede at Fayth what al that fare bymente,
And who sholde jouste in Jerusalem? ‘Jesus’, he saide,
And feche that the fende claymeth, Pers fruyt the Plouhman’.
 ‘Is Peres in this place?’ quod I, and he prente on me:
‘ Liberum-dei-arbitrium for love hath undertake
That this Jesus of his gentrice shal jouste in Pers armes,
In his helm and in his haberjon, humana natura ,
That Crist be nat yknowe for consummatus deus ;
In Peres plates the Plouhman this prikiare shal ryde,
For no dynt shal hym dere as in deitate patris .’
 ‘Who shal jouste with Jesus’, quod I, ‘Jewes, or scribes?’
 ‘Nay’, quod Faith, ‘bote the fende, and Fals-dom-to-deye.
Deth saith he wol for-do and adown brynge
Alle that lyveth or loketh, a londe or a watere.
Lyf saith that he lyeth and hath leide his lyf to wedde,
That for al that Deth can do, withynne thre dayes to walke
And feche fro the fende Peres fruyt the Plouhman,
And legge hit ther hym liketh and Lucifer bynde
And forbete and bringe adown bale and deth for evere.
  O mors, ero mors tua!’
 Thenne cam Pilatus with moche peple, sedens pro tribunali ,
To se how douhtyliche Deth sholde do, and demen ther beyre rihte.
The Jewes and the justices ageyns Jesus they were,
And alle the court cryede ‘ Crucifige !’ loude.
Thenne putte hym forth a pelour bifore Pilatus, and saide:
‘This Jesu of oure Jewene temple japed and despised,
To for-don hit on a day, and in thre dayes after
Edefien hit eft newe—here he stant that saide hit—
And yut maken hit as moche in alle manere poyntes,
Bothe as longe and as large, alofte and o grounde,
And as wyde as hit evere was; this we witnesseth alle’.
 ‘ Crucifige !’ quod a cachepol, ‘he can of wycche-crafte.’
‘ Tolle, tolle !’ quod another, and tok of kene thornes
And bigan of a grene thorn a garlond to make
And sette hit sore on his heved, and sethe saide in envye,
‘ Ave, rabbi ,’ quod that ribaud, and redes shotte up to his yes;
And nayled hym with thre nayles, naked upon a rode
And, with a pole, poysen putten up to his lippes
And beden hym drynke, his deth to lette and his dayes lenghe,
And saiden, ‘Yf he sotil be, hymsulve now he wol helpe;’
And ‘Yf thow be Crist—and Crist, godes sone—
Come adoun of this rode and thenne shal we leve
That Lyf the loveth and wol nat late the deye’.
 ‘ Consummatum est ’, quod Crist, and comsed for to swone,
Pitousliche and pale, as prisoun that deyeth.
The lord of lyf and of liht tho leyde his eyes togederes;
The daye for drede therof withdrouh, and derke bicam the sonne;
The wal of the temple to-cleef evene al to peces,
The hard roch al to-rof, and riht derk nyht hit semede;
The erthe to-quasche and quok as hit quyk were
And dede men for that dene cam oute of depe graves
And tolde why the tempest so longe tyme durede.
‘For a bitter bataile’, the ded bodye saide,
‘Lyf and Deth in this derkenesse here one for-doth another,
Ac shal no wyht wyte witterlich who shal have the maistry
Ar a Soneday, aboute the sonne-rysynge’, and sank with that til erthe.
Somme saide he was godes sone that so fayre deyede,
  Vere filius dei erat iste,
And somme saide, ‘He can of sorcerie; gode is that we assaie
Wher he be ded or nat ded, down or he be taken’.
 Two theves tho tholed deth that tyme
Uppon cros bisyde Crist, so was the comune lawe.
A cachepol cam and craked a-to her legges
And here arme after, of evereche of tho theves.
Ac was no boie so bold godes body to touche;
For he was knyht and kynges sone, Kynde for-yaf that tyme
That hadde no boie hardynesse hym to touche in deynge.
