 | The Castell of Perseverance |  |
SCENE XX
MORS.
Ow, now it is tyme hye
To castyn Mankynd to Dethys dynt.
In all hys werkys he is vnslye;
Mekyl of hys lyf he hath myspent.
To Mankynd I ney ny,
Wyth rewly rappys he schal be rent.
Whanne I com iche man drede forþi,
But ȝyt is þer no geyn-went,
Hey hyl, holte, nyn hethe.
Ȝe schul me drede euerychone;
Whanne I come ȝe schul grone;
My name in londe is lefte alone:
I hatte drery Dethe.
To castyn Mankynd to Dethys dynt.
In all hys werkys he is vnslye;
Mekyl of hys lyf he hath myspent.
To Mankynd I ney ny,
Wyth rewly rappys he schal be rent.
Whanne I com iche man drede forþi,
But ȝyt is þer no geyn-went,
Hey hyl, holte, nyn hethe.
Ȝe schul me drede euerychone;
Whanne I come ȝe schul grone;
My name in londe is lefte alone:
I hatte drery Dethe.
Drery is my deth-drawth;
Ageyns me may no man stonde.
I durke and downbrynge to nowth
Lordys and ladys in euery londe.
Whomso I haue a lessun tawth,
Onethys sythen schal he mowe stonde;
In my carful clothys he schal be cawth,
Ryche, pore, fre and bonde;
Whanne I come þei goo no more.
Whereso I wende in any lede,
Euery man of me hat drede.
Lette I wyl for no mede
To smyte sadde and sore.
Ageyns me may no man stonde.
I durke and downbrynge to nowth
Lordys and ladys in euery londe.
Whomso I haue a lessun tawth,
Onethys sythen schal he mowe stonde;
In my carful clothys he schal be cawth,
Ryche, pore, fre and bonde;
Whanne I come þei goo no more.
Whereso I wende in any lede,
Euery man of me hat drede.
Lette I wyl for no mede
To smyte sadde and sore.
Dyngne dukys arn adred
Whanne my blastys arn on hem blowe.
Lordys in londe arn ouyrled;
Wyth þis launce I leye hem lowe.
Kyngys kene and knytys kyd,
I do hem deluyn in a throwe,
In banke I buske hem abed,
Sad sorwe to hem I sowe,
I tene hem, as I trowe.
As kene koltys þow þey kynse,
Ageyns me is no defens.
In þe grete pestelens
Þanne was I wel knowe.
Whanne my blastys arn on hem blowe.
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Wyth þis launce I leye hem lowe.
Kyngys kene and knytys kyd,
I do hem deluyn in a throwe,
In banke I buske hem abed,
Sad sorwe to hem I sowe,
I tene hem, as I trowe.
As kene koltys þow þey kynse,
Ageyns me is no defens.
In þe grete pestelens
Þanne was I wel knowe.
But now almost I am forȝete;
Men of Deth holde no tale.
In coveytyse here good þey gete;
Þe grete fyschys ete þe smale.
But whane I dele my derne dette
Þo prowde men I schal avale.
Hem schal helpyn noþyr mel nor mete
Tyl þey be drewyn to dethys dale;
My lawe þei schul lerne.
Þer ne is peny nor pownde
Þat any of ȝou schal saue sownde.
Tyl ȝe be grauyn vndyr grownde
Þer may no man me werne.
Men of Deth holde no tale.
In coveytyse here good þey gete;
Þe grete fyschys ete þe smale.
But whane I dele my derne dette
Þo prowde men I schal avale.
Hem schal helpyn noþyr mel nor mete
Tyl þey be drewyn to dethys dale;
My lawe þei schul lerne.
Þer ne is peny nor pownde
Þat any of ȝou schal saue sownde.
Tyl ȝe be grauyn vndyr grownde
Þer may no man me werne.
To Mankynde now wyl I reche;
He hathe hole hys hert on Coveytyse.
A newe lessun I wyl hym teche
Þat he schal bothe grwcchyn and gryse.
No lyf in londe schal ben hys leche;
I schal hym proue of myn empryse;
Wyth þis poynt I schal hym broche
And wappyn hym in a woful wyse.
Nobody schal ben hys bote.
I schal þe schapyn a schenful schappe.
Now I kylle þe wyth myn knappe!
I reche to þe, Mankynd, a rappe
To þyne herte rote.
He hathe hole hys hert on Coveytyse.
A newe lessun I wyl hym teche
Þat he schal bothe grwcchyn and gryse.
No lyf in londe schal ben hys leche;
I schal hym proue of myn empryse;
Wyth þis poynt I schal hym broche
And wappyn hym in a woful wyse.
Nobody schal ben hys bote.
I schal þe schapyn a schenful schappe.
