University of Virginia Library

[Scene II

Simeon's house at Jerusalem.]
Symeon.
A! blyssed God, thowe be my beylde,
And beat my baill bothe nyght and day,
In hevynes my hart is hylde,
Vnto my self, loo thus I say.
For I ame wayke and all vnwelde,
My welth ay wayns and passeth away,
Where so I fayre in fyrth or feylde
I fall ay downe, for febyll, in fay;
In fay I fall where so I fayre,
In hayre and hewe and hyde, I say.
Owte of this worlde I wolde I were!
Thus wax I warr and warr alway,
And my myscheyf growes in all that may.
Bot thowe, myghty Lorde, my mornyng mar!
Mar ye, for it shulde me well pay,
So happy to se hyme yf I warr.
Nowe certys then shulde my gamme begynne,
And I myght se hyme, of hyme to tell,
That one is borne withouten synne,
And for mans kynde mans myrth to mell.
Borne of a woman and madyn fre,
As wytnesse Davyt and Danyell,
Withouten synne or velanye,
As said also Isacheell.
And Melachiell, that proffett snell,
Hais tolde vs of that babb so bright,
That he shulde come with vs to dwell
In our temple as leme of light.
And other proffettes prophesieth,
And of this blyssed babb dyd mell,
And of his mother, a madyn bright,
In prophecy the truth gan tell,—
That he shulde comme and harro hell
As a gyant grathly to glyde,
And fersly the feyndes malles to fell,
And putt there poors all on syde.
The worthyest wight in this worlde so wyde!
His vertues seer no tong can tell,
He sendes all succour in ylke tyde,
As redemption of Israell,
thus say they all,—
There patryarkes and ther prophettes clere,—
‘A babb is borne to be oure fere,
Knytt in oure kynde for all our chere
to grete and small.’
Ay! well were me for ever and ay,
If I myght se that babb so bright,
Or I were buryed here in clay,
Then wolde my cors here mend in myght
Right faithfully.
Nowe lorde! thowe grant to me thy grace,
To lyf here in this worlde a space,
That I myght se that babb in his face
here or I dy.
A! lorde God, I thynke, may I endure,
Trowe we that babb shall fynde me here,
Nowe certys with aige I ame so power
that evir it abaites my chere.
Yet yf kynde fale for aige in me,
God yett may length my lyfe, suthely,
Tyll I that babb and foode so free
haue seyn in sight.
For trewly, yf I wyst reverce (?)
Thare shulde nothyng my hart dyseas,
Lorde! len me grace yf that thowe pleas,
and make me light.
When wyll thowe comme, babb? let se, haue done;
Nay comme on tyte and tarry nott,
For certys my lyf days are nere done,
for aige to me grete wo hais wroght.
Great wo is wroght vnto mans harte,
Whan he muste want that he wolde haue;
I kepe no longar to haue quarte,
for I haue seen that I for crave.
A! trowes thowe these ij eyes shall see
That blyssed babb, or they be owte?
Ye, I pray God so myght it be.
then were I putt all owte of dowte.

[Enter Angel.]
Ang.
Olde Symeon, Godes seruaunt right,
Bolde worde to the I bryng, I say,
For the holy goost, moost of myght,
He says thowe shall not dye away
to thowe haue seen
Jesu the babb that Mary bare,
For all mankynde to slake there care.
He shall do comforth to lesse and mayr,
both morne and even.

Symeon.
A! lorde, gramarcy, nowe I say!
That thowe this grace hais to me hight,
Or I be buryed here in clay
to see that semely beam so bright.
No man of molde may haue more happ
To my solace and myrth allway,
Than for to se that Mary lapp,
Jesu, my joy and savyour ay,
Blyssyd be hys name!
Loo, nowe mon I se, the truth to tell,
The redempcion of Israell,
Jesu, my lorde Emanuell,
withouten blame.