Part 9

_3rd Torturer._ So, that is well, it will not brest,[293] But now, let see, who does the best With any sleight of hand.

_4th Torturer._ Go we to the other ende Fellows, fasten fast your hende,[294] And pull well at the band.

_1st Torturer._ I counsel, fellows, by this weather That we draw now all together, And look how it will fare.

_2nd Torturer._ Now let see, and leave your din And draw we ilka syn from syn.[295] For nothing let us spare.

_3rd Torturer._ Nay, fellows, this is no play, We no longer draw one way, So mickle have I espied.

_4th Torturer._ No, for as I have bliss Some can twig whoso it is Seeks his ease on his own side.

_1st Torturer._ It is better, as I hope Each by himself to draw this rope, And then may we see Who it is that erewhile All his fellows can beguile Of this company.

_2nd Torturer._ Since thou wilt so have, here's for me! How draw I?--as might thou the![296]

_3rd Torturer._ Men drew right well! Have here for me, half a foot.

_4th Torturer._ Wema,[297] man! thou came not to't. Men drew it never a deal But have for me here that I may!

_1st Torturer._ Well drawnën, son, by this day! Thou goes well to thy work.

_2nd Torturer._ Yet after, whilst thy hand is in Pull thereat with some engine.

_3rd Torturer._ Yea, and bring it to the mark.

_4th Torturer._ Pull, pull!

_1st Torturer._ Have now!

_2nd Torturer._ Let see!

_3rd Torturer._ Aha!

_4th Torturer._ Yet, a draught!

_1st Torturer._ Thereto with all my might.

_2nd Torturer._ Aha, hold still thore.[298]

_3rd Torturer._ So, fellows, look now alive, Which of you can best drive, And I shall take the bore.

_4th Torturer._ Let me go to it, if I shall I hope that I be the best marshal[299] For to clink[300] it right. Do raise him up now when we may, For I hope he and his palfrey Shall not twine[301] this night.

_1st Torturer._ Come hither, fellows, and have done, And help that this tree soon Be lift with all your sleight.

_2nd Torturer._ Yet let us work awhile, And no man now the other beguile Till it be brought on height.

_3rd Torturer._ Fellows, lay on all your hende[302] For to raise this tree on ende And lets see who is last.

_4th Torturer._ I rede we do as he says, Set we the tree on the mortase,[303] And there, will it stand fast.

_1st Torturer._ Up with the timber.

_2nd Torturer._ Ah, it holds! For him, that all this world wields, Put from thee, with thy hand.

_3rd Torturer._ Hold even! amongst us all.

_4th Torturer._ Yea, and let it into the mortise fall, For then will it best stand.

_1st Torturer._ Go we to it, and be we strong, And raise it, be it never so long, Since that it is fast bound.

_2nd Torturer._ Up with the timber fast on ende.

_3rd Torturer._ Ah fellows, fair fall now your hende.

_4th Torturer._ So, sir, gape against the sun!

[_To Christ._

_1st Torturer._ Ah, fellow, wear thy crown!

_2nd Torturer._ Trowest thou this timber will come down?

_3rd Torturer._ Yet help, to make it fast.

_4th Torturer._ Bind him well, and let us lift.

_1st Torturer._ Full short shall be his thrift.

_2nd Torturer._ Ah, it stands up like a mast.

