University of Virginia Library

[Scene II]

Hell; at one side Limbo, enclosing the patriarchs and prophets; a light shines across.
Adame.
Mi bretheren, harkens to me here,
Swilke hope of heele neuere are we hadde,
Foure thousande and sex hundereth ȝere
Haue we bene heere in þis stedde.
Nowe see I signe of solace seere,
A glorious gleme to make vs gladde,
Wher-fore I hope oure helpe is nere,
And sone schall sesse oure sorowes sadde.

Eua.
Adame, my husband hende,
Þis menys solas certayne,
Such light gune on vs lende
In paradise full playne.

Isaiah.
Adame, we schall wele vndirstande,
I, Ysaias as god me kende,
I prechid in Neptalym, þat lande,
And Zabulon even vn-till ende.
I spake of folke in mirke walkand,
And saide a light schulde on þame lende,
This lered I whils I was leuand,
Nowe se I God þis same hath sende.
Þis light comes all of Criste,
Þat seede to saue vs nowe,
Þus is my poynte puplisshid,
But Symeon, what sais þou?

Symeon.
Yhis, my tale of farleis feele,
For in þis temple his frendis me fande,
I hadde delite with hym to dele,
And halsed homely with my hande.
I saide, “lorde, late thy seruaunt lele
Passe nowe in pesse to liffe lastand,
For nowe my selfe has sene thy hele,
Me liste no lengar to liffe in lande.”
Þis light þou hast purueyed
To folkes þat liffis in leede,
Þe same þat I þame saide,
I see fulfillid in dede.

Joh. Bapt.
Als voyce criand to folke I kende,
Þe weyes of criste als I wele kanne,
I baptiste hym with bothe my hande
Euen in þe floode of flume Jordanne.
Þe holy goste fro heuene discende,
Als a white downe doune on hym þanne,
The Fadir voice, my mirthe to mende,
Was made to me euen als manne,
This is my sone, he saide,
In whome me paies full wele,
His light is on vs laide,
He comes oure cares to kele.

Moyses.
Of þat same light lernyng haue I,
To me Moyses he mustered his myght,
And also vnto anodir, Hely,
Wher we were on an hille on hight.
Whyte as snowe was his body,
And his face like to þe sonne to sight,
No man on molde was so myghty
Grathely to loke agaynste þat light,
Þat same light se I nowe,
Shynyng on vs sarteyne,
Wherfore trewly I trowe,
We schalle sone passe fro payne.

i Diab.
Helpe! Belsabub! to bynde þer boyes,
Such harrowe was neuer are herde in helle.

ii Diab.
Why rooris þou soo, rebalde? þou royis,
What is be-tidde, canne þou ought telle?

i Diab.
What! heris þou noȝt þis vggely noyse,
Þes lurdans þat in lymbo dwelle,
Þei make menyng of many joies,
And musteres grete mirthe þame emell.

ii Diab.
Mirthe? nay, nay, þat þoynte is paste,
More hele schall þei neuere haue.

i Diab.
Þei crie on Criste full faste,
And sais he schal þame saue.

Belsabub.
Ȝa, if he saue þame noght, we schall,
For they are sperde in speciall space,
Whils I am prince and principall
Schall þei neuer passe oute of þis place.
Calle vppe Astrotte and A
To giffe þer counsaille in þis case,
Bele, Berit, and Belial,
To marre þame þat swilke maistries mase.
Say to Satan oure sire,
And bidde þame bringe also,
Lucifer louely of lyre.

i Diab.
Al redy, lorde, I goo.

Jesus
[Without].
Attollite portas principes,
Oppen vppe ȝe princes of paynes sere,
Et eleuamini eternales,
Youre yendles ȝatis þat ȝe haue here.

Sattan.
What page is þere þat makes prees,
And callis hym kyng of vs in fere?

Dauid
[in Limbo].
I lered leuand, with-outen lees,
He is a kyng of vertues clere.
A! lorde, mekill of myght,
And stronge in ilke a stoure,
In batailes ferse to fight,
And worthy to wynne honnoure.

Sattan.
Honnoure! in þe deuelway, for what dede?
All erthely men to me are thrall,
Þe lady þat calles hym lorde in leede,
Hadde neuer ȝit herberowe, house, ne halle.

i Diab.
Harke, Belsabub! I haue grete drede,
For hydously I herde hym calle.

Belliall.
We! spere oure ȝates, all ill mot þou spede,
And sette furthe watches on þe wall.
And if he call or crie
To make vs more debate,
Lay on hym þan hardely,
And garre hym gang his gate.

Sattan.
Telle me what boyes dare be so bolde,
For drede to make so mekill draye.

i Diab.
Itt is þe Jewe þat Judas solde
For to be dede, þis othir daye.

Sattan.
Owe! þis tale in tyme is tolde,
Þis traytoure traues vs alway,
He schall be here full harde in holde,
Loke þat he passe noght, I þe praye.

ii Diab.
Nay, nay, he will noȝt wende
A-way or I be ware,
He shappis hym for to schende
Alle helle or he go ferre.

