Ludus Coventriæ

by Unknown

IV. NOAH’S FLOOD.

Introitus Noe.

Noe. God of his goodnesse and of grace grounde,

By whoys gloryous power alle thyng is wrought,

In whom alle vertu plentevously is ffounde,

Withowtyn whos wyl may be ryth nought;

Thy servauntes save, Lord, fro synful sownde,

In wyl, in werk, in dede, and in thouht;

Oure welth in woo lete nevyr be fownde,

Us help, Lord, from synne that we be in brought,

Lord God fful of myght!

Noe, seres, my name is knowe,

My wyff and my chyldere here on rowe,

To God we pray with hert ful lowe,

To plese hym in his syght.

In me Noe, the secunde age

Indede begynnyth, as I ȝow say;

Afftyr Adam, withoutyn langage,

The secunde fadyr am I in fay.

But men of levyng be so owtrage,

Bothe be nyght and eke be day,

That lesse than synne the soner swage,

God wyl be vengyd on us sum way,

Indede.

Ther may no man go ther owte,

But synne regnyth in every rowte,

In every place rownde abowte

Cursydnes doth sprynge and sprede.

Uxor Noe. Allemyghty God, of his gret grace,

Enspyre men with hertely wylle,

For to sese of here trespace,

ffor synfulle levyng oure sowle xal spylle.

Synne offendyth God in his face,

And agrevyth oure Lorde ffulle ylle,

It causyth to man ryght grett manace,

And scrapyth hym out of lyvys bylle,

That blyssyd book.

What man in synne doth alle wey scleppe,

He xal gon to helle ful deppe,

Than xal he nevyr after creppe

Out of the brennyng brook.

I am ȝour wyff, ȝour childeryn these be,

Onto us tweyn it doth longe,

Hem to teche in alle degré

Synne to forsakyn and werkys wronge.

Therfore, sere, for love of me,

Enforme hem wele evyr amonge,

Synne to forsake and vanyté

And vertu to ffolwe that thei ffonge,

Oure Lord God to plese.

Noe. I warne ȝow, childeryn, on and alle,

Drede oure lord God in hevy[n] halle,

And in no forfete that we ne ffalle,

Oure Lord for to dysplese.

Shem. A! dere ffadyr, God forbede

That we xulde do in ony wyse

Ony werke of synful dede,

Oure lord God that xulde agryse.

My name is Shem, ȝour son of prise,

I xal werke aftere ȝour rede,

And also, wyff, the weylle awyse,

Wykkyd werkys that thou none brede,

Never in no degré.

Uxor Seem. fforsothe, sere, be Goddys grace,

I xal me kepe from alle trespace,

That xulde offende Goddys fface,

Be help of the Trynyté.

Cham. I am Cham, ȝour secunde sone,

And purpose me be Goddys myght,

Nevyr suche a dede for to don,

That xuld agreve God in syght.

Uxor Cham. I pray to God me grawnt this bone,

That he me kepe in suche a plyght,

Mornynge, hevenynge, mydday, and none,

I to affendyn hym day nor nyght.

Lord God, I the pray,

Bothe wakynge and eke in slepe,

Gracyous God, thou me keppe,

That I nevyr in daunger crepe,

On dredffulle domys-day.

Japhet. Japhet, thi iij.ᵈᵉ sone, is my name;

I pray to God, wher so we be,

That he us borwe fro synfulle shame,

And in vertuous levynge evyrmore kepe me.

Uxor Japhet. I am ȝour wyff, and pray the same,

That God us save on sonde and se,

With no grevauns that we hym grame,

He grawnt us grace synne to fle,—

Lord God, now here oure bone.

Noe. Gracyous God, that best may,

With herty wyl to the we pray,

Thou save us sekyr bothe nyght and day,

Synne that we noon done.

Deus. Ow, what menyht this myslevyng man,

Whiche myn hand made and byldyd in blysse?

Synne so sore grevyht me ȝa in certayn,

I wol be vengyd of this grett mysse.

Myn aungel dere, thou xalt gan

To Noe that my servaunt is,

A shypp to make on hond to tan

Thou byd hym swythe ffor hym and his,

ffrom drynchyng hem to save,

ffor, as I am God off myght,

I xal dystroye this werd downe ryght,

Here synne so sore grevyht me in syght,

Thei xal no mercy have.

ffecisse hominem nunc pœnitet me!