Now I kylle þe wyth myn knappe!
I reche to þe, Mankynd, a rappe
To þyne herte rote.
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A, Deth, Deth! drye is þi dryfte.
Ded is my desteny.
Myn hed is cleuyn al in a clyfte;
For clappe of care now I crye;
Myn eyeledys may I not lyfte;
Myn braynys waxyn al emptye;
I may not onys myn hod up schyfte;
Wyth Dethys dynt now I dey!
Syr Werld, I am hent.
Werld, Werld, haue me in mende!
Goode Syr Werld, helpe now Mankend!
But þou me helpe, Deth schal me schende.
He hat dyth to me a dynt.
Ded is my desteny.
Myn hed is cleuyn al in a clyfte;
For clappe of care now I crye;
Myn eyeledys may I not lyfte;
Myn braynys waxyn al emptye;
I may not onys myn hod up schyfte;
Wyth Dethys dynt now I dey!
Syr Werld, I am hent.
Werld, Werld, haue me in mende!
Goode Syr Werld, helpe now Mankend!
But þou me helpe, Deth schal me schende.
He hat dyth to me a dynt.
Werld, my wyt waxyt wronge;
I chaunge boþe hyde and hewe;
Myn eyeledys waxyn al outewronge;
But þou me helpe, sore it schal me rewe.
Now holde þat þou haste behete me longe,
For all felechepys olde and newe,
Lesse me of my peynys stronge.
Sum bote of bale þou me brewe
Þat I may of þe ȝelpe.
Werld, for olde aqweyntawns,
Helpe me fro þis sory chawns.
Deth hathe lacchyd me wyth hys launce.
I deye but þou me helpe.
I chaunge boþe hyde and hewe;
Myn eyeledys waxyn al outewronge;
But þou me helpe, sore it schal me rewe.
Now holde þat þou haste behete me longe,
For all felechepys olde and newe,
Lesse me of my peynys stronge.
Sum bote of bale þou me brewe
Þat I may of þe ȝelpe.
Werld, for olde aqweyntawns,
Helpe me fro þis sory chawns.
Deth hathe lacchyd me wyth hys launce.
I deye but þou me helpe.
MUNDUS.
Owe, Mankynd, hathe Dethe wyth þe spoke?
Ageyns hym helpyth no wage.
I wolde þou were in þe erthe beloke
And anoþyr hadde þyne erytage.
Oure bonde of loue schal sone be broke;
In colde clay schal be þy cage;
Now schal þe Werld on þe be wroke
For þou hast don so gret outrage.
Þi good þou schalt forgoo.
Werldlys good þou hast forgon
And wyth tottys þou schalt be torn.
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A hundryd thousand moo.
HUMANUM GENUS.
Ow, Werld, Werld, euere worthe wo!
And þou, synful Coveytyse!
Whanne þat a man schal fro ȝou go
Ȝe werke wyth hym on a wondyr wyse.
Þe wytte of þis werld is sorwe and wo.
Be ware, good men, of þis gyse!
Þus hathe he seruyd many on mo.
In sorwe slakyth al hys asyse;
He beryth a tenynge tungge.
Whyl I leyd wyth hym my lott
Ȝe seyn whou fayre he me behott;
And now he wolde I were a clott
In colde cley for to clynge.
MUNDUS.
How, boy, aryse! now þou muste wende
On myn erdyn, be steppe and stalle.
Go brewe Mankynd a byttyr bende
And putte hym oute of hys halle.
Lete hym þerinne no lenger lende.
Forbrostyn, I trowe, be hys galle
For þou art not of hys kende.
All hys erytage wyl þe wele befalle.
Þus faryth myn fayre feres.
Oftyn tyme I haue ȝou told,
Þo men þat ȝe arn to lest behold
Comynly schal ȝoure wonnynge wold
And ben ȝoure next eyrys.
GARCIO.
Werld worthy, in wedys wounde,
I þanke þe for þi grete ȝyfte.
I go glad upon þis grounde
To putte Mankynde out of hys þryfte.
I trowe he stynkyth þis ilke stounde.
Into a lake I schal hym lyfte.
Hys parkys, placys, and penys rounde,
Wyth me schul dryuen in þis dryfte
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For I þynke for to dele,
I vow to God, neythyr corn nore mele.
If he haue a schete he beryth hym wele
Whereinne he may be wounde.
Tunc iet ad HUMANUM GENUS
Whou faryst, Mankynde? art þou ded?
Be Goddys body, so I wene.
He is heuyer þanne any led.
I wold he were grauyn vndyr grene.
HUMANUM GENUS.
Abyde, I breyd uppe wyth myn hed.
What art þou? what woldyst þou mene?
Wheydyr comyst þou for good or qwed?
