Part 2

The tragic counterparts of these scenes are those where the Three Executioners work their pitiless task to an end at the Crucifixion, or where the Three Maries go to the grave afterwards in the Cornish mystery, or where Isaac bids his father bind his eyes that he shall not see the sword. It was for long the fashion to say, as Sir Walter Scott did, that these plays had little poetic life, or human interest in them. But they are, at their best, truly touched with essential emotions, with humour, terror, sorrow, pity, as the case may be. Dramatically they are far more alive at this moment, than the English drama of the mid-nineteenth century.

In the Cornish mysteries we lose much by having to use a translation. But something of the spirit and life survive in spite of it, and one detached passage from another of the plays, that of the _Crucifixion_, is printed in the appendix, which loses nothing by being compared with the treatment in other miracle-plays. Also in the Appendix will be found an interesting note from Norris's _Ancient Cornish Drama_, on the mode in which the Cornish mysteries were played; and a brief account by Mr. Jenner of the trilogy contained in that work.

There remains John Bayle's play of _God's Promises_. Its author was born at the sea-doomed city of Dunwich in Suffolk, in 1495. Destined for the church, he showed his obstinacy early by marrying in defiance of his cloth. He was lucky and unlucky in being a _protégé_ of Thomas Cromwell, and had to fly the country on that dangerous agent's death. He returned when the new order was established, and became Bishop of Ossory, had to suffer and turn exile for his tenets again in Mary's reign; but found safe harbourage for his latter years at Canterbury, where he died. He wrote, on his own evidence, more than twenty plays, of which _God's Promises_, the _Life of John the Baptist_, and _King John_, a history play of interest as a pioneer, are best known. He himself called _God's Promises_ a tragedy, but unless the sense of Sodom hanging in the balance, while Abraham works down to its lowest point the diminishing ratio of the just to be found there, or of David's appearing before the Pater Cœlestis as the great judge, of dramatic or tragic emotion there is little indeed. But Bayle's rhetoric easily ran to the edge of suspense, as in the opening of his seventh act, where he puts the dramatic question in the last line:--

I have with fearcenesse mankynde oft tymes corrected, And agayne I have allured hym by swete promes. I have sent sore plages, when he hath me neglected, And then by and by, most confortable swetnes. To wynne hym to grace, bothe mercye and ryghteousnes I have exercysed, yet wyll he not amende. Shall I now lose hym, or shall I hym defende?

And what could be finer than the setting he gives to the antiphon, _O Oriens Splendor_, at the end of the second act?

To turn from Bayle's play to the heart-breaking realities of _Everyman_ is like turning from a volume of all too edifying sermons to the last chapters of one of the gospels. Into the full history of this play, opening a difficult question about the early relations between Dutch and English writers and printers, there is no room here to go. The Dutch _Everyman_--_Elckerlijk_--was in all probability the original of the English, and it was certainly printed a few years earlier. Richard Pynson, who first imprinted the English play at the Sign of the George in Fleet Street, was printing at his press there from the early years of the sixteenth century. The play itself may have been written, and first performed, in English, as in Dutch, a generation or more before.

It was written, no doubt, like most of the plays in this volume, by a churchman; and he must have been a man of profound imagination, and of the tenderest human soul conceivable. His ecclesiastical habit becomes clear enough before the end of the play, where he bids Everyman go and confess his sins. Like many of the more poignant scenes and passages in the miracle-plays that follow it, this morality too leaves one exclaiming on how good a thing was the plain English of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