That I made man sore doth me rewe,

Myn handwerk to sle sore grevyth me,

But that here synne here deth doth brewe.

Go sey to Noe, as I bydde the,

Hymself, his wyf, his childeryn trewe,

Tho viij. sowlys in shyp to be,

Thei xul not drede the flodys fflowe,

The fflod xal harme them nowht.

Of alle ffowlys and bestys thei take a peyre,

In shypp to save, bothe ffoule and ffayere,

ffrom alle dowtys and gret dyspeyre,

This vengeauns or it be wrought.

Angelus ad Noe. Noe! Noe! a shypp loke thou make,

And many a chaumbyr thou xalt have therinne;

Of every kyndys best a cowpyl thou take,

Within the shypp here lyvys to wynne.

ffor God is sore grevyd with man for his synne,

That alle this wyde werd xal be dreynt with flood,

Saff thou and thi wyff xal be kept from this gynne,

And also thi chylderyn with here vertuys good.

Noe. How xuld I have wytt a shypp for to make,

I am of ryght grett age, v. c. ȝere olde,

It is not for me this werk to undyrtake,

ffor ffeythnnesse of age my leggys gyn ffolde.

Angelus. This dede ffor to do be bothe blythe and bolde,

God xal enforme the and rewle the ful ryght,

Of berd and of beste take, as I the tolde,

A peyr into the shypp, and God xal the qwyght.

Noe. I am ful redy as God doth me bydde,

A shypp for to make be myght of his grace,

Alas! that ffor synne it xal so be betydde,

That vengeauns of flood xal werke this manase.

God is sore grevyd with oure grett tresspas,

That with wylde watyr the werd xal be dreynt;

A shyppe for to make now lete us hens pas,

That God aȝens us of synne have no compleynt.

Hic transit Noe cum familia sua pro navi, quo exeunte, locum interludii subintret statim Lameth conductus ab adolescente, et dicens,

Lameth. Gret mornyng I make, and gret cause I have;

Alas! now I se not, for age I am blynde,

Blyndenes doth make me of wytt for to rave,

Whantynge of eye-syght in peyn doth me bynde.

Whyl I had syht, ther myht nevyr man fynde

My pere of archerye in alle this werd aboute;

ffor ȝitt schet I nevyr at hert, are, nere hynde,

But yf that he deyd, of this no man have doute.

Lameth “the good archere,” my name was ovyr alle,

ffor the best archere myn name dede ever sprede;

Record of my boy, here wytnes this he xal,

What merk that were set me to deth it xuld blede.

Adolescens. It is trewe, mayster, that ȝe seyn, indede;

ffor that tyme ȝe had ȝoure bowe bent in honde,

If that ȝour prycke had be half a myle in brede,

ȝe wolde the pryk han hitte, if ȝe ny had stonde.

Lameth. I xuld nevyr affayled what marke that ever were sett,

Whyl that I myght loke and had my clere syght;

And ȝitt, as me thynkyht, no man xuld shete bett

Than I xuld do now, if myn hand were sett aryght.

Aspye some marke, boy, my bowe xal I bende wyght,

And sett myn hand evyn to shete at some best;

And I dare ley a wagour his deth for to dyght,

The marke xal I hitt, my lyff do I hest.

Adolescens. Undyr ȝon grett bushe, mayster, a best do I se,

Take me thin hand swythe and holde it ful stylle,

Now is thin hand evyn as evyr it may be,

Drawe up thin takylle ȝon best for to kylle.

Lameth. My bowe xal I drawe ryght with herty wylle,

This brod arwe I shete that best ffor to saylle;

Now have at that busche ȝon best for to spylle,

A sharppe schote I shote, therof I xall not faylle.

Cayn. Out, out, and alas! myn hert is on sondyr.

With a brod arwe I am ded and sclayn!

I dye here on grounde, myn hert is alle to tundyr,

With this brod arwe it is clovyn on twayn!

Lameth. Herke, boy, cum telle me the trewthe in certeyn,

What man is he that this cry doth thus make?

Adolescens. Caym thou hast kyllyd, I telle the ful pleyn,

With thi sharp shetyng his dethe hath he take.