_Jesus._ I pray you, people, that pass me by, That lead your life so lykandly[304] Raise up your heart on high; Behold if ever ye saw body Buffet[305] and beaten thus bloody, Or dight thus dolefully; In this world was never no wight That suffered half so sair. My mayn,[306] my mode,[307] my might Is naught but sorrow to sight, And comfort--none but care! My folk, what have I done to thee That thou all thus shall torment me? Thy sin bear I full soon. How have I grieved thee? answer me. That thou thus nailest me to a tree, And all for thine error. Where shalt thou seek succour? This fault how shalt thou amende When that thou thy saviour Drivest to this dishonour And nail'st through feet and hende.[308] All creatures whose kinds may be trest,[309] Beasts and birds, they all have rest When they are woe begone. But God's own son, that should be best, Has not whereon his head to rest, But on his shoulder bone: To whom now may I make my moan When they thus martyr me? And sackless[310] will me slone,[311] And beat me blood and bone, That should my brethren be? What kindness should I kythe[312] them to? Have I not done what I ought to do, Made thee in my likeness? And thou thus rives my rest and ro[313] And thinkest lightly on me, lo, Such is thy caitifness. I have shown thee kindness, unkindly thou me 'quitest,[314] See thus thy wickedness, look how thou me despitest. Guiltless thus am I put to pine, Not for my sin, man, but for thine. Thus am I rent on rood; For I that treasure would not tyne[315] That I marked and made for mine. Thus buy I Adam's blood, That sunken was in sin, With none earthly good, But with my flesh and blood That loath was for to wyn.[316] My brother, that I came for to buy, Has hanged me here, thus hideously, Friends find I few or none; Thus have they dight me drearily, And all be-spit me piteously, A helpless man in wone.[317] But, Father, that sittest on throne, Forgive thou them this guilt. I pray to thee this boon-- They know not what they doon, Nor whom they thus have spoilt![318]

_1st Torturer._ Yes, what we do full well we know.

_2nd Torturer._ Yes, that shall he find within a throw.

_3rd Torturer._ Now, with a mischance to his corse! Wenys[319] he that we give any force[320] What evil so ever he ail?

_4th Torturer._ For he would tarry us all day, Of his death to make delay, I tell you sans fail.

_1st Torturer._ Lift we this tree amongst us all.

_2nd Torturer._ Yea, and let it into the mortise fall And that shall make him brest.[321]

_3rd Torturer._ Yea, and all to rive him, limb from limb.

_4th Torturer._ And it will break each joint in him; Let see now, who does best?

_Mary._ Alas, the dole I dree![322] I droop, I go in dread. Why hang'st thou, son, so high? my woe begins to breed, All blemished is thy ble,[323] I see thy body bleed, In the world, my son, we were never so woe, as now in weed.[324] My food[325] that I have fed, In life--longing thee led! Full straight art thou bestead Among these foemen fell: Such sorrow for to see. My dearest child, on thee, Is more mourning to me Than any tongue may tell. Alas! thy holy head Has not whereon to held[326] Thy face with blood is red, Was fair as flower in field; How should I stand in stead![327] To see my bairn thus bleed, Beaten as blo[328] as lead. And has no limb to wield? Fastened both hands and feet, With nalys[329] full unmeet, His wounds all wringing wet. Alas, my child, for care! For all rent is thy hide, I see on either side Tears of blood down glide Over all thy body bare. Alas that ever I should bide, and see my feyr[330] thus fare!

_John._ Alas, for dule, my lady dear! All for changèd is thy cheer, To see this prince without a peer, Thus lappéd all in woe; He was thy food, thy fairest foine,[331] Thy love, thy like,[332] thy lovesome son, That high on tree thus hangs alone With body black and blo,[333] alas! To me and many mo,[334] A good master he was.

But, lady, since it is his will The prophecy to fulfil, That mankind in sin not spill,[335] For them to thole[336] the pain; And with his death ransom to make, As prophets before of him spake. I counsel thee, thy grief to slake, Thy weeping may not gain In sorrow; Our boot[337] he buys full bayne,[338] Us all from bale to borrow.

_Mary._ Alas, thine eyes as crystal clear, That shone as sun in sight, That lovely were in lyere[339] Lost they have their light, And wax all fa'ed[340] in fear, All dim then are they dight; In pain thou hast no peer, That is withouten pight.[341] Sweet son, say me thy thought; What wonders hast thou wrought To be in pain thus brought Thy blessed blood to blend? Ah, son, think on my woe, Why will thou from me go? On earth is no man mo[342] That may my mirth amend.

