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The Cappemakers, Etc

XXIV. The woman taken in Adultery. The raising of Lazarus
  
  

 1. 
 2. 
Scene II

Scene II

Bethany.]
14.
Maria
[in the house].
Allas! owtane goddis will allone,
Þat I schulld sitte to see þis sight!
For I may morne and make my mone,
So wo in worlde was neuere wight.
Þat I loued most is fro me gone,
My dere brothir þat Lazar hight,
And I durst saye I wolde be slone,
For nowe me fayles both mynde & myght.
My welthe is wente for euere,
No medycyne mende me may,
A! dede þou do thy deuer,
And haue me hense away.

15.
Martha
[on the road].
Allas! for ruthe, now may I raue,
And febilly fare by frith and felde,
Wolde god þat I wer grathed in graue!
Þat dede hadde tane me vndir telde!
For hele in harte mon I neuere haue,
But if [he] helpe þat all may welde;
Of Crist I will som comforte craue,
For he may be my bote and belde.
To seke I schal noȝt cesse
Tille I my souereyne see.
[Jesus enters.]
Hayle! pereles prince of pesse!
Jesu! my maistir so free.


199

16.
Jesus.
Martha, what menes þou to make such chere ,
[OMITTED]
This stone we schall full sone
Remove and sette on syde.

17.
Jesus.
Fadir! þat is in heuyn on highte!
I þanke þe euere ouere all thyng,
That hendely heres me day & nyght,
And takis hede vnto myn askyng:
Wherfore fouchesaffe of thy grete myght
So þat þis pepull, olde and ȝyng,
That standis and bidis to se þat sight,
May trulye trowe and haue knowyng,
This tyme here or I pas
How þat þou has me sent.
Lazar, veni foras,
Come fro thy monument.

18.
Lazarus.
A! pereles prince, full of pitee!
Worshipped be þou in worlde alway,
That þus hast schewed bi myght in me,
Both dede and doluen, þis is þe fourþe day.
By certayne singnes here may men see
How þat þou art goddis sone verray.
All þo þat trulye trastis in þe
Schall neuere dye, þis dare I saye.
Therfore ȝe folke in fere,
Menske hym with mayne and myght,
His lawes luke þat ȝe lere,
Þan will he lede ȝou to his light.

19.
Maria.
Here may men fynde a faythfull frende
Þat þus has couered vs of oure care.

Martha.
Jesu! my lord, and maistir hende
Of þis we thanke þe euermore.


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Jesus.
Sisteres, I may no lenger lende,
To othir folke nowe bus me fare,
And to Jerusalem will I wende
For thyngis þat muste be fulfilled þere.
Therfore rede I you right,
My men, to wende with me;
Ȝe þat haue sene þis sight
My blissyng with ȝo be.

 

A leaf, O vj, is here lost from the MS.