 | The Bowers and Flecchers |  |
[Scene II
the same, near a fire.]i Mulier.
Sir knyghtys, do kepe þis boy in bande,
For I will go witte what it may mene,
Why þat yone wighte was hym folowand
Erly and late, morne and eue[n].
He will come nere, he will not lette,
He is a spie, I warand, full bolde.
iii Miles.
It semes by his sembland he had leuere be sette,
By þe feruent fire, to fleme hym fro colde.
Mulier.
Ya, but and ȝe wiste as wele as I,
258
And thurgh his maistir sorssery
Full derfely schulde his deth be bought.
iv Miles.
Dame, we haue hym nowe at will
Þat we haue longe tyme soughte,
Yf othir go by vs still,
Þer-fore we haue no thought.
Mulier.
Itt were grete skorne þat he schulde skape,
Withoute he hadde resoune and skill,
He lokis lurkand like an nape,
I hope I schall haste me hym tille.
[To Peter.]
Thou caytiffe! what meves þe stande
So stabill and stille in þi thoght?
Þou hast wrought mekill wronge in londe,
And wondirfull werkis haste þou wroght.
A! lorell, a leder of lawe,
To sette hym and suye has þou soght.
Stande furth and threste in yone thrawe,
Thy maistry þou bryng vn-to noght.
Wayte nowe, he lokis like a brokke,
Were he in a bande for to bayte;
Or ellis like an nowele in a stok,
Full preualy his pray for to wayte.
Petrus.
Woman, thy wordis and thy wynde thou not waste;
Of his company never are I was kende.
Þou haste þe mismarkid, trewly be traste;
Wherfore of þi misse þou þe amende.
[ii] Mulier.
Þan gayne-saies þou here þe sawes þat þou saide,
How he schulde clayme to be callid God sonne,
And with þe werkis þat he wrought/Whils he walketh in þis flodde,
Baynly at oure bydding/Alway to be bonne.
259
I will consente to youre sawes;/What schulde I saye more?
For women are crabbed,/Þat comes þem of kynde.
But I saye as I firste saide,/I sawe hym neuere are,
But as a frende of oure felawschippe/Shall ye me aye fynde.
Malchus.
Herke! knyghtis, þat are knawen/In this contre as we kenne,
Howe yone boy with his boste/Has brewed mekill bale,
He has forsaken his maistir/Before ȝone womenne.
But I schall preue to ȝou pertly,/And telle you my tale.
I was presente with pepull/Whenne prese was full prest,
To mete with his maistir,/With mayne and with myght,
And hurled hym hardely,/And hastely hym arreste,
And in bandis full bittirly/Bande hym sore all þat nyght.
And of tokenyng of trouth schall I telle yowe,
Howe yone boy with a brande/Brayede me full nere,—
Do move of theȝ materes emelle yowe,—
For swiftely he swapped of my nere.
His maistir with his myght helyd me all hole,
That by no syne I cowthe see noman cowþe it witten,
And þan badde hym bere pees in euery ilke bale,
For he þat strikis with a swerd with a swerde schall be streken.
260
Do speke oon and spare not to telle vs,
Or full faste I schall fonde þe flitte,
The soth but þou saie here emelle vs.
Come of, do tyte! late me see nowe,
In sauyng of thy selffe fro schame,
Ȝa, and also for beryng of blame.
Petrus.
I was neuere with hym in werke þat he wroght,
In worde nor in werke, in will nor in dede,
I knawe no corse þat ȝe haue hidir brought,
In no courte of this kith, if I schulde right rede.
Malchus.
Here, sirs! howe he sais and has forsaken
His maistir to þis woman here twyes,
And newly oure lawe has he taken,
Thus hath he denyed hym thryes.
[Enter Jesus with 3rd and 4th soldiers.]
Jesus.
Petir, Petir, þus saide I are,
When you saide you wolde abide with me,
In wele and woo, in sorowe and care,
Whillis I schulde thries for-saken be.
Petrus.
Alas! þe while þat I come here!
That euere I denyed my lorde in quarte,
The loke of his faire face so clere
With full sadde sorowe sheris my harte.
iii Miles.
Sir knyghtis, take kepe of þis karll and be konnand;
Be-cause of Sir Cayphas we knowe wele his þoght.
He will rewarde vs full wele þat dare I wele warand,
Whan he wete of oure werkis how wele we haue wroght.
iv Miles.
Sir, þis is Cayphas halle here at hande,
Go we boldly with þis boy þat we haue here broght.
Nay, Sirs, vs muste stalke to þat stede and full still stande,
For itt is nowe of þe nyght, yf þei nappe oght.
261
[within].
Say who is here? Say who is here?
iii Miles.
I, a frende,
Well knawyn in þis contre for a knyght.
ii Miles
[within].
Gose furthe, on youre wayes may yee wende,
For we haue herbered enowe for to-nyght.
i Miles
[within].
Gose abakke, bewscheres, ȝe both are to blame,
To bourde whenne oure Busshopp is bonne to his bedde.
iv Miles.
Why Sir! it were worthy to welcome vs home,
We haue gone for þis warlowe and we haue wele spedde.
ii Miles.