_John._ Comely lady, good and couth,[343] Fain would I comfort thee; Me mynnys[344] my master with mouth Told unto his menyee.[345] That he should suffer many a pain, And die upon a tree, And to the life rise up again, Upon the third day should it be Full right; For thee, my lady sweet, Stint awhile to greet,[346] Our bale then will be beat,[347] As he before has bight.[348]

_Mary._ My sorrow it is so sad, No solace may me save: Mourning makes me mad, No hope of help I have. I am redeless[349] and afraid For fear that I should rave, Nought may make me glad, Till I be in my grave. To death my dear is driven, His robe is all to-riven,[350] That by me was him given And shapen with my sides. These Jews and he have striven That all the bale he bides. Alas! my lamb so mild, Why wilt thou from me go Among these wolvés wild, That work on thee this woe? For shame, who may thee shield, For friends now hast thou foe. Alas, my comely child, Why will thou from me go? Maidens, make your moan, And weep, ye wives, every one With me, most sad, in wone[351] The child that born was best: My heart is stiff as stone That for no bale will brest.[352]

_John._ Ah, lady, well wot I, Thy heart is full of care, When thou thus openly Seest thy child thus fare; Love drives him rathly. Himself he will not spare, Us all from bale to buy, Of bliss that are full bare For sin; My dear lady, therefore of mourning look thou blyn.[353]

_Mary._ "Alas!" may ever be my song, While I may live in leyd,[354] Methinks now that I live too long, To see my bairn thus bleed. Jews work with him all wrong, Wherefore do they this deed? Lo, so high have they him hung, They let[355] for no dread; Why so? His foeman he is among. No friend he has, but foe, My frely food[356] from me must go What shall become of me? Thou art warpyd[357] all in woe, And spread here on a tree Full hie;[358] I mourn, and so may mo[359] That see this pain on thee.

_John._ Dear lady, well for me If that I might comfort thee, For the sorrow that I see Shears my heart in sunder; When that I see my master hang With bitter pains and strong; Was never wight with[360] wrong Wrought so mickle wonder.

_Mary._ Alas, death, thou dwellest too long, Why art thou hid from me? Who bid thee to my child to gang?[361] All black thou mak'st his ble;[362] Now witterly,[363] thou workest wrong The more I will wyte[364] thee. But if thou wilt my heart now sting That I may with him dee,[365] And bide. Sore sighing is my song. For pierced is his side! Ah, death, what hast thou done? With thee will I fare soon, Since I had children none but one, Best under sun or moon. Friends I had full foyn[366] That gars me greet[367] and groan Full sore. Good Lord, grant me my boon, And let me live no more! Gabriel! that art so good Sometime thou did me greet, And then I understood Thy words that were so sweet. But now they vex my mood, For grace thou canst me hete,[368] To bear all of my blood A child our bale should beat[369] With right. Now hangs he here on rood, Where is that thou me hight.[370] All that thou of bliss Hight me in that stede[371] From mirth is far amiss. And yet I trow thy rede[372] Counsel me now of this, My life how shall I lead When from me gone is He that was my head On high? My death, now, come it is: My dear son, have mercy!

_Jesus._ My mother mild, change thou thy cheer, Cease from thy sorrow and sighing sere, It syttes[373] unto my heart full sore; The sorrow is sharp, I suffer here; But the dole thou drees,[374] my mother dear, Me martyrs mickle more. Thus wills my father I fare To loose mankind from bands His son will he not spare, To loose that bond was e'er Full fast in fiends' hands. The first cause, mother, of my coming Was for mankind miscarrying, To save them sore I sought; Therefore, mother make no mourning Since mankind, through my dying, May thus to bliss be brought. Woman, weep thou right nought, Take there, John, unto thy child, Mankind must needs be bought; And thou cast, cousin, in thy thought.[375] John, lo, there, thy mother mild! Blue and bloody thus am I beat, Swongen with swepys[376] and all a-sweat, Mankind, for thy misdeed. For my love's sake when wouldst thou let,[377] And thy heart sadly set, Since I thus for thee have bled? Such life for sooth, I lead, That nothing may I more. This I suffer for thy need, To mark thee, man, thy meed! Now thirst I wonder sore.

_1st Torturer._ Nought but hold thy peace, Thou shalt have drink within a resse,[378] Myself shall be thy knave; Have here the draught that I thee hete,[379] And I shall warrant it is not sweet By all the good I have.

_2nd Torturer._ So, sir, say now all your will, For if ye could have holden you still Ye had not had this brade.[380]

_3rd Torturer._ Thou would'st all gate[381] be King of Jews, But by this I trow thou rues All that thou has said.