Wyth peynys prycke þou doste me tene,
Þe sothe for to sey.
Telle me now, so God þe saue,
Fro whom comyst þou, good knaue?
What dost þou here? what woldyst þou haue?
Telle me or I deye.
GARCIO.
I am com to haue al þat þou hast,
Ponndys, parkys, and euery place.
Al þat þou hast gotyn fyrst and last,
Þe Werld hathe grauntyd it me of hys grace
For I haue ben hys page.
He wot wel þou schalt be ded,
Neueremore to ete bred;
Þerfore he hath for þe red
Who schal haue þyne erytage.
HUMANUM GENUS.
What deuyl! þou art not of my kyn.
Þou dedyst me neuere no maner good.
I hadde leuer sum nyfte or sum cosyn
Or sum man hadde it of my blod.
In sum stede I wold it stod.
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And haue no good þerof myselue.
Be God and be hys apostelys twelue,
I trowe þe Werld be wod.
GARCIO.
Ȝa, ȝa, þi parte schal be þe leste.
Deye on, for I am maystyr here.
I schal þe makyn a nobyl feste
And þanne haue I do myn deuere.
Þe Werld bad me þis gold areste,
Holt and hallys and castell clere.
Þe Werldys joye and hys jentyl jeste
Is now þyne, now myn, boþe fere and nere.
Go hens, for þis is myne.
Syn þou art ded and browth of dawe,
Of þi deth, syr, I am ryth fawe.
Þou þou knowe not þe Werldys lawe,
He hath ȝoue me al þat was þyne.
HUMANUM GENUS.
I preye þe now, syn þou þis good schalt gete,
Telle þi name or þat I goo.
GARCIO.
Loke þat þou it not forȝete:
My name is I Wot Neuere Whoo.
HUMANUM GENUS.
I Wot Neuere Who! so welaway!
Now am I sory of my lyf.
I haue purchasyd many a day
Londys and rentys wyth mekyl stryf.
I haue purchasyd holt and hay,
Parkys and ponndys and bourys blyfe,
Goode gardeynys wyth gryffys gay,
To myne chyldyr and to myn wyfe
In dethe whanne I were dyth.
Of my purchas I may be wo,
For, as þout, it is not so,
But a gedelynge I Wot Neuere Who
Hath al þat þe Werld me behyth.
Now am I sory of my lyf.
I haue purchasyd many a day
Londys and rentys wyth mekyl stryf.
I haue purchasyd holt and hay,
Parkys and ponndys and bourys blyfe,
Goode gardeynys wyth gryffys gay,
To myne chyldyr and to myn wyfe
In dethe whanne I were dyth.
Of my purchas I may be wo,
For, as þout, it is not so,
But a gedelynge I Wot Neuere Who
Hath al þat þe Werld me behyth.
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Now, alas, my lyf is lak.
Bittyr balys I gynne to brewe.
Certis a vers þat Dauid spak
I þe sawter I fynde it trewe:
Bittyr balys I gynne to brewe.
Certis a vers þat Dauid spak
I þe sawter I fynde it trewe:
Tesauriȝat et ignorat cui congregabit ea.
Tresor, tresor, it hathe no tak;
It is oþyr mens, olde and newe.
Ow, ow, my good gothe al to wrak!
Sore may Mankynd rewe.
God kepe me fro dyspayr!
Al my good, wythout fayle,
I haue gadryd wyth gret trauayle,
Þe Werld hathe ordeynyd of hys entayle
I Wot Neuere Who to be myn eyr.
It is oþyr mens, olde and newe.
Ow, ow, my good gothe al to wrak!
Sore may Mankynd rewe.
God kepe me fro dyspayr!
Al my good, wythout fayle,
I haue gadryd wyth gret trauayle,
Þe Werld hathe ordeynyd of hys entayle
I Wot Neuere Who to be myn eyr.
Now, good men, takythe example at me.
Do for ȝoureself whyl ȝe han spase.
For many men þus seruyd be
Þorwe þe werld in dyuerse place.
I bolne and bleyke in blody ble
And as a flour fadyth my face.
To helle I schal bothe fare and fle
But God me graunte of hys grace.
I deye certeynly.
Now my lyfe I haue lore.
Myn hert brekyth, I syhe sore.
A word may I speke no more.
I putte me in Goddys mercy.
Do for ȝoureself whyl ȝe han spase.
For many men þus seruyd be
Þorwe þe werld in dyuerse place.
I bolne and bleyke in blody ble
And as a flour fadyth my face.
To helle I schal bothe fare and fle
But God me graunte of hys grace.
I deye certeynly.
Now my lyfe I haue lore.
Myn hert brekyth, I syhe sore.
A word may I speke no more.
I putte me in Goddys mercy.
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