The relation of the several miracle-plays here printed to the town-cycles from which they come will be seen at a glance on reference to the tables of pageants that appear in the Appendix. We may take it that all these town and country plays represent continually used and frequently tinkered texts, that must in some cases have passed through many piecemeal changes. In making them easy to the average reader of to-day, who takes the place of the mediæval playgoer at a Corpus Christi festival, their latest copyists have but followed in the wake of a series of Tudor scribes who renewed the prompt-books from time to time. In this process, apart from the change of spelling, the smallest possible alteration has been made consistent with the bringing of the text to a fair modern level of intelligibility. Old words that have been familiarised in Malory or Shakespeare, or the Bible, or in the Border Ballads and north-country books, or in Walter Scott, or the modern dialect of Yorkshire, are usually allowed to stand, and words needed to keep the rhyme, are left intact. But really hard words, likely to delay the reader, are glossed. One Towneley play, the _Extractio Animarum_, another and a most spirited example of the "Harrowing of Hell," mysteries that thrilled the people long ago, is given in the original spelling, as some test of the change effected in the others. Further, in the Appendix will be found a late example of a _St. George and the Dragon_ doggerel Christmas play, which comes from Cornwall, and which in a slightly varying form has been played in many shires, from Wessex to Tyneside, within living memory. This shows us the last state of the traditional mystery, and the English folk-play as it became when it was left to the village wits and playwrights to produce it, without any co-operation from the trained eye and hand of a parson or a learned clerk. Of some other forms of our earlier drama, not omitting the Welsh interludes of Twm o'r Nant, it may be possible to give illustrations in a later book, companion to this. Only so much is given here as may interest the reader, who is a playgoer first of all, and asks for entertainment and a light in these darker passages of the old British drama.

* * * * *

Finally the amplest acknowledgments are due to those who have worked upon these present plays, including Mrs. C. Richardson, M.A., Mr. O'Brien, Mr. Roberts, Miss Hawkins, G. R., and Mr. Ezra Pound; and to the various editors of the "Early English Text Society," who have made this book possible. Especially should tribute be paid to Dr. Furnivall for his permission to make use of the Society's texts, and his interest in this uncertain attempt to capture the outer public too, and attract it to that ever-living literature to which he has devoted so many days of his young old-age.

E. R.

* * * * *

Everyman: a moral play otherwise called: A Treatyse how the hye fader of heven sendeth dethe to somon every creature to come and gyve a counte of theyr lyves in this worlde], translated from the Dutch play, Elckerlijk, 1520 (?); published in Dodsley's Select Collection of Old English Plays, etc., vol. I., 1874; reprint of one of Skot's editions, collated with his other edition and those of Pynson, Ed. H. Logeman, 1892; with an introduction by F. Sidgwick, 1902; reprinted by W. W. Greg from the Edition by John Skot preserved at Britwell Court, 1904; set to music by H. Walford Davies, etc. (with historical and analytical notes), 1904; J. S. Farmer, Six Anonymous Plays (Early English Dramatists), 1905; with designs by Ambrose Dudley, 1906; in Broadway Booklets, 1906; with introduction, note-book, and word list, J. S. Farmer (Museum Dramatists), 1906.

Miracle Plays: Towneley Mysteries, ed. by Surtees Society, 1836; Pollard, Early English Text Society, 1897. York Mysteries, ed. Lucy Toulmin Smith, 1885. Chester Mysteries, ed. Th. Wright, Shakespeare Society, 1843-47; Deimling, Early English Text Society, 1893, etc.; T. H. Markland (two plays), Roxburghe Club, 1818. Coventry Mysteries, ed. Halliwell, Shakespeare Society, 1841. See also Sharp, Dissertation on the Coventry Mysteries. For other Mysteries see Davidson, Modern Language Notes, vii.; E. Norris, Ancient Cornish Drama, 1859.

Selections, or Separate Plays: Harrowing of Hell, ed. Halliwell, 1840; Collier, Five Miracle Plays, 1867; Dr. E. Mall, 1871; A. W. Pollard, English Miracle Plays, 1895; Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama, 1897, 2 vols. (a third vol. to come), Prof. Manly. See J. H. Kirkham (Enquiry into Sources, etc.), 1885. Abraham and Isaac, ed. L. Toulmin Smith (Brome Hall MS.), 1886; R. Brotanek (Dublin MS.), Anglia, xxi.

General Literature: Ward, History of English Dramatic Literature, 1875-6; Payne Collier, The History of English Dramatic Poetry, 1879; K. Hase, Miracle Plays, trans. A. W. Jackson, 1880; C. Davidson, Studies in English Mystery Plays, 1892; A. W. Pollard, English Miracle Plays, Moralities, and Interludes, Specimens of pre-Elizabethan Drama, etc., 1895; K. Chambers, The Mediæval Stage, 1903; A full bibliography is given in F. H. Stoddard, References for Students of Miracle Plays and Mysteries, 1887.