 Ac ther cam forth a blynde knyhte with a kene spere ygrounde,
Hihte Longies , as the lettre telleth, and longe hadde lore his sihte;
Bifore Pilatus and othere peple in the place he hoved.
Maugre his mony teth, he was mad that tyme
Jouste with Jesus, this blynde Jewe Longies ;
For alle were they unhardy, that hoved ther or stode,
To touche hym other to trinen hym other to taken hym down and grave hym,
Bote this blynde bacheler, that bar hym thorw the herte.
The blod sprang down by the sper and unspered the knyghte yes;
Tho ful the knyhte uppon knees and criede Jesu mercy—
‘Ageyn my will hit was’, quod he, ‘that I yow wounde made!’
He syhed and saide, ‘Sore hit me for-thenketh
Of the dede that I have do; I do me in youre grace.
Bothe my lond and my licame at youre likynge taketh hit,
And have mercy on me, rightful Jesu!’ and riht with that he wepte.
 Thenne gan Faith fouly the false Jewes to dispise,
Calde hem caytyves, acorsed for evere,
‘For this was a vyl vilanye, vengeaunce yow bifall
That made the blynde bete the dede—this was a boyes dede!
Corsede caytives! knyghtheed was hit nevere
To bete a body ybounde, with eny briht wepene.
The gre yut hath he geten, for al his grete woundes,
For youre chaumpioun chivaler, chief knyht of yow alle,
Yelde hym recreaunt rennyng, riht at Jesu wille.
For be this derkenesse ydo, Deth worth yvenkised,
And ye, lordeyns, han lost, for Lyf shal have maistrie,
And youre franchise that fre was yfallen is into thraldom,
And alle youre childerne cherles, cheve shall thei nevere,
Ne have lordschipe in londe, ne no londe tulye,
And as bareyne be, and by usure libbe,
The which is lif that oure lord in all lawes defendeth.
Now ben youre gode dayes ydon, as Daniel of yow telleth,
When Crist thorw croos overcam, youre kyngdom sholde tocleve.
  Cum venerit sanctus sanctorum, cessabit unctio vestra’.
 What for fere of this ferly and of the false Jewes
I withdrow in that derkenesse to descendit ad inferna ,
And there I saw sothly, secundum scripturas ,
Out of the west, as it were, a wenche, as me thouhte,
Cam walkynge in the way, to hell-ward she lokede.
Mercy hihte that mayde, a mylde thynge with-alle,
And a ful benyngne buyrde, and buxum of speche.
Here suster, as hit semede, cam softly walkynge
Evene oute of the eest, and westward she thouhte,
A comely creature and a clene, Treuthe she hihte;
For the vertue that her folewede, afered was she nevere.
When this maydenes metten, Mercy and Treuthe,
Ayther asked other of this grete wonder,
Of the dene and the derkenesse and how the day rowed,
And which a lihte and a leem lay bifore helle.
 ‘I have ferly of this fare, in faith,’ seide Treuthe,
‘And am wendynge to wyte what this wonder meneth’.
 ‘Have no merveyle ther-of’, quod Mercy, 'murthe hit bitokneth.
A mayde that hoteth Marie, a moder withouten felynge
Of eny kynde creature, conceyved thorw speche
And grace of the holy gost, wax grete with childe,
Withouten wommane wem into this world brouhte hym;
And that my tale is trewe, I take god to witnesse.
Sethe this barn was ybore ben thritty wynter ypassed,
Deyede and deth tholede this day aboute mydday;
And that is the cause of this clips that over-closeth now the sonne,
In menynge that man shal fro merkenesse be ydrawe,
The while this lihte and this lowe shal Lucifer ablende.
For patriarkes and prophetes han preched her-of ofte,
That was tynt thorw tre, tre shal hit wynne,
And that deth down brouhte, deth shal releve’.
 ‘That thow tellest’, quod Treuthe, ‘is bote a tale of Waltrot!