_4th Torturer._ He has him rused of great prophës[382] That he should make us tempyllës And make it clean fall down; And yet he said he should it raise As well as it was within three days, He lies, that wot we all; And for his lies in great despite We will divide his clothing tyte[383] Save he can more of art.[384]

_1st Torturer._ Yes, as ever might I thrive, Soon will we this mantle rive, And each man take his part.

_2nd Torturer._ How, wouldst thou we share this cloth?

_3rd Torturer._ Nay, forsooth, that were I loth, For then it were all gate[385] spoilt. But assent thou to my saw,[386] And let us all cut draw[387] And then is none begylt.[388]

_2nd Torturer._ Howe'er befall, now I draw, This is mine by common law, Say not there again.

_1st Torturer._ Now since it may no better be, Chevithe thee with it for me; Methinks thou art full fain.

_2nd Torturer._ How, fellows, see ye not yon scraw?[389] It is written yonder within a thraw, Now since that we drew lot.

_3rd Torturer._ There is no man that is alive, Unless Pilate, as I might thrive That durst it there have put.

_4th Torturer._ Go we fast, and let us look What is written on yon book And what it may be, mean.

_1st Torturer._ All the more I look thereon, All the more I think I fon;[390] All is not worth a bean.

_2nd Torturer._ Yes for sooth, methinks I see Thereon written language three Hebrew and Latýn And Greek methinks written thereon, For it is hard for to expoun.

_3rd Torturer._ Thou read, by Apollyon!

_4th Torturer._ Yea, as I am a true knight. I am the best Latin wright Of this company; I will go withouten delay And tell you what it is to say. Behold, sirs, verily, Yonder is written--Jesus of Nazarene He is King of Jews, I ween.

_1st Torturer._ Ah, that is written wrong.

_2nd Torturer._ He calls himself so, but he is none.

_3rd Torturer._ Go we to Pilate and make our moan, Have done, and dwell not long. [_They go to Pilate._ Pilate, yonder is a false table, Thereon is written naught but fable, Of Jews he is not king, He calls him so, but he not is, It is falsely written, I wis, This is a wrong-wise thing.

_Pilate._ Boys, I say, what melle ye yon?[391] As it is written shall it be now, I say certain _Quod scriptum scripsi_,[392] That same wrote I, What gadlyng[393] grumbles there again.

_4th Torturer._ Since that he is a man of law He must needs have his will; I trow he had not written that saw Without some proper skill.

_1st Torturer._ Yea, let it hang above his head It shall not save him from the dead Naught that he can write.

_2nd Torturer._ Now ill a hale[394] was he born!

_3rd Torturer._ My faith, I tell his life is lorn He shall be slain as tyte.[395] If thou be Christ, as men thee call Come down now among us all And thole[396] not these missays.[397]

_4th Torturer._ Yea, and help myself that we may see And we shall all believe in thee, Whatsoever thou says.

_1st Torturer._ He calls himself good of might, But I would see him be so wight[398] To do such a deed. He raised Lazare out of his delf[399] But he cannot help himself Now in his great need.

_Jesus._ Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani! My God, my God! wherefor and why Hast thou forsaken me?

_2nd Torturer._ How, hear ye not as well as I How he can upon Eli cry Upon this wise?

_3rd Torturer._ Yea, there is no Eli in this country Shall deliver him from this meneye[400] No, in no wise.

_4th Torturer._ I warrant you now at the last That he shall soon yield the ghost For bursten is his gall.

_Jesus._ Now is my passion brought to end, Father of heaven, into thy hende[401] I do commend my soul.

_1st Torturer._ Let one prick him with a spear, And if it should do him no dere[402] Then is his life near past.

_2nd Torturer._ This blind knight may best do that.

_Longeus._ Gar me not do, save I wit what.

_3rd Torturer._ Naught, but strike up fast.

_Longeus._ Ah! Lord, what may this be? Once I was blind, now I can see; Gode's son, hear me, Jesu! For this trespass on me thou rue[403] For, Lord, other men me gart[404] That I thee struck unto the heart, I see thou hangest here on high, And dies to fulfil the prophecy.