CONTENTS

Introduction vii Everyman 1 The Deluge 27 Abraham, Melchisedec, and Isaac 39 The Wakefield Second Shepherds' Play 55 The Coventry Nativity Play 79 The Wakefield Miracle-Play of the Crucifixion 105 The Cornish Mystery-Play of the Three Maries 127 The Mystery of Mary Magdalene and the Apostles 137 The Wakefield Pageant of the Harrowing of Hell 147 God's Promises 163 Appendices 193

CHARACTERS

Everyman God: Adonai Death Messenger Fellowship Cousin Kindred Goods Good-Deeds Strength Discretion Five-Wits Beauty Knowledge Confession Angel Doctor

EVERYMAN

HERE BEGINNETH A TREATISE HOW THE HIGH FATHER OF HEAVEN SENDETH DEATH TO SUMMON EVERY CREATURE TO COME AND GIVE ACCOUNT OF THEIR LIVES IN THIS WORLD AND IS IN MANNER OF A MORAL PLAY.

_Messenger._ I pray you all give your audience, And hear this matter with reverence, By figure a moral play-- The _Summoning of Everyman_ called it is, That of our lives and ending shows How transitory we be all day. This matter is wondrous precious, But the intent of it is more gracious, And sweet to bear away. The story saith,--Man, in the beginning, Look well, and take good heed to the ending, Be you never so gay! Ye think sin in the beginning full sweet, Which in the end causeth thy soul to weep, When the body lieth in clay. Here shall you see how _Fellowship_ and _Jollity_, Both _Strength_, _Pleasure_, and _Beauty_, Will fade from thee as flower in May. For ye shall hear, how our heaven king Calleth _Everyman_ to a general reckoning: Give audience, and hear what he doth say.

_God._ I perceive here in my majesty, How that all creatures be to me unkind, Living without dread in worldly prosperity: Of ghostly sight the people be so blind, Drowned in sin, they know me not for their God; In worldly riches is all their mind, They fear not my rightwiseness, the sharp rod; My law that I shewed, when I for them died, They forget clean, and shedding of my blood red; I hanged between two, it cannot be denied; To get them life I suffered to be dead; I healed their feet, with thorns hurt was my head: I could do no more than I did truly, And now I see the people do clean forsake me. They use the seven deadly sins damnable; As pride, covetise, wrath, and lechery, Now in the world be made commendable; And thus they leave of angels the heavenly company; Everyman liveth so after his own pleasure, And yet of their life they be nothing sure: I see the more that I them forbear The worse they be from year to year; All that liveth appaireth[7] fast, Therefore I will in all the haste Have a reckoning of Everyman's person For and I leave the people thus alone In their life and wicked tempests, Verily they will become much worse than beasts; For now one would by envy another up eat; Charity they all do clean forget. I hoped well that Everyman In my glory should make his mansion, And thereto I had them all elect; But now I see, like traitors deject, They thank me not for the pleasure that I to them meant, Nor yet for their being that I them have lent; I proffered the people great multitude of mercy, And few there be that asketh it heartily; They be so cumbered with worldly riches, That needs on them I must do justice, On Everyman living without fear. Where art thou, _Death_, thou mighty messenger?

_Death._ Almighty God, I am here at your will, Your commandment to fulfil.

_God._ Go thou to _Everyman_, And show him in my name A pilgrimage he must on him take, Which he in no wise may escape; And that he bring with him a sure reckoning Without delay or any tarrying.

_Death._ Lord, I will in the world go run over all, And cruelly outsearch both great and small; Every man will I beset that liveth beastly Out of God's laws, and dreadeth not folly: He that loveth riches I will strike with my dart, His sight to blind, and from heaven to depart, Except that alms be his good friend, In hell for to dwell, world without end. Lo, yonder I see _Everyman_ walking; Full little he thinketh on my coming; His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure, And great pain it shall cause him to endure Before the Lord Heaven King. _Everyman_, stand still; whither art thou going Thus gaily? Hast thou thy Maker forget?