For Adam and Eve, and Abraham with othere,
Patriarkes and prophetes that in peyne liggen,
Leve hit nevere that yone liht hem alofte brynge
Ne have hem out of helle—holde thy tonge, Mercy,
Hit is bote truyfle that thow tellest; I, Treuthe, wot the sothe,
That thyng that ones is in helle out cometh hit nevere.
Job the parfit patriarke repreveth thy sawes:
  Quia in inferno nulla est redempcio’.
 Thenne Mercy ful myldely mouthed this wordes:
‘Thorw experiense’, quod she, ‘I hope they shal ben saved;
For venym for-doth venym, ther feche I evydence
That Adam and Eve have shullen bote.
For of alle fretynge venymes the vilest is the scorpioun;
May no medecyne amende the place there he styngeth,
Til he, ded, ydo therto, and thenne he destruyeth
The ferste venemouste thorw vertu of hymsulve.
And so shal this deth for-do, I dar my lyf legge,
Al that Deth and the devel dede formest to Eve.
And riht as the gylour thorw gyle bygiled man formest,
So shal grace, that bigan al, maken a gode ende
And bigile the gilour, and that is a gode sleythe:
  Ars ut artem falleret’.
 ‘Now suffre we’, saide Treuthe, ‘I se, as me thynketh,
Out of the nype of the north, nat ful fer hennes,
Rihtwisnesse come rennynge. Reste we the while,
For she wot more then we—she was ar we bothe’.
 ‘That is soth’, saide Mercy, ‘and I se here bi southe
Where cometh Pees pleiynge, in pacience yclothed;
Love hath coveyted here longe—leve I non othere
Bote Love have ysente her som lettre, what this liht bymeneth
That over-hoveth helle thus; she us shal telle’.
 Whenne Pees, in pacience yclothed, aproched her ayther other,
Rihtwisnesse reverenced Pees in here rich clothyng
And preyede Pees to tellen to what place she sholde,
And here gay garnementes, wham she gladie thouhte?
‘My wil is to wende’, quod Pees, ‘and welcomen hem alle
That many day myhte I nat se, for merkenesse of synne.
Adam and Eve and other mo in helle,
Moises and many moo, mercy shal synge,
And I shal daunce ther-to—do thow so, suster!
For Jesus joustede wel, joy bigynneth dawe.
  Ad vesperum demorabitur fletus, et ad matutinum leticia.
Love, that is my lemman, such lettres he me sente
That Mercy, my suster, and I mankynde shal save,
And that god hath forgyve and graunted to alle mankynde,
Mercy and me to maynprisen hem alle;
And that Crist hath converted the kynde of rihtwisnesse
Into pees and pyte, of his puyr grace.
Loo, here the patente!’ quod Pees, ‘ in pace in idipsum —
And that this dede shal duyre— dormiam et requiescam ’.
 ‘Ravest thou?’ quod Rihtwisnesse, ‘or thou art riht dronke!
Levest thow that yone lihte unlouke myhte helle
And save mannes soule? suster, wene hit nevere!
At the bigynnynge of the world, god gaf the dom hymsulve
That Adam and Eve and al his issue
Sholde deye down-riht and dwellen in payne evere
Yf that thei touchen that tre and of the fruyt eten.
Adam afturward, agenes his defense,
Freet of the fruyt and forsoke, as hit were,
The love of oure lord and his lore bothe,
And folewede that the fend tauhte and his flesch will,
Ageynes resoun and rihtwisnesse; recorde hit with treuthe
That her peyne is perpetuel—no preyer may hem helpe.
Forthy let hem chewe as they chose, and chyde we nat, sustres,
For hit is boteles bale, the byte that they eten’.
 ‘And I shal preye’, quod Pees, ‘here payne mot have ende,
And that her wo into wele mot wende at the laste.
For hadde they wist of no wo, wele hadde thay nat knowen;
For no wiht wot what wele is, that nevere wo soffrede,
Ne what is hot hunger, that hadde nevere defaute.