Why, who is þat?
iii Miles.
The Jewes kyng, Jesus by name.
i Miles.
A! yee be welcome, þat dare I wele wedde.
My lorde has sente for to seke hym.
iv Miles.
Loo! se here þe same.
ii Miles.
Abidde as I bidde, and be noght adreed.
[Calls Caiaphas from his sleep.
My lorde! my lorde! my lorde! here is layke, and ȝou list!
Cayph.
Pees! loselles, leste ȝe be nyse.
i Miles.
My lorde! it is wele, and ye wiste.
Cayph.
What! nemen vs nomore, for it is twyes,
Þou takist non hede to þe haste/That we haue here on honde,
Go frayne howe oure folke faris/That are furth ronne.
ii Miles.
My lorde youre knyghtis has kared/As ye þame commaunde,
And thei haue fallen full faire./
Cayph.
Why and is þe foole foune?
[Rises.
Ya! lorde, þei haue brought a boy in a bande boune.
262
[calls].
Where nowe! sir Anna! þat is one and able to be nere.
[Enter Annas.]
Anna.
My lorde, with youre leue me be-houes to be here.
Cayph.
A! sir, come nere and sitte we bothe in fere.
[They sit in court.]
Anna.
Do sir, bidde þam bring in þat boy þat is bune.
Cayph.
Pese now, sir Anna, be stille and late hym stande.
And late vs grope yf þis gome be grathly be-gune.
Anna.
Sir, þis game is be-gune of þe best.
Now hadde he no force for to flee þame.
Cayp.
Nowe in faithe I am fayne he is fast,
Do lede in þat ladde, late me se þan.
ii Miles
[To 3 & 4 soldiers].
Lo! sir, we haue saide to oure souereyne,
Gose nowe and suye to hym selfe for þe same thyng.
iii Miles.
Milorde, to youre bidding we haue buxom and bayne,
Lo, here is þe belschere broght þat ye bad bring.
iv Miles.
My lorde, fandis now to fere hym.
Cayph.
Nowe I am fayne,
And felawes, faire mott ye fall for youre fynding.
Anna.
Sir, and ye trowe þei be trewe/With-owten any trayne,
Bidde þayme telle you þe tyme of þe takyng.
Cayph.
Say, felawes, howe wente ye so nemely by nyȝt?
iii Miles.
My lorde, was þere noman to marre vs ne mende vs.
iv Miles.
My lorde, we had lanternes and light,
And some of his company kende vs.
263
But saie, how did he, Judas?/
iii Miles.
A! sir, full wisely and wele,
He markid vs his maistir emang all his men,
And kyssid hym full kyndely his comforte to kele,
By-cause of a countenaunce þat karll for to kenne.
Cayph.
And þus did he his deuere?
iv Miles.
Ya, lorde, euere ilke a dele.
He taughte vs to take hym/The tyme aftir tenne.
Anna.
Nowe, be my feith! a faynte frend myght he þer fynde.
iii Miles.
Sire, ye myghte so haue saide,/Hadde ye hymn sene þenne.
iv Miles.
He sette vs to þe same þat he solde vs,
And feyned to be his frende as a faytour,
This was þe tokenyng before þat he tolde vs.
Cayph.
Nowe trewly, þis was a trante of a traytour.
Anna.
Ȝa, be he traytour or trewe geue we neuer tale,
But takes tente at þis tyme and here what he telles.
Cayph.
Now sees þat oure howsolde be holden here hale,
So þat none carpe in case but þat in court dwellis.
iii Miles.
A! lorde, þis brethell has brewed moche bale.
Cayph.
Therfore schall we spede vs to spere of his spellis.
Sir Anna, takeis hede nowe, and here hym.
Anna
[To Jesus].
Say ladde, liste þe noght lowte to a lorde?
iv Miles.
No sir, with youre leue, we schall lere hym.
[Attempts to strike Jesus.
Cayph.
Nay sir, noght so, no haste.
Itt is no burde to bete bestis þat are bune,
And therfore with fayrenes firste we will hym fraste,
And sithen forþer hym furth as we haue fune.
And telle vs som tales, truly to traste.
264
Sir, we myght als wele talke/Tille a tome tonne!
I warande hym witteles,/Or ellis he is wrang wrayste,
Or ellis he waitis to wirke/Als he was are wonne.
iii Miles.
His wonne was to wirke mekill woo,
And make many maystries emelle vs.
Cayph.
And some schall he graunte or he goo,
Or muste yowe tente hym and telle vs.
iv Miles.
My lorde, to witte þe wonderes þat he has wroght,
For to telle you the tente it wolde oure tonges stere.
Cayph.
Sen þe boy for his boste is in-to bale broght,
We will witte, or he wende, how his werkis were.
iii Miles.
Oure Sabott day we saye/saves he right noght,
That he schulde halowe and holde/Full dingne and full dere.
iv Miles.
No, sir, in þe same feste/Als we the sotte soughte,
He salued þame of sikenesse/On many sidis seere.
Cayph.
What þan, makes he þame grathely to gange?
iii Miles.
Ȝa, lorde even forthe in euery ilke a toune,
He þame lechis to liffe after lange.
