University of Virginia Library

[Scene III

On the way from the palace of Caiaphas to Pilate's judgment-hall.]
An.
Sir Cayphas, ye kenne wele/This caytiffe we haue cached,
That ofte tymes in oure tempill/Hase teched vntrewly,
Oure meyne with myght/At mydnyght hym mached,
And hase drevyn hym till his demyng/For his dedis vndewly.
Wherfore I counsaile þat kyndely we care
Vnto sir Pilate, oure prince, and pray hym
That he for oure right will arraye hym,
This faitour for his falsed to flay hym,
For fro we saie hym þe soth/I schall sitte hym full sore.

Cay.
Sir Anna, þis sporte haue ye spedely aspied,
As I am pontificall prince of all prestis.
We will prese to Sir Pilate, and presente hym with pride,
With þis harlott þat has hewed owre hartis fro oure brestis,
Thurgh talkyng of tales vntrewe. And þerfor, Sir knyghtis!

i Mil.
Lorde!

Cay.
Sir Knyghtis, þat are curtayse and kynde,
We charge you þat chorle be wele chyned,
Do buske you and grathely hym bynde,
And rugge hym in ropes, his rase till he rewe.

i Mil.
Sir, youre sawes schall be serued schortely and sone,
Yha, do felawe, be thy feith, late vs feste þis faitour full fast.

ii Mil.
I am douty to þis dede, delyuer, haue done,
Latte vs pulle on with pride till his poure be paste.

i Mil.
Do haue faste and halde at his handes.

ii Mil.
For this same is he þat lightly avaunted,
And god sone he grathely hym graunted.

i Mil.
He bese hurled for þe highnes he haunted;
Loo! he stonyes for vs, he stares where he standis.

ii Mil.
Nowe is the brothell boune for all þe boste þat he blowne,
And þe laste day he lete no lordynges myȝt lawe hym.

An.
Ya, he wende þis worlde had bene haly his awne,
Als ye are dowtiest to-day/Tille his demyng ye drawe hym.
And þan schall we kenne/How þat he canne excuse hym.

i Mil.
Here, ye gomes, gose a rome, giffe vs gate,
We muste steppe to yone sterne of a-state.

ii Mil.
We muste yappely wende in at þis yate,
For he þat comes to courte, to curtesye muste vse hym.

i Mil.
Do rappe on the renkis,/Þat we may rayse with oure rolyng;
Come forthe, sir coward!/Why cowre ye behynde.

[Knocks at Pilate's hall.
Bed.
[within.]
O, what javellis are ye þat jappis with gollyng?

i Mil.
A! goode sir, be noȝt wroth, for wordis are as þe wynde.

Bed.
I saye, gedlynges, gose bakke with youre gawdes.

ii Mil.
Be sufferand, I beseke you,
And more of þis matere yhe meke yow.

Bed.
Why, vnconand knaves, an I cleke yowe,
I schall felle yow, be my faith, for all youre false frawdes.

Pil.
[within, in bed.]
Say childe, ill cheffe you!/What churlles are so claterand?

Bed.
My lorde, vn-conand knaves þei crye and þei call.

Pil.
Gose baldely beliffe, and þos brethellis be battand,
And putte þam in prisoune vppon peyne þat may fall.
Yha, spedely spir þam yf any sporte can þei spell,
Yha, and loke what lordingis þei be.

Bed.
My lorde, þat is luffull in lee,
I am boxsom and blithe to your blee.

Pil.
And if they talke any tythyngis/Come tyte and me tell.

Bed.
[To the soldiers.]
My felawes, by youre faith,/Can ye talke any tythandis?

i Mil.
Yha, sir Cayphas and Anna ar come both to-gedir.
To sir Pilate o pounce and prince of oure lawe;
And þei haue laughte a lorell/Þat is lawles and liddir.

Bed.
My lorde! my lorde!

[Runs to Pilate.
Pil.
Howe!

Bed.
My lorde, vnlappe yow belyve wher ye lye.
Sir Cayphas to youre courte is caried,
And sir Anna, but a traytour hem taried,
Many wight of þat warlowe has waried,
They haue brought hym in a bande, his balis to bye.

Pil.
But are thes sawes certayne in soth þat þou saies?

Bed.
Yha, lorde, þe states yondir standis,/For striffe are they stonden.

Pil.
Now þan am I light as a roo,/And ethe for to rayse,
[He rises.
Go bidde þam come in both/And the boye þey haue boune.

Bed.
Siris, my lorde geues leue/Inne for to come.