Who couthe kyndeliche whit colour discreve,
Yf all the world were whit, or swan-whit all thynges?
Yf no nyhte ne were, no man, I leve,
Sholde ywyte witterly what day is to mene;
Ne hadde god ysoffred of som other then hymsulve,
He hadde nat wist witterly where deth were sour or swete.
For sholde nevere right riche man, that lyveth in rest and in hele,
Ywyte what wo is, ne were the deth of kynde.
So god, that bigan al, of his gode wille
Bycam man of a mayde, mankynde to save,
And soffred to be sold to se the sorwe of deynge,
The which unknytteth alle care and comsyng is of reste.
For til moreyne mete with us, I may hit wel avowe,
Ne wot no wyht, as I wene, what is ynow to mene.
 Forthy god of his godenesse the furste man Adam
Sette hym in solace furste and in sovereyne murthe;
And sethe he soffrede hym to synne, sorwe to fele,
To wyte what wele was ther-thorw, kyndeliche to knowe.
And after, god auntred hymsulve and tok Adames kynde,
To wyte what he hath soffred in thre sundry places,
Bothe in hevene and in erthe—and now to helle he thenketh,
To wyte what al wo is, that wot of alle joye.
  Omnia probate; quod bonum est tenete.
So hit shal fare bi this folke: here folye and here synne
Shal lere hem what love is, and lisse withouten ende.
For wot no wiht what werre is, ther as pees regneth,
Ne what is witterliche wele, til wel-a-way hym teche’.
 Thenne was ther a wihte with two brode yes,
Boke hihte that beau-pere, a bolde man of speche.
‘By godes body’, quod this Book, ‘I wole bere witnesse,
Tho that this barn was ybore, ther blased a sterre,
That alle the wyse of the world in o wit acordede
That such a barn was ybore in Bethleem the citee
That mannes soule sholde save and synne distruye.
And all the elementis’, quod the Boke, ‘here-of bereth witnesse.
That he was god that al wrouhte, the welkene furste shewede:
Tho that weren in hevene token stella comata
And tenden hit as a torche to reverensen his burthe;
The lihte folewede the lord into the lowe erthe.
The water witnesseth that he was god, for he wente on hym drye:
Peter the apostel parceyved his gate
And, as he wente on the water, wel hym knewe, and saide,
  “Domine, jube me venire ad te super aquas”.
And lo, how the sonne gan louke here lihte in heresulve
When she saw hym soffre, that sonne and se made!
Lo, how the erthe, for hevynesse that he wolde soffre,
Quakid as a quyk thyng, and also to-quasch the roches!
Loo, helle myhte nat holde, bote opened, tho god tholede,
And lette out Symondes sones to sen hym honge on rode.
  Non visurum se mortem.
 And now shal Lucifer leve hit, thogh hym loth thynke;
For Jesus as a geaunt with a gyn cometh yonde
To breke and to bete adoun all that ben agaynes hym
And to have out alle of hem that hym liketh.
And yut I, Boke, wol be brente, bote he aryse to lyve
And comforte alle his kyn and out of care brynge
And alle the Jewene joye unjoynen and unlouken,
And bote they reverense this resurexioun, be ylost lyf and soule!’

 ‘Soffre we’, sayde Treuthe, ‘I here and se bothe
A spirit speketh to helle and bit to unspere the gates.
  Attollite portas.’
 A vois loude in that liht to Lucifer saide:
‘ Principes of this place, prest undo this gates,
For here he cometh with croune, the kynge of all glorie!’
 Thenne syhed Satoun and saide to helle,
‘Suche a lyht agenes oure leve Lazar hit fette;
Care and combraunce is come to us all.
Yf this kyng come in, mankynde wol he fecche
And lede hit ther Lazar is, and lihtliche me bynde.
Patriarkes and prophetes han parled her-of longe,
That such a lord and a lihte shal lede hem alle hennes.