Cayph.
A! this makes he by the myghtis of Mahounde.
iv Miles.
Sir, oure stiffe tempill, þat made is of stone,
That passes any paleys of price for to preyse,
And it were doune to þe erth and to þe gronde gone,
This rebalde he rowses hym it rathely to rayse.
iii Miles.
Ȝa, lorde, and othir wonderis he workis grete wone,
And with his lowde lesyngis he losis oure layes.
265
Go lowse hym, and levis þan and late me allone,
For my selfe schall serche hym and here what he saies.
Anna.
Herke! Jesus of Jewes will haue joie,
To spille all thy sporte for thy spellis.
Cayph.
Do meve, felawe, of thy frendis þat fedde þe be-forne,
And sithen, felowe, of thi fare, forþer will I freyne.
Do neven vs lightly; his langage is lorne!
iii Miles.
My lorde, with youre leve, hym likis for to layne,
But and he schulde scape skatheles, it wer a full skorne,
For he has mustered emonge vs full mekil of his mayne.
iv Miles.
Malkus, youre man, lord, þat had his ere schorne,
This harlotte full hastely helid it agayne.
Cayph.
What! and liste hym be nyse for þe nonys,
And heres howe we haste to rehete hym.
Anna.
Nowe, by Beliall bloode and his bonys,
I holde it beste to go bete hym!
Cayph.
Nay, sir, none haste, we schall have game or we goo.
[To Jesus.]
Boy, be not agaste if we seme gaye;
I coniure þe kyndely, and comaunde þe also,
By grete God þat is liffand & laste schall ay,
Yf þou be Criste, Goddis sonne, telle till vs two.
Jesus.
Sir, þou says it þi selffe, and sothly I saye,
Þat I schall go to my fadir þat I come froo,
And dwelle with hym wynly in welthe all-way.
Cayph.
Why! fie on þe faitoure vn-trewe!
Thy fadir haste þou fowly defamed,
Now nedis vs no notes of newe,
Hym selfe with his sawes has he schamed.
Anna.
Nowe nedis nowdir wittenesse ne counsaille to call,
But take his sawes as he saieth in þe same stede,
He sclaunderes þe godhed and greues vs all,
266
And therfore sir, saies hym þe sothe.
Cayph.
Sertis so I schall.
Heres þou not, harlott? Ille happe on thy hede!
Aunswere here grathely to grete and to small,
And reche vs oute rathely som resoune, I rede.
Jesus.
My reasouns are not to reherse,
Nor they þat myght helpe me are noȝt here nowe.
Anna.
Say, ladde, liste þe make verse,
Do tell on, be-lyffe, late vs here nowe.
Jesus.
Sir, if I saie þe sothe, þou schall not assente,
But hyndir, or haste me [to] hynge;
I preched wher pepull was moste in present,
And no poynte in priuite to olde ne ȝinge.
And also in youre tempill I told myne entente,
Ye myght haue tane me þat tyme for my tellyng,
Wele bettir þan bringe me with brondis vnbrente,
And þus to noye me be nyght, and also for no-thyng.
Cayph.
For nothyng! losell, þou lies!
Thy wordis and werkis will haue a wrekyng.
Jesus.
Sire, sen þou with wrong so me wreyes,
Go, spere þame þat herde of my spekyng.
Cayph.
A! þis traitoure has tened me/With tales þat he has tolde,
Ȝitt hadde I neuere such hething/as of a harlott as hee.
i Miles.
What! fye on þe beggarr!/who made þe so bolde
To bourde with oure Busshoppe?/thy bane schall I bee.
[He strikes Jesus.]
267
Sir, if my wordis be wrange or werse þan þou wolde,
A wronge wittenesse I wotte nowe are ȝe,
And if my sawes be soth þei mon be sore solde,
Wherfore þou bourdes to brode for to bete me.
ii Miles.
My lorde, will ȝe here? for Mahounde
No more now for to neven þat it nedis.
Cayph.
Gose, dresse you and dyng ȝe hym doune,
And deffe vs no more with his dedis.
Anna.
Nay, sir, þan blemysshe yee prelatis estatis;
Ȝe awe to deme noman, to dede for to dynge.
Cayph.
Why, sir, so were bettir þan be in debate,
Ye see þe boy will noȝt bowe for oure bidding.
Anna.
Nowe sir, ye muste presente þis boy unto sir Pilate,
For he is domysman nere and nexte to þe king,
And late hym here all þe hole, how ye hym hate,
And whedir he will helpe hym or haste hym to hyng.
i Miles.
My lorde, late men lede hym by nyght,
So schall ye beste skape oute o skornyng.
ii Miles.
My lorde, it is nowe in þe nyght,
I rede ȝe abide tille þe mornyng.
Cayph.
Bewschere, þou sais þe beste, and so schall it be,
But lerne yone boy bettir to bende and bowe.
i Miles.
We schall lerne yone ladde, be my lewte,
For to loute vn-to ilke lorde like vn-to yowe.
Cayph.
Ȝa, and felawes, wayte þat he be ay wakand.
| The Bowers and Flecchers | |