"Everyman," with other interludes, including eight...

Mary. Alas, the dole I dree!322 I droop, I go in dread. Why hang'st thou, son, so high? my woe begins to breed, All blemished is thy ble,323 I see thy body bleed, In the world, my son, we were never so woe, as now in weed.324 My food325 that I have fed, In life--longing thee led! Full straight art thou bestead Among these foemen fell: Such sorrow for to see. My dearest child, on thee, Is more mourning to me Than any tongue may tell. Alas! thy holy head Has not whereon to held326 Thy face with blood is red, Was fair as flower in field How should I stand in stead!327 To see my bairn thus bleed, Beaten as blo328 as lead. And has no limb to wield? Fastened both hands and feet, With nalys329 full unmeet, His wounds all wringing wet. Alas, my child, for care! For all rent is thy hide, I see on either side Tears of blood down glide Over all thy body bare. Alas that ever I should bide, and see my feyr330 thus fare!

John. Alas, for dule, my lady dear! All for changèd is thy cheer, To see this prince without a peer, Thus lappéd all in woe; He was thy food, thy fairest foine,331 Thy love, thy like,332 thy lovesome son, That high on tree thus hangs alone With body black and blo,333 alas! To me and many mo,334 A good master he was.

But, lady, since it is his will The prophecy to fulfil, That mankind in sin not spill,335 For them to thole336 the pain; And with his death ransom to make, As prophets before of him spake. I counsel thee, thy grief to slake, Thy weeping may not gain In sorrow; Our boot337 he buys full bayne,338 Us all from bale to borrow.

Mary. Alas, thine eyes as crystal clear, That shone as sun in sight, That lovely were in lyere339 Lost they have their light, And wax all fa'ed340 in fear, All dim then are they dight; In pain thou hast no peer, That is withouten pight.341 Sweet son, say me thy thought; What wonders hast thou wrought To be in pain thus brought Thy blessed blood to blend? Ah, son, think on my woe, Why will thou from me go? On earth is no man mo342 That may my mirth amend.

John. Comely lady, good and couth,343 Fain would I comfort thee; Me mynnys344 my master with mouth Told unto his menyee.345 That he should suffer many a pain, And die upon a tree, And to the life rise up again, Upon the third day should it be Full right; For thee, my lady sweet, Stint awhile to greet,346 Our bale then will be beat,347 As he before has bight.348

Mary. My sorrow it is so sad, No solace may me save: Mourning makes me mad, No hope of help I have. I am redeless349 and afraid For fear that I should rave, Nought may make me glad, Till I be in my grave. To death my dear is driven, His robe is all to-riven,350 That by me was him given And shapen with my sides. These Jews and he have striven That all the bale he bides. Alas! my lamb so mild, Why wilt thou from me go Among these wolvés wild, That work on thee this woe? For shame, who may thee shield, For friends now hast thou foe. Alas, my comely child, Why will thou from me go? Maidens, make your moan, And weep, ye wives, every one With me, most sad, in wone351 The child that born was best: My heart is stiff as stone That for no bale will brest.352

John. Ah, lady, well wot I, Thy heart is full of care, When thou thus openly Seest thy child thus fare; Love drives him rathly. Himself he will not spare, Us all from bale to buy, Of bliss that are full bare For sin; My dear lady, therefore of mourning look thou blyn.353

Mary. "Alas!" may ever be my song, While I may live in leyd,354 Methinks now that I live too long, To see my bairn thus bleed. Jews work with him all wrong, Wherefore do they this deed? Lo, so high have they him hung, They let355 for no dread; Why so? His foeman he is among. No friend he has, but foe, My frely food356 from me must go What shall become of me? Thou art warpyd357 all in woe, And spread here on a tree Full hie;358 I mourn, and so may mo359 That see this pain on thee.

Mary. Alas, death, thou dwellest too long, Why art thou hid from me? Who bid thee to my child to gang?361 All black thou mak'st his ble;362 Now witterly,363 thou workest wrong The more I will wyte364 thee. But if thou wilt my heart now sting That I may with him dee,365 And bide. Sore sighing is my song. For pierced is his side! Ah, death, what hast thou done? With thee will I fare soon, Since I had children none but one, Best under sun or moon. Friends I had full foyn366 That gars me greet367 and groan Full sore. Good Lord, grant me my boon, And let me live no more! Gabriel! that art so good Sometime thou did me greet, And then I understood Thy words that were so sweet. But now they vex my mood, For grace thou canst me hete,368 To bear all of my blood A child our bale should beat369 With right. Now hangs he here on rood, Where is that thou me hight.370 All that thou of bliss Hight me in that stede371 From mirth is far amiss. And yet I trow thy rede372 Counsel me now of this, My life how shall I lead When from me gone is He that was my head On high? My death, now, come it is: My dear son, have mercy!

Jesus. My mother mild, change thou thy cheer, Cease from thy sorrow and sighing sere, It syttes373 unto my heart full sore; The sorrow is sharp, I suffer here; But the dole thou drees,374 my mother dear, Me martyrs mickle more. Thus wills my father I fare To loose mankind from bands His son will he not spare, To loose that bond was e'er Full fast in fiends' hands. The first cause, mother, of my coming Was for mankind miscarrying, To save them sore I sought; Therefore, mother make no mourning Since mankind, through my dying, May thus to bliss be brought. Woman, weep thou right nought, Take there, John, unto thy child, Mankind must needs be bought; And thou cast, cousin, in thy thought.375 John, lo, there, thy mother mild! Blue and bloody thus am I beat, Swongen with swepys376 and all a-sweat, Mankind, for thy misdeed. For my love's sake when wouldst thou let,377 And thy heart sadly set, Since I thus for thee have bled? Such life for sooth, I lead, That nothing may I more. This I suffer for thy need, To mark thee, man, thy meed! Now thirst I wonder sore.

4th Torturer. He has him rused of great prophës382 That he should make us tempyllës And make it clean fall down; And yet he said he should it raise As well as it was within three days, He lies, that wot we all; And for his lies in great despite We will divide his clothing tyte383 Save he can more of art.384

3rd Torturer. Go we to Pilate and make our moan, Have done, and dwell not long. [They go to Pilate. Pilate, yonder is a false table, Thereon is written naught but fable, Of Jews he is not king, He calls him so, but he not is, It is falsely written, I wis, This is a wrong-wise thing.