Ac arise up, Ragamoffyn, and areche me alle the barres
That Belial thy beel-syre beet with thy dame,
And I shal lette this lord and his liht stoppe.
Ar we thorw brihtnesse be blent, go barre we the gates.
Cheke and cheyne we and uch a chine stoppe,
That no liht lepe in at louer ne at loupe.
Astarot, hot out, and have out oure knaves,
Coltyng and al his kyn, the catel to save.
Brimston boylaunt brennyng out-cast hit
Al hot on here hedes that entrith ney the walles.
Setteth bowes of brake and brasene gonnes
And sheteth out shot ynow his sheltrom to blende.
Set Mahond at the mangonel and mulle-stones throweth,
And with crokes and with kalketrappes acloye we hem uchone!’
 ‘Lustneth’, quod Lucifer, ‘for I this lord knowe,
Bothe this lord and this lihte, ys longe ygo I knewe hym.
May no deth this lord dere, ne no develes quentyse,
And where he wole, is his way—ac war hym of the perelles:
Yf he reve me of my rihte, he robbeth me of his maistrie.
For bi riht and by resoun, the renkes that ben here
Body and soule beth myne, bothe gode and ille.
For hymsulve said hit, that sire is of hevene,
That Adam and Eve and al his issue
Sholde deye with dole and here dwelle evere
Yf thei touched a tre or tok ther-of an appul.
Thus this lord of liht such a lawe made,
And sethe he is a lele lord, I leve that he wol nat
Reven us of oure riht, sethe resoun hem dampnede.
And sethe we han ben sesed sevene thousand wynter,
And nevere was ther-ageyne, and now wolde bigynne,
Thenne were he unwrast of his worde, that witnesse is of treuthe’.
 ‘That is soth’, saide Satoun, ‘bote I me sore doute,
For thow gete hem with gyle and his gardyn breke,
Ageyne his love and his leve on his londe yedest,
Not in forme of a fende bote in forme of an addre
And entisedest Eve to eten by here one—
  Ve soli!—
And byhihtest here and hym aftur to knowe,
As two godes, with god, bothe gode and ille.
Thus with treson and with tricherie thow troyledest hem bothe
And dust hem breke here buxumnesse thorw fals bihestes,
And so haddest hem out, and hiddere at the laste.
Hit is nat graythly ygete, ther gyle is the rote.
 And god wol nat be gyled’, quod Gobelyne, ‘ne by-japed.
We han no trewe title to hem, for thy tresoun hit maketh.
 Forthy I drede me’, quod the devel, ‘laste treuthe wol hem fecche.
And as thowe bigyledest godes ymages in goynge of an addre,
So hath god bigiled us alle in goynge of a weye.
 For god hath go’, quod Gobelyn, ‘in gome liknesse
This thritty wynter, as I wene, and wente aboute and prechede.
I have assayled hym with synne, and som tyme I askede
Where he were god or godes sone? He gaf me short answere.
Thus hath he trolled forth like a tydy man this two and thritty wynter;
And whenne I saw that hit was so, I sotilede how I myhte
Lette hem that lovede hym nat, laste they wolde hym martre.
I wolde have lenghed his lyf, for I leved, yf he deyede,
That if his soule hider cam, hit sholde shende us alle.
For the body, whiles hit on bones yede, aboute was hit evere
To lere men to be lele, and uch man to lovye other;
The which lyf and lawe, be hit longe y-used,
Hit shal undo us develes and down bryngen us all.
 And now I se where his soule cometh sylinge hiderward
With glorie and with gret lihte—god hit is, I wot wel.
I rede we flee’, quod the fende, ‘faste all hennes;
For us were bettere nat to be, then abyde in his sihte.
For thy lesinges, Lucifer, we losten furst oure joye,
And out of hevene hidere thy pryde made us falle;
For we leved on thy lesynges, ther losten we oure blysse.
And now, for a later lesynge that thow lowe til Eve,
We han ylost oure lordschipe a londe and in helle.