_Everyman._ Why askst thou? Wouldest thou wete?[8]

_Death._ Yea, sir, I will show you; In great haste I am sent to thee From God out of his majesty.

_Everyman._ What, sent to me?

_Death._ Yea, certainly. Though thou have forget him here, He thinketh on thee in the heavenly sphere, As, or we depart, thou shalt know.

_Everyman._ What desireth God of me?

_Death._ That shall I show thee; A reckoning he will needs have Without any longer respite.

_Everyman._ To give a reckoning longer leisure I crave; This blind matter troubleth my wit.

_Death._ On thee thou must take a long journey: Therefore thy book of count with thee thou bring; For turn again thou can not by no way, And look thou be sure of thy reckoning: For before God thou shalt answer, and show Thy many bad deeds and good but a few; How thou hast spent thy life, and in what wise, Before the chief lord of paradise. Have ado that we were in that way, For, wete thou well, thou shalt make none attournay.[9]

_Everyman._ Full unready I am such reckoning to give. I know thee not: what messenger art thou?

_Death._ I am _Death_, that no man dreadeth. For every man I rest and no man spareth; For it is God's commandment That all to me should be obedient.

_Everyman._ O _Death_, thou comest when I had thee least in mind; In thy power it lieth me to save, Yet of my good will I give thee, if ye will be kind, Yea, a thousand pound shalt thou have, And defer this matter till another day.

_Death._ _Everyman_, it may not be by no way; I set not by gold, silver, nor riches, Ne by pope, emperor, king, duke, ne princes. For and I would receive gifts great, All the world I might get; But my custom is clean contrary. I give thee no respite: come hence, and not tarry.

_Everyman._ Alas, shall I have no longer respite? I may say _Death_ giveth no warning: To think on thee, it maketh my heart sick, For all unready is my book of reckoning. But twelve year and I might have abiding, My counting book I would make so clear, That my reckoning I should not need to fear. Wherefore, _Death_, I pray thee, for God's mercy, Spare me till I be provided of remedy.

_Death._ Thee availeth not to cry, weep, and pray: But haste thee lightly that you were gone the journey, And prove thy friends if thou can. For, wete thou well, the tide abideth no man, And in the world each living creature For _Adam's_ sin must die of nature.

_Everyman._ _Death_, if I should this pilgrimage take, And my reckoning surely make, Show me, for saint _charity_, Should I not come again shortly?

_Death._ No, _Everyman_; and thou be once there, Thou mayst never more come here, Trust me verily.

_Everyman._ O gracious God, in the high seat celestial, Have mercy on me in this most need; Shall I have no company from this vale terrestrial Of mine acquaintance that way me to lead?

_Death._ Yea, if any be so hardy, That would go with thee and bear thee company. Hie thee that you were gone to God's magnificence, Thy reckoning to give before his presence. What, weenest thou thy life is given thee, And thy worldly goods also?

_Everyman._ I had wend so, verily.

_Death._ Nay, nay; it was but lent thee; For as soon as thou art go, Another awhile shall have it, and then go therefro Even as thou hast done. _Everyman_, thou art mad; thou hast thy wits five, And here on earth will not amend thy life, For suddenly I do come.

_Everyman._ O wretched caitiff, whither shall I flee, That I might scape this endless sorrow! Now, gentle _Death_, spare me till to-morrow, That I may amend me With good advisement.

_Death._ Nay, thereto I will not consent, Nor no man will I respite, But to the heart suddenly I shall smite Without any advisement. And now out of thy sight I will me hie; See thou make thee ready shortly, For thou mayst say this is the day That no man living may scape away.

_Everyman._ Alas, I may well weep with sighs deep; Now have I no manner of company To help me in my journey, and me to keep; And also my writing is full unready. How shall I do now for to excuse me? I would to God I had never be gete![10] To my soul a full great profit it had be; For now I fear pains huge and great. The time passeth; Lord, help that all wrought; For though I mourn it availeth nought. The day passeth, and is almost a-go; I wot not well what for to do. To whom were I best my complaint to make? What, and I to _Fellowship_ thereof spake, And showed him of this sudden chance? For in him is all mine affiance; We have in the world so many a day Be on good friends in sport and play. I see him yonder, certainly; I trust that he will bear me company; Therefore to him will I speak to ease my sorrow. Well met, good _Fellowship_, and good morrow!

