The Castell of Perseverance

‘Mercy’, þis was my last tale
Þat euere my body was abowth.
But Mercy helpe me in þis vale,
Of dampnynge drynke sore I me doute.
Body, þou dedyst brew a byttyr bale
To þi lustys whanne gannyst loute.
Þi sely sowle schal ben akale;
I beye þi dedys wyth rewly rowte,

And al it is for gyle.
Euere þou hast be coueytows
Falsly to getyn londe and hows.
To me þou hast browyn a byttyr jows.
So welaway þe whyle!

Now, swet Aungel, what is þi red?
Þe rythe red þou me reche.
Now my body is dressyd to ded
Helpe now me and be my leche.
Dyth þou me fro deuelys drede.
Þy worthy weye þou me teche.
I hope þat God wyl helpyn and be myn hed
For ‘mercy’ was my laste speche;
Þus made my body hys ende.
[OMITTED]

MALUS ANGELUS.
Wyttnesse of all þat ben abowte,
Syr Coueytyse he had hym owte.
Þerfor he schal, wythoutyn dowte,
Wyth me to helle pytt.

BONUS ANGELUS.

Ȝe, alas, and welawo!
Aȝeyns Coueytyse can I not telle.
Resun wyl I fro þe goo,
For, wrechyd sowle, þou muste to helle.
Coueytyse, he was þi fo;
He hathe þe schapyn a schameful schelle;
Þus hathe seruyd many on mo
Tyl þei be dyth to dethys delle,
To byttyr balys bowre.
Þou muste to peyne, be ryth resun,
Wyth Coveytyse, for he is chesun.
Þou art trappyd ful of tresun
But Mercy be þi socowre.

For ryth wel þis founde I haue
Aȝeyns Rythwysnesse may I not holde.
Þou muste wyth hym to careful caue
For grete skyllys þat he hathe tolde.

Fro þe awey I wandyr and waue;
For þe I clynge in carys colde.
Alone now I þe laue
Whylyst þou fallyst in fendys folde,
In helle to hyde and hylle.
Rytwysnesse wyl þat þou wende
Forthe awey wyth þe fende.
But Mercy wyl to þe sende,
Of þe can I no skylle.

ANIMA.
Alas, Mercy, þou art to longe!
Of sadde sorwe now may I synge.
Holy wryt it is ful wronge
But Mercy pase alle þynge.
I am ordeynyd to peynys stronge,
In wo is dressyd myn wonnynge,
In helle on hokys I schal honge,
But mercy fro a welle sprynge.
Þis deuyl wyl haue me away.
Weleaway! I was ful wod
Þat I forsoke myn Aungyl Good
And wyth Coueytyse stod
Tyl þat day þat I schuld dey.

MALUS ANGELUS.

Ȝa, why woldyst þou be coueytous
And drawe þe agayn to synne?
I schal þe brewe a byttyr jous;
In bolnynnge bondys þou schalt brenne.
In hye helle schal be þyne hous,
In pycke and ter to grone and grenne;
Þou schalt lye drenkelyd as a movs;
Þer may no man þerfro þe werne
For þat ilke wyll.
Þat day þe ladys þou forsoke
And to my counsel þou þe toke,
Þou were betyr anhangyn on hoke
Upon a jebet hyll.

Farter fowle, þou schalt be frayed
Tyl þou be frettyd and al forbled.
Foule mote þou be dysmayed
Þat þou schalt þus ben ouyrled.
For Coueytyse þou hast asayed
In byttyr balys þou schalt be bred.
Al mankynd may be wel payed
Whou Coueytyse makyth þe adred.
Wyth rappys I þe rynge.
We schul to hell, bothe to,
And bey in inferno.
Nulla est redempcio
For no kynnys þynge.

Now dagge we hens a dogge trot.
In my dongion I schal þe dere.
On þe is many a synful spot;
Þerfore þis schame I schal þe schere
Whanne þou comyst to my neste.
Why woldyst þou, schrewe schalt neuere þe,
But in þi lyue don aftyr me?
And þi Good Aungyl tawth þe
Alwey to þe beste.

Ȝa, but þou woldyst hym not leue;
To Coueytyse alwey þou drow.
Þerfore schalt þou euyl preue;
Þat foul synne þi soule slow.
I schal fonde þe to greue
And putte þe in peynnys plow.
Haue þis, and euyl mote þou scheue,
For þou seydyst neuere ‘inow, inow’
Þus lacche I þe þus lowe.
Þow þou kewe as a kat,
For þi coueytyse haue þou þat!
I schal þe bunche wyth my bat
And rouge þe on a rowe.

Lo, synful tydynge,
Boy, on þi bak I brynge.
Spedely þou sprynge.
Þi placebo I schal synge.

To deuelys delle
I schal þe bere to helle.
I wyl not dwelle.
Haue good day! I goo to helle.

University of Virginia Library

SCENE XXI