Sattan.
Nay, faitour, þer-of schall he faile,
For alle his fare I hym deffie,
I knowe his trantis fro toppe to taile,
He leuys with gaudis and with gilery.
Þer-by he brought oute of oure bale
Nowe, late, Lazar of Betannye,
Þer-fore I gaffe to þe Jewes counsaille,
Þat þei schulde alway garre hym dye.
I entered in Judas
Þat forwarde to fulfille,
Þer-fore his hire he has,
All-way to wonne here stille.

Belsabub.
Sir Sattanne, sen we here þe saie,
Þat þou and ȝe Jewes wer same assente,
And wotte he wanne Lazar awaye,
Þat tille vs was tane for to tente.
Trowe þou þat þou marre hym maye,
To mustir myghtis what he has mente,
If he nowe depriue vs of oure praye,
We will ȝe witte whanne þei are wente.

Sattan.
I bidde ȝou be noȝt abasshed
But boldely make youe boune
With toles þat ȝe on traste
And dynge þat dastard doune.

Jesus
[Without].
Principes, portas tollite,
Vndo youre ȝatis, ȝe princis of pryde,
Et introibit rex glorie,
Þe kyng of blisse comes in þis tyde.

[Enters the gates of Hell.
Sattan.
Owte! harrowe [what harlot] is hee,
Þat sais his kyngdome schall be cryed.

Dauid
[in Limbo].
Þat may þou in my sawter see
For þat poynte of prophicie.
I saide þat he schuld breke
Youre barres and bandis by name,
And on youre werkis take wreke,
Nowe schalle ȝe see þe same.

Jesus.
Þis steede schall stonde no lenger stoken,
Opynne vppe and latte my pepul passe.

Diabolus.
Oute! beholdes, oure baill is brokynne,
And brosten are alle oure bandis of bras.
Telle lucifer alle is vnlokynne.

Belsabub.
What þanne, is lymbus lorne, allas!
Garre Satan helpe þat we were wroken,
Þis werke is werse þanne euere it was.

Sattan.
I badde ȝe schulde be boune
If he made maistries more,
Do dynge þat dastard doune,
And sette hym sadde and sore.

Belsabub.
Ȝa, sette hym sore, þat is sone saide,
But come þi selffe and serue hym soo,
We may not bide his bittir braide,
He wille vs marre, and we wer moo.

Sattan.
What! faitours, wherfore are ȝe ferde?
Haue ȝe no force to flitte hym froo?
Belyue loke þat my gere be grathed,
Mi selffe schall to þat gedlyng goo.
[To Jesus.]
Howe! belamy, a de,
With al thy booste and bere,
And telle to me þis tyde,
What maistries makes þou here?

Jesus.
I make no maistries but for myne,
Þame wolle I saue, I telle þe nowe,
Þou hadde no poure þame to pyne,
But as my prisonne for þer prowe.
Here haue þei soiorned, noght as thyne,
But in thy warde, þou wote wele howe.

Sattan.
And what deuel haste þou done ay syne
Þat neuer wolde negh þame nere, or nowe?

Jesus.
Nowe is þe tyme certayne
Mi Fadir ordand be-fore,
Þat they schulde passe fro payne,
And wonne in mirthe euer more.

Sattan.
Thy fadir knewe I wele be sight,
He was a write his mette to wynne,
And Marie me menys þi modir hight,
Þe vttiremeste ende of all þi kynne.
Who made þe be so mekill of myght?

Jesus.
Þou wikid feende, latte be thy dynne,
Mi Fadir wonnys in heuen on hight,
With blisse þat schall neuere blynne.
I am his awne sone,
His forward to fulfille.
And same ay schall we wonne,
And sundir whan we wolle.

Sattan.
God sonne, þanne schulde þou be ful gladde,
Aftir no catel neyd thowe crave,
But þou has leued ay like a ladde,
And in sorowe as a symple knave.

Jesus.
Þat was for hartely loue I hadde
Vnto mannis soule it for to saue;
And for to make þe mased and madde,
And by þat resoune þus dewly to haue,
Mi godhede here I hidde
In Marie modir myne,
For it schulde noȝt be kidde,
To þe nor to none of thyne.

Sattan.
A! þis wolde I were tolde in ilk a toune.
So sen þou sais God is thy sire,
I schall þe proue be right resoune,
Þou motes his men in to þe myre.
To breke his bidding were thei boune,
And, for they did at my desire,
Fro paradise he putte þame doune
In helle here to have þer hyre.
And thy selfe, day and nyght,
Has taught al men emang,
To do resoune and right,
And here workis þou all wrang.

Jesus.
I wirke noght wrang, þat schal þow witte,
If I my men fro woo will wynne,
Mi prophetis playnly prechid it,
All þis note þat nowe be-gynne.
Þai saide þat I schulde be obitte,
To hell þat I schulde entre in,
And saue my seruauntis fro þat pitte,
Wher dampned saulis schall sitte for synne.
And ilke trewe prophettis tale
Muste be fulfillid in mee,
I haue þame broughte with bale,
And in blisse schal þei be.