  Nunc princeps huius mundi ejicietur foras’.
Sethe that Satan myssaide thus foule
Lucifer for his lesynges, leve I non other
Bote oure lord at the laste lyares here rebuke
And wyte hem al the wrechednesse that wrouhte is her on erthe.
Beth ywar, ye wyse clerkes and witty men of lawe,
That ye belyen nat this lewed men, for at the laste David
Witnesseth in his writynges what is lyares mede:
  Odisti omnes qui operantur iniquitatem, et perdes omnes qui loquuntur mendacium.
(A litel I over-leep for lesynges sake,
That I ne sygge as I saw, suynde my teme!)
 For efte that lihte bade unlouke, and Lucifer answerede:
‘What lord artow?’ quod Lucifer. A voys aloude saide:
‘The lord of myhte and of mayne, that made alle thynges.
Dukes of this demme place, anon undo this gates,
That Crist may come in, the kynges sone of hevene’.
 And with that breth, helle breek, with alle Belialles barres;
For eny wey or warde, wyde open the gates.
Patriarkes and profetes, populus in tenebris ,
Songen with seynt Johan ‘ Ecce agnus dei !’
Lucifer loke ne myhte, so liht hym ablende;
And tho that oure lord lovede forth with that liht flowen.
 ‘Lo me here’, quod oure lord, ‘lyf and soule bothe,
For alle synful soules to save oure bothe rihte.
Myne they were and of me, I may the beter hem clayme.
Althouh resoun recordede, and rihte of mysulve,
That if they ete the appul, alle sholde deye,
I bihihte hem nat here, helle, for evere.
For the dedly synne that they dede, thi deseite hit made;
With gyle thow hem gete, agaynes all resoun.
For in my palays paradys, in persone of an addere,
Falsliche thou fettest there that me biful to loke,
Byglosedest hem and bigiledest hem and my gardyne breke,
Ageynes my love and my leve. The olde lawe techeth
That gylours be bigiled and in here gyle falle,
And who-so hit out a mannes eye or elles his fore-teth,
Or eny manere membre maymeth other herteth,
The same sore shal he have that eny so smyteth.
  Dentem pro dente, et oculum pro oculo.
So lyf shal lyf lete, ther lyf hath lyf anyented,
So that lyf quyte luf, the olde lawe hit asketh.
Ergo , soule shal soule quyte, and synne to synne wende,
And al that men mys-dede, I, man, to amenden hit;
And that deth for-dede, my deth to releve,
And bothe quykie and quyte that queynte was thorw synne,
And gyle be bigyled, thorw grace, at the laste.
  Ars ut artem falleret.
 So leve hit nat, Lucifer, ageynes the lawe I feche
Here eny synful soule sovereynliche by maistrie,
Bote thorw riht and thorw resoun raunsome here myn lege.
  Non veni solvere legem, sed adimplere.
So that with gyle was gete, thorw grace is now ywonne.
And as Adam and alle thorwe a tre deyede,
Adam and alle thorw a tre shal turne to lyve.
And now bygynneth thy gyle agayne on the to turne
And my grace to growe ay wyddere and wyddere.
The bitternesse that thow hast browe, now brouk hit thysulve;
That art doctour of deth, drynke that thow madest!
 For I that am lord of lyf, love is my drynke,
And for that drynke todaye I deyede, as hit semede.
Ac I wol drynke of no dische, ne of deep clergyse,
Bote of comune coppes, alle Cristene soules;
Ac thy drynke worth deth, and depe helle thy bolle.
I fauht so, me fursteth yut, for mannes soule sake.
  Sicio.
May no pyement ne pomade ne presiouse drynkes
Moiste me to the fulle ne my furste slakke
Til the ventage falle in the vale of Josophat,
And drynke riht rype must, resurreccio mortuorum .
And thenne shal I come as kyng, with croune and with angeles,
And have out of helle alle mennes soules.
 Fendes and fendekynes byfore me shal stande
And be at my biddynge, at blisse or at payne.
