Ludus Coventriæ

by Unknown

I. THE CREATION.

Deus. Ego sum alpha et Ω, principium et finis.

My name is knowyn, God and kynge,

My werk for to make now wyl I wende,

In myself restyth my reynenge,

It hath no gynnyng ne non ende;

And alle that evyr xal have beynge,

It is closyd in my mende,

Whan it is made at my lykynge,

I may it save, I may it shende,

After my plesawns.

So gret of myth is my pousté,

Alle thyng xal be wrowth be me,

I am oo God in personys thre,

Knyt in oo substawns.

I am the trewe trenyté,

Here walkyng in this wone;

Thre personys myself I se,

Lokyn in me God alone.

I am the ffadyr of powsté,

My Sone with me gynnyth gon,

My Gost is grace in magesté,

Weldyth welthe up in hevyn tron.

O God thre I calle,

I a fadyr of myth,

My sone kepyth ryth,

My gost hath lyth,

And grace with alle.

Myself begynnyng nevyr dyd take,

And endeles I am thorw myn own myth,

Now wole I begynne my werke to make,—

ffyrst I make hevyn with sterrys of lyth

In myrth and joy evermore to wake,

In hevyn I bylde angelle fful bryth,

My servauntes to be, and for my sake,

With merth and melody worchepe my myth;

I belde them in my blysse.

Aungelle in hevyn evyrmore xal be,

In lythful clere bryth as ble,

With myrthe and song to worchip me,

Of joys thei may not mys.

Hic cantent angeli in cœlo. “Tibi omnes angeli, tibi cœli et universæ potestates, Tibi cherubyn et seraphyn incessabili voce proclamant,—Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus! Dominus Deus Sabaoth.”

Lucifer. To whos wurchipe synge ȝe this songe,

To wurchip God or reverens me?

But ȝe me wurchipe ȝe do me wronge,

ffor I am the wurthyest that evyr may be.

Angeli boni. We wurchipe God of myth most stronge,

Whiche hath fformyd bothe us and the,

We may nevyr wurchyp hym to longe,

ffor he is most worthy of magesté.

On knes to God we ffalle.

Oure lorde God wurchyp we,

And in no wyse honowre we the,

A gretter lord may nevyr non be,

Than he that made us alle.

Lucifer. A worthyer lorde forsothe am I,

And worthyer than he evyr wyl I be,

In evydens that I am more wurthy,

I wyl go syttyn in Goddes se.

Above sunne and mone and sterres on sky

I am now set, as ȝe may se;

Now wurchyp me ffor most mythty,

And for ȝour lord honowre now me,

Syttyng in my sete.

Angeli mali. Goddys myth we forsake,

And for more wurthy we the take,

The to wurchep honowre we make,

And ffalle down at thi ffete.

Deus. Thu Lucyfere ffor thi mekyl pryde,

I bydde the ffalle from hefne to helle;

And alle tho that holdyn on thi syde,

In my blysse nevyr more to dwelle.

At my comawndement anoon down thou slyde,

With merthe and joye nevyr more to melle,

In myschyf and manas evyr xalt thou abyde,

In byttyr brennyng and fyer so felle,

In peyn evyr to be pyht.

Lucyfer. At thy byddyng thi wyl I werke,

And pas fro joy to peyne smerte,

Now I am a devyl ful derke,

That was an aungelle bryht.

Now to helle the wey I take,

In endeles peyn ther to be pyht.

ffor fere of fyre a fart I crake,

In helle doonjoone myn dene is dyth.

Deus. Now hevyn is made ffor aungelle sake,

The fyrst day and the fyrst nyth;

The secunde day watyr I make,

The walkyn also ful fayr and bryth.

The iij.ᵈᵉ day I parte watyr from erthe,

Tre and every growyng thyng,

Bothe erbe and floure of suete smellyng,

The iij.ᵈᵉ day is made be my werkyng.

Now make I the day that xal be the fferthe.

Sunne and mone and sterrys also,

The forthe day I make in same;

The v.ᵗᵉ day werme and ffysche that swymme and go,

Byrdys and bestes, bothe wylde and tame;

The sexte day my werk I do,

And make the man Adam be name,

In ertheleche paradys withowtyn wo,

I graunt the bydyng, lasse thou do blame:

fflesche of thi fflesche, and bon of thi bone,

Adam here is thi wyf and make,

Both ffysche and foulys that swymmyn and gone,

To everyche of hem a name thou take;

Both tre and frute and bestys echone,

Red and qwyte, bothe blew and blake,

Thou ȝeve hem name be thiself alone,

Erbys and gresse both beetes and brake;

Thi wyff thou ȝeve name also.

Lok that ȝe not ses,

ȝowre ffrute to encres,

That ther may be pres

Me worchipe for to do.

Now come fforthe Adam to paradys,

Ther xalt thou have alle maner thynge,

Bothe flesche and ffysche and frute of prys,

Alle xal be buxum at thi byddyng.

Here is pepyr, pyan, and swete lycorys,

Take hem alle at thi lykyng,

Bothe appel and pere and gentyl rys,

But towche nowth this tre that is of cunnyng,

Alle thynge saff this ffor the is wrought;

Here is alle thinge that the xulde plese,

Alle redy made onto thin ese,

Ete not this frute ne me dysplese,

ffor than thou deyst, thou skapyst nowth.

Now have I made alle thynge of nowth,

Hevyn and erthe, foulle and best:—

To alle thynge that myn hand hath wrowth,

I graunt myn blyssyng that evyr xal lest;

My wey to hefne is redy sowth,

Of werkyng I wole the vij.ᵗᵉ day rest,

And alle my creatures that be abowth,

My blyssyng ȝe have both est and west.

Of werkyng the vij.ᵗᵉ day ȝe sees;

And alle tho that sees of laboryng here,

The vij.ᵗᵉ day withowtyn dwere,

And wurchyp me in good manere,

Thei xal in hefne have endles pes.

Adam go forthe and be prynce in place,

ffor to hefne I sped my way;

Thi wyttys wel loke thou chase,

And gostly governe the, as I say.