_Fellowship speaketh._ _Everyman_, good morrow by this day. Sir, why lookest thou so piteously? If any thing be amiss, I pray thee, me say, That I may help to remedy.

_Everyman._ Yea, good _Fellowship_, yea, I am in great jeopardy.

_Fellowship._ My true friend, show to me your mind; I will not forsake thee, unto my life's end, In the way of good company.

_Everyman._ That was well spoken, and lovingly.

_Fellowship._ Sir, I must needs know your heaviness; I have pity to see you in any distress; If any have you wronged ye shall revenged be, Though I on the ground be slain for thee,-- Though that I know before that I should die.

_Everyman._ Verily, _Fellowship_, gramercy.

_Fellowship._ Tush! by thy thanks I set not a straw. Show me your grief, and say no more.

_Everyman._ If I my heart should to you break, And then you to turn your mind from me, And would not me comfort, when you hear me speak, Then should I ten times sorrier be.

_Fellowship._ Sir, I say as I will do in deed.

_Everyman._ Then be you a good friend at need: I have found you true here before.

_Fellowship._ And so ye shall evermore; For, in faith, and thou go to Hell, I will not forsake thee by the way!

_Everyman._ Ye speak like a good friend; I believe you well; I shall deserve it, and I may.

_Fellowship._ I speak of no deserving, by this day. For he that will say and nothing do Is not worthy with good company to go; Therefore show me the grief of your mind, As to your friend most loving and kind.

_Everyman._ I shall show you how it is; Commanded I am to go a journey, A long way, hard and dangerous, And give a strait count without delay Before the high judge Adonai.[11] Wherefore I pray you, bear me company, As ye have promised, in this journey.

_Fellowship._ That is matter indeed! Promise is duty, But, and I should take such a voyage on me, I know it well, it should be to my pain: Also it make me afeard, certain. But let us take counsel here as well as we can, For your words would fear a strong man.

_Everyman._ Why, ye said, If I had need, Ye would me never forsake, quick nor dead, Though it were to hell truly.

_Fellowship._ So I said, certainly, But such pleasures be set aside, thee sooth to say: And also, if we took such a journey, When should we come again?

_Everyman._ Nay, never again till the day of doom.

_Fellowship._ In faith, then will not I come there! Who hath you these tidings brought?

_Everyman._ Indeed, _Death_ was with me here.

_Fellowship._ Now, by God that all hath bought, If _Death_ were the messenger, For no man that is living to-day I will not go that loath journey-- Not for the father that begat me!

_Everyman._ Ye promised other wise, pardie.

_Fellowship._ I wot well I say so truly; And yet if thou wilt eat, and drink, and make good cheer, Or haunt to women, the lusty company, I would not forsake you, while the day is clear, Trust me verily!

_Everyman._ Yea, thereto ye would be ready; To go to mirth, solace, and play, Your mind will sooner apply Than to bear me company in my long journey.

_Fellowship._ Now, in good faith, I will not that way. But and thou wilt murder, or any man kill, In that I will help thee with a good will!

_Everyman._ O that is a simple advice indeed! Gentle _fellow_, help me in my necessity; We have loved long, and now I need, And now, gentle _Fellowship_, remember me.

_Fellowship._ Whether ye have loved me or no, By Saint John, I will not with thee go.

_Everyman._ Yet I pray thee, take the labour, and do so much for me To bring me forward, for saint charity, And comfort me till I come without the town.

_Fellowship._ Nay, and thou would give me a new gown, I will not a foot with thee go; But and you had tarried I would not have left thee so. And as now, God speed thee in thy journey, For from thee I will depart as fast as I may.

_Everyman._ Whither away, _Fellowship_? will you forsake me?

_Fellowship._ Yea, by my fay, to God I betake thee.

_Everyman._ Farewell, good _Fellowship_; for this my heart is sore; Adieu for ever, I shall see thee no more.