Sattan.
Nowe sen þe liste allegge þe lawes,
Þou schalte be atteynted, or we twynne,
For þo þat þou to wittenesse drawes,
Full even agaynste þe will be-gynne.
Salamon saide in his sawes,
Þat whoso enteres helle withynne,
Shall neuer come oute, þus clerkis knawes,—
And þerfore felowe, leue þi dynne.
Job, þi seruaunte also,
Þus in his tyme gune telle,
Þat nowthir frende nor foo
Shulde fynde reles in helle.

Jesus.
He saide full soth, þat schall þou see,
Þat in helle may be no reles,
But of þat place þan preched he,
Where synffull care schall euere encrees.
And in þat bale ay schall þou be,
Whare sorowes sere schall neuer sesse,
And for my folke þer fro wer free,
Nowe schall þei passe to þe place of pees.
Þai were here with my wille,
And so schall þei fourthe wende,
And þi selue schall fulfille,
Þer wooe with-outen ende.

Sattan.
Owe! þanne se I howe þou mouys emang,
Some mesure with malice to melle,
Sen þou sais all schall noȝt gang,
But some schalle alway with vs dwelle.

Jesus.

Sattan.
Nowe here my hande, I halde me paied,
Þis poynte is playnly for oure prowe,
If þis be soth þat þou hast saide,
We schall haue moo þanne we haue nowe.
Þis lawe þat þou nowe late has laide
I schall lere men noȝt to allowe,
Iff þei it take þei be be-traied,
For I schall turne þame tyte, I trowe.
I schall walke este and weste,
And garre þame werke wele werre.

Jesus.
Naye, feende, þou schall be feste,
Þat þou schalte flitte not ferre.

Sattan.
Feste! þat were a foule reasoune,
Nay, bellamy, þou bus be smytte.

Jesus.
Mighill! myne Aungell, make þe boune,
And feste yone fende, þat he not flitte.
And deuyll, I comaunde þe go doune,
In-to thy selle where þou schalte sitte.

[Satan sinks.
Sattan.
Owt, ay! herrowe! helpe mahounde!
Nowe wex I woode oute of my witte.

Belsabub.
Sattan, þis saide we are,
Nowe schall þou fele þi fitte.

Sattan.
Allas! for dole, and care,
I synke in to helle pitte.

[Falls into the pit.
Adame.
A! Jesu lorde, mekill is þi myght,
That mekis þi-selffe in þis manere.
Vs for to helpe as þou has hight,
Whanne both forfette I and my feere.
Here haue we leuyd with-outen light,
Foure thousand and vi c ȝere,
Now se I be þis solempne sight,
Howe thy mercy hath made vs clere.

Eue.
A! lorde, we were worthy
Mo turmentis for to taste,
But mende vs with mercye
Als þou of myght is moste.

[John] Baptista.
A! lorde I loue þe inwardly,
That me wolde make þi messengere,
Thy comyng in erth for to crye,
And teche þi faith to folke in feere.
And sithen be-fore þe for to dye,
And bringe boodworde to þame here,
How þai schulde haue thyne helpe in hye,
Nowe se I all þi poyntis appere.
Als dauid prophete trewe
Ofte tymes tolde vntill vs,
Of þis comyng he knewe,
And saide it schulde be þus.

Dauid.
Als I haue saide, ȝitt saie I soo,
Ne derelinquas, domine,
Animam meam [in] inferno,
Leffe noght my saule, lorde, aftir þe,
In depe helle where dampned schall goo,
Ne suffre neuere saules fro þe be,
The sorowe of þame þat wonnes in woo
Ay full of filthe, þat may repleye.

Adame.
We thanke his grete goodnesse
He fette vs fro þis place,
Makes joie nowe more and lesse,
Omnis we laude god of his grace.

Jesus.
Adame and my frendis in feere,
Fro all youre fooes come fourth with me,
Ȝe schalle be sette in solas seere,
Wher ȝe schall neuere of sorowes see.
And Mighill, myn aungell clere,
Ressayue þes saules all vnto þe,
And lede þame als I schall þe lere
To Paradise with playe and plente.
[They come out of Limbo.
Mi graue I woll go till,
Redy to rise vppe-right,
And so I schall fulfille
That I be-fore haue highte.

Mich.
Lord, wende we schall aftir þi sawe,
To solace sere þai schall be sende,
But þat þer deuelis no draught vs drawe,
Lorde, blisse vs with þi holy hende.

Jesus.
Mi blissing haue ȝe all on rawe,
I schall be with youe wher ȝe wende,
And all þat lelly luffes my lawe,
Þai schall be blissid with-owten ende.

Adame.
To þe lorde, be louyng,
Þat vs has wonne fro waa,
For solas will we syng,
Laus tibi cum gloria.

[Exeunt.