Lameth. Have I slayn Cayme? Alas! what have I done?

Thou stynkynge lurdeyn, what hast thou wrought?

Thou art the why I scle hym so sone,

Therfore xal I kylle the here, thou skapyst nowght.

Hic Lameth cum arcu sua verberat adolescentem ad mortem, dicente adolescente,

Adolescens. Out, out, I deye here! my deth is now sought!

This theffe with his bowe hath broke my brayn!

Ther may non helpe be, my dethe is me brought,

Ded here I synke down as man that is sclayn!

Lameth. Alas! what xal I do? wrecche, wykkyd on woolde,

God wyl be vengyd ful sadly on me;

ffor deth of Caym I xal have vij. folde

More peyn than he had that Abelle dede sle.

These to mennys deth fulle sore bought xal be,

Upon alle my blood God wylle venge this dede,

Wherefore sore wepyng hens wyl I fle,

And loke where I may best my hede sone heyde.

Hic recedat Lameth et statim intrat Noe cum navi cantantes,

Noe. With doolful hert syenge sad and sore,

Grett mornyng I make ffor this dredful flood!

Of man and of best is dreynte many a skore,

Alle this werd to spylle these flodys be ful wood.

And alle is for synne of mannys wylde mood,

That God hath ordeyned this dredfulle vengeaunce;

In this flood spylt is many a mannys blood,

ffor synfulle levynge of man we have gret grevauns.

Alle this hundryd ȝere ryght here have I wrought,

This schypp for to make, as God dede byd me;

Of alle maner bestes a copylle is in brought,

Within my shypp borde on lyve for to be.

Ryght longe God hath soferyd amendyng to se;

Alle this hundryd ȝere God hath shewyd grace.

Alas! fro gret syn man wyl not fle,

God doth this vengeauns for oure gret trespase.

Uxor Noe. Alas! for gret ruthe of this gret vengeaunce,

Gret doyl it is to se this watyr so wyde!

But ȝit thankyd be God of this ordenaunce,

That we be now savyd on lyve to abyde.

Seem. ffor grett synne of lechory alle this doth betyde,

Alas! that evyr suche synne xulde be wrought!

This fflood is so gret on every a syde,

That alle this wyde werd to care is now brought.

Uxor Seem. Becawse of chylderyn of God that weryn good,

Dede forfete ryght sore what tyme that thei were,

Synfully compellyd to Caymys blood,

Therfore be we now cast in ryght grett care.

Cham. ffor synful levynge this werde doth for-fare;

So grevous vengeauns myght nevyr man se;

Ovyr alle this werd wyde ther is no plot bare,

With watyr and with flood God vengyd wylle be.

Uxor Cham. Rustynes of synne is cawse of these wawys,

Alas! in this fflood this werd xal be lorn;

ffor offens to God brekyng his lawys,

On rokkys ryght sharp is many a man torn.

Japhet. So grevous fflodys were nevyr ȝett beforne,

Alas! that lechory this vengeauns doth gynne!

It were welle bettyr ever to be unborn,

Than ffor to forfetyn evyr more in that synne.

Uxor Japhet. Oure lord God I thanke of his gret grace,

That he doth us save from this dredful payn!

Hym for to wurchipe in every stede and place,

We beth gretly bownde with myght and with mayn.

Noe. Xl.ᵗⁱ days and nyghtes hath lasted this rayn,

And xlᵗⁱ days this grett flood begynnyth to slake;

This crowe xal I sende out to seke sum playn,

Good tydynges to brynge, this massage I make.

Hic emittat corvum, et parum expectans iterum dicat,

This crowe on sum careyn is falle for to ete,

Therfore a newe masangere I wylle fforthe now sende;

ffly fforth, thou fayr dove, ovyr these waterys wete,

And aspye afftere sum dry lond, oure mornyng to amend.

Hic evolet columba; qua redeunte cum ramo viride olivæ,

Joye now may we make of myrth that that were frende,

A grett olyve bushe this dowe doth us brynge;

ffor joye of this tokyn ryght hertyly we tende

Our lord God to worchep, a songe let us synge.

Hic decantent hos versus.

Mare vidit et fugit,

Jordanis conversus est retrorsum.

Non nobis, Domine, non nobis,

Sed nomini tuo da gloriam.

Et sic recedant cum navi.