 | The Masonns |  |
[Scene, Herod's court, with his son and courtiers.]
Herod.
i Miles.
All kynges to youre croune may clerly comende
Youre lawe and youre lordshippe as lodsterne on hight,
What traytoure vn-trewe þat will not attende,
Ȝe sall lay þaim full lowe, fro leeme and fro light.
ii Miles.
What faitoure, in faithe, þat dose ȝou offende,
We sall sette hym full sore, þat sotte, in youre sight.
Herodes.
In welthe sall I wisse ȝou to wonne or I wende,
For ȝe are wightis ful worthy, both witty & wighte.
But ȝe knawe wele, ser knyghtis, in counsaill full conande,
Þat my regioun so riall is ruled her be rest;
For I wate of no wighte in þis worlde þat is wonnande
Þat in forges any feloune, with force sall be fest;
Arest ȝe þo rebaldes þat vnrewly are rownand,
Be they kyngis or knyghtis, in care ȝe þaim cast;
Ȝaa, and welde þam in woo to wonne, in þe wanyand,
What browle þat is brawlyng his brayne loke ȝe brest,
And dynge ȝe hym doune.
i Miles.
Sir, what foode in faith will ȝou feese,
Þat sott full sone my selfe sall hym sesse.
ii Miles.
We sall noght here doute to do hym disesse,
But with countenaunce full cruell
We sall crake her his croune.
Her.
My sone þat is semely, howe semes þe ther sawes?
Howe comely þer knyghtis, þei carpe in þis case!
Fil.
Fadir, if þai like noght to listyn youre lawes,
As traytoures on-trewe þe sall teche þem a trace,
For fadir, vnkyndnes ȝe kythe þem no cause.
Her.
Faire falle þe my faire sone, so fettis of face!
And knyghtis, I comaunde, who to dule drawes,
Þas churles as cheueleres ye chastise and chase,
And drede ȝe no doute.
Fil.
Fadir, I sall fell þam in fight,
What renke þat reves you youre right.
i Miles.
With dyntes to dede bes he dight,
Þat liste not youre lawes for to lowte
His wille.
[Enter messenger.]
Nunc.
My lorde, ser herowde, king with croune! &c.
Herod.
The clowdes clapped in clerenes þat þer clematis in-closis,
Jubiter and Jouis, Martis & Mercury emyde,
Raykand ouere my rialte on rawe me reioyses,
Blonderande þer blastis, to blaw when I bidde.
Saturne my subgett, þat sotilly is hidde,
I list at my likyng and laies hym full lowe;
The rakke of þe rede skye full rappely I ridde,
Thondres full thrallye by thousandes I thrawe
when me likis;
Venus his voice to me awe
Þat princes to play in hym pikis.
Jubiter and Jouis, Martis & Mercury emyde,
Raykand ouere my rialte on rawe me reioyses,
Blonderande þer blastis, to blaw when I bidde.
Saturne my subgett, þat sotilly is hidde,
I list at my likyng and laies hym full lowe;
The rakke of þe rede skye full rappely I ridde,
Thondres full thrallye by thousandes I thrawe
when me likis;
Venus his voice to me awe
Þat princes to play in hym pikis.
Þe prince of planetis þat proudely is pight
Sall brace furth his bemes þat oure belde blithes,
Þe mone at my myght he mosteres his myght;
And kayssaris in castellis grete kyndynes me kythes,
Lordis and ladis loo luffely me lithes,
For I am fairer of face and fressher on folde
(Þe soth yf I saie sall) seuene and sexti sithis,
Þan glorius gulles þat gayer [is] þan golde
in price;
How thynke ȝe þer tales þat I talde,
I am worthy, witty, and wyse!
Sall brace furth his bemes þat oure belde blithes,
Þe mone at my myght he mosteres his myght;
And kayssaris in castellis grete kyndynes me kythes,
124
For I am fairer of face and fressher on folde
(Þe soth yf I saie sall) seuene and sexti sithis,
Þan glorius gulles þat gayer [is] þan golde
in price;
How thynke ȝe þer tales þat I talde,
I am worthy, witty, and wyse!
i Miles.
All kynges to youre croune may clerly comende
Youre lawe and youre lordshippe as lodsterne on hight,
What traytoure vn-trewe þat will not attende,
Ȝe sall lay þaim full lowe, fro leeme and fro light.
ii Miles.
What faitoure, in faithe, þat dose ȝou offende,
We sall sette hym full sore, þat sotte, in youre sight.
Herodes.
In welthe sall I wisse ȝou to wonne or I wende,
For ȝe are wightis ful worthy, both witty & wighte.
But ȝe knawe wele, ser knyghtis, in counsaill full conande,
Þat my regioun so riall is ruled her be rest;
For I wate of no wighte in þis worlde þat is wonnande
Þat in forges any feloune, with force sall be fest;
Arest ȝe þo rebaldes þat vnrewly are rownand,
Be they kyngis or knyghtis, in care ȝe þaim cast;
Ȝaa, and welde þam in woo to wonne, in þe wanyand,
What browle þat is brawlyng his brayne loke ȝe brest,
And dynge ȝe hym doune.
i Miles.
Sir, what foode in faith will ȝou feese,
Þat sott full sone my selfe sall hym sesse.
ii Miles.
We sall noght here doute to do hym disesse,
But with countenaunce full cruell
We sall crake her his croune.
Her.
My sone þat is semely, howe semes þe ther sawes?
Howe comely þer knyghtis, þei carpe in þis case!
125
Fadir, if þai like noght to listyn youre lawes,
As traytoures on-trewe þe sall teche þem a trace,
For fadir, vnkyndnes ȝe kythe þem no cause.
Her.
Faire falle þe my faire sone, so fettis of face!
And knyghtis, I comaunde, who to dule drawes,
Þas churles as cheueleres ye chastise and chase,
And drede ȝe no doute.
Fil.
Fadir, I sall fell þam in fight,
What renke þat reves you youre right.
i Miles.
With dyntes to dede bes he dight,
Þat liste not youre lawes for to lowte
His wille.
[Enter messenger.]
Nunc.
My lorde, ser herowde, king with croune! &c.
| The Masonns | |