_4th Torturer._ Go we hence, and leave him here For I shall be his bail, this year He feels now no more pain; For Eli, ne for none other man All the good that ever he won Gets not his life again. [_Exeunt Torturers._

_Joseph._ Alas, alas, and well a way! That ever I should abide this day To see my master dead; Thus wickedly as he is shent, With so bitter tornament[405] Thro' the false Jews' red.[406] Nicodeme, I would we yede[407] To Sir Pilate, if we might spede His body for to crave; I will strive with all my might For my service to ask that knight, His body for to grave.[408]

_Nicodemus._ Joseph, I will wend with thee For to do what is in me For that body to pray; For our good-will and our travail I hope that it may us avail Hereafterward some day.

_Joseph._ Sir Pilate, God thee save! Grant me what I crave If that it be thy will.

_Pilate._ Welcome, Joseph, might thou be, What so thou askest, I grant it thee So that it be skill.[409]

_Joseph._ For my long service, I thee pray, Grant me the body, say me not nay Of Jesus dead on rood.

_Pilate._ I grant it well if he dead be, Good leave shalt thou have of me. Do with him what thou think good.

_Joseph._ Gramercy, sir, of your good grace That you did grant me in this place. Go we our way: Nicodeme, come me forth with, For I myself shall be the smith The nails out for to dray.[410]

_Nicodemus._ Joseph, I am ready here To go with thee with full good cheer To help with all my might. Pull forth the nails on either side And I shall hold him up this tide; Ah, Lord, how art thou dight!

[_They take down the body._

_Joseph._ Help now, fellow, with all thy might, That he be wounden[411] and well dight, And lay him on this bier: Bear we him forth into the kirk To the tomb that I gar'd[412] work Since full many a year.

_Nicodemus._ It shall be so, withouten nay, He that died on Good Friday, And crownèd was with thorn; Save you all that now here be That Lord that thus would dee, And rose on Paschë[413] morn.

THE CORNISH MYSTERY-PLAY OF THE THREE MARIES

CHARACTERS

The Gardener--Jesus Christ The Three Maries-- Mary Magdalene Mary, Mother of James Mary Salome First Angel Second Angel

THE MYSTERY OF THE THREE MARIES

[_Enter Mary Magdalene, and Mary, mother of James._]

_Mary Magdalene._ What shall I do, alas! My Lord went to the tomb, To-day is the third day; Go now see indeed If he comes and rises, As he said to me truly.

_Mary, Mother of James._ I will go and see The body _of him_ who redeemed me with pain, If it be risen again. Great comfort he was to us; That we should have seen his death! Alas! alas!

[_Enter Mary Salome_

_Mary Salome._ The third day is to-day; If the body of Christ be risen, Go to see. For the torment which he had Is ever in my heart; This sorrow does not leave me.

[_Here she shall meet the other Maries._

_Mary Magdalene._ Women, joy to ye! And Mary, _mother_ of James, And Salome also. Sorrow is in my heart, alas! If the body of God himself is gone, Where may it be found?

_Mary, Mother of James._ So it is with me, Much and great torment for him; If he will not, through his grace, Help me in a short time, My heart in me will break Very really through troubles.

_Mary Salome._ So with me is sorrow May the Lord see my state After him. As he is head of sovereignty, I believe that out of the tomb To-day he will rise.

_Mary Magdalene._ Oh! let us hasten at once, For the stone is raised From the tomb. Lord, how will it be this night, If I know not where goes The head of royalty?

_Mary, Mother of James._ And too long we have stayed, My Lord is gone his way Out of the tomb, surely. Alas! my heart is sick; I know not indeed if I shall see him, Who is very God.

_Mary Salome._ I know truly, and I believe it, That he is risen up In this day. How will it be to us now, That we find not our Lord? Alas! woe! woe!

[_They sing._

[_The Dirge._]

_Alas! mourning I sing, mourning I call, Our Lord is dead that bought us all._

_Mary Magdalene._ Alas! it is through sorrows, My sweet Lord is dead Who was crucified.

[_Mary Magdalene weeps at the tomb._