Ac to be merciable to man thenne, my kynde asketh,
For we beth brethrene of o blod, ac nat in baptisme alle.
Ac alle that beth myn hole bretherene, in blod and in baptisme,
Shal nevere in helle eft come, be he ones oute.
  Tibi soli peccavi, et malum contra te feci, &c.
Hit is nat used on erthe to hangen eny felones
Ofter then ones, thogh they were tretours.
And yf the kynge of the kyngdom come in the tyme
Ther a thief tholie sholde deth other jewyse,
Lawe wolde he yove hym lyf, and he loked on hym.
And I, that am kynge over kynges, shal come such a tyme
Ther that dom to the deth dampneth alle wikkede;
And if lawe wol I loke on hem, hit lith in my grace
Where they deye or dey nat, dede they nevere so ille.
Be hit enythyng abouhte, the boldenesse of here synne,
I may do mercy of my rihtwysnesse and alle myn wordes trewe.
 For holy writ wol that I be wreke of hem that wrouhte ille,
As nullum malum impunitum, et nullum bonum irremuneratum .
And so of alle wykkede I wol here take venjaunce.
And yut my kynde, in my kene ire, shal constrayne my will—
  Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me, neque in ira tua corripias me—
To be merciable to monye of my halve-bretherene.
For blod may se blod bothe a-furst and a-cale,
Ac blod may nat se blod blede, bote hym rewe.’—
  Audivi archana verba, que non licet homini loqui.—
‘Ac my rihtwysnesse and rihte shal regnen in helle,
And mercy and mankynde bifore me in hevene.
For I were an unkynde kyng, bote I my kyn helpe,
And namliche at such a nede, that nedes helpe asketh.
  Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, domine.
 Thus by lawe’, quod oure lord, ‘lede I wol fro hennes
Tho that I lovye and leved in my comynge.
Ac for the lesynge that thow low, Lucifer, til Eve,
Thow shalt abyye bittere’, quod god, and bonde hym with chaynes.
Astarot and alle othere hidden hem in hernes,
They dorste nat loke on oure lord, the leste of hem alle,
Bote leten hym lede forth which hym luste and leve which hym likede.
 Many hundret of angels harpeden tho and songen,
  Culpat caro, purgat caro, regnat deus dei caro.
Thenne piped Pees of poetes a note:
‘Clarior est solito post maxima nebula Phebus:
Post inimicitias clarior est amor.
Aftur sharpest shoures’, quod Pees, ‘most shene is the sonne;
Is no wedere warmere then aftur watry cloudes,
Ne no love levere, ne no levere frendes,
Then aftur werre and wrake, when love and pees ben maistres.
Was nevere werre in this world, ne wykkeder envye,
That Love, and hym luste, to lauhynge brouhte,
And Pees thorw pacience alle perelles stopede’.
 ‘Trewes’, quod Treuthe, ‘thow tellest us soth, by Jesus!
Cluppe we in covenaunt and uch of us kusse othere!’
 ‘And lat no peple’, quod Pees,’ parceyve that we chydde,
For inposible is no thynge to hym that is almyhty’.
 ‘Thowe saiste soth’, saide Rihtwisnesse, and reverentliche she custe
Pees, and Pees here per secula seculorum .
  Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt sibi; justicia et pax osculate sunt.
Treuthe trompede tho, and song ‘ Te deum laudamus ’,
And thenne lutede Love in a loude note,
  ‘Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum est habitare fratres in unum!’

 Til the day dawed thes damoyseles caroled,
That men rang to the resureccioun, and riht with that I wakede,
And calde Kitte my wyf and Calote my douhter:
‘Arise, and go reverense godes resureccioun,
And crepe to the cros on knees and kusse hit for a jewel
And rihtfullokest a relyk, noon richere on erthe.
For godes blessed body hit bar for oure bote,
And hit a-fereth the fende, for such is the myhte,
May no grisly gost glyde ther hit shaddeweth!’