Ludus Coventriæ

by Unknown

XXII. THE TEMPTATION.

Sathan. Now Belyard and Belȝabub, ȝe der wurthy devele of helle,

And wysest of councel amonges alle the rowte!

Herke now what I sey, a tale I xalle ȝow telle,

That trobelyth sore my stomak: therof I have grett dowte.

Belyalle. Syr Sathanas, owre sovereyn, syre, with the wol we dwelle,

Alle redy at thi byddynge to the do we lowte;

If thou have any nede of oure wyse counselle,

Telle us now thi qwestyon alle out and oute;

Sey al thi dowt be-dene.

Belsabub. ȝa, sere, telle us thi dowte by and by,

And we xul telle the so sekyrly,

That thou xalt knowe verryly

What thi dowte dothe mene.

Sathan. The dowte that I have it is of Cryst i-wys;

Born he was in Bedleem, as it is seyd,

And many a man wenyth that Goddes sone he is,

Born of a woman and she a clene mayd.

And alle that evyr he prechyth, it is of hevyn blys,

He wyl lese oure lawe, I am ryght sore afrayd;

ffayn wolde I knowe who were ffadyr his,

ffor of this grett dowte I am sore dysmayd

Indede.

If that he be Goddys childe,

And born of a mayd mylde,

Than be we rygh sore begylde,

And short xal ben oure spede.

Therfore, seres, sumwhat that ȝe shewe,

In this grett dowth what is best to do;

If he be Goddys sone he wyl brede a shrewe,

And werke us meche wrake, bothe wreche and woo:

Sorwe and care he wyl sone strewe,

Alle oure gode days than xulde sone be goo;

And alle oure lore and alle oure lawe he wyl downe hewe,

And than be we alle lorn, if that it be soo,

He wylle don us alle tene.

He wylle be Lorde over hevyn and helle,

And ffeche awey alle oure catelle,

Therfor shewe now sum good counselle,

What comfort may best bene.

Belyalle. The best wytt that I kan say,

Hym to tempte forsothe it is;

With sotyl whylys, if that thou may,

Asay to make hym to don amys.

If that he synne, this is no nay,

He may nat be kynge of blys:

Hym to tempte, go walke thi way,

ffor best counselle I trowe be this;

Go forthe now and asay!

Belsabub. The best wytt I hold it be,

Hym to tempte in synnys thre,

The whiche mankende is frelté

Doth ffalle sonest alway.

Sathan. So afftyr ȝour wytt now wylle I werke,

I wylle no lengere now here abyde;

Be he nevyr so wyse a clerke,

I xal apposyn hym withinne a tyde.

Belsabub. Now, lovely Lucyfer, in helle so derke,

Kynge and Lorde of synne and pryde;

With sum myst his wittys to merke,

He send the grace to be thi gyde,

And evyr more be thi spede!

Belyalle. Alle the develys, that ben in helle,

Shul pray to Mahound, as I the telle,

That thou mayst spede this jurney welle,

And comforte the in this dede.

Jhesus. Xl.ᵗⁱ days and xl.ᵗⁱ nyght

Now have I fastyd for mannys sake;

A more grett hungyr had nevyr no wyght,

Than I myself begynne to take;

ffor hungyr in peyn stronge am I pyght,

And bred have I non myn hungyr for to slake,

A lytel of a loof relese myn hungyr myght,

But mursele have I non my comforte for to make;

This suffyr I, man, for the.

ffor thi glotenye and metys wronge,

I suffyr for the this hungyr stronge,

I am afferde it wyl be longe

Or thou do thus for me.

Sathan. The Sone of God if that thou be,

Be the grett myght of thi godhede,

Turne these flyntes, anon lett se,

ffrom arde stonys to tendyr brede.

More bettyr it is, as I telle the,

Wysely to werke aftyr my reed,

And shewe thi myght of grett majesté,

Than thorw grett hungyr ffor to be dede.

These stonys now bred thou make,

Goddys Sone if that thou be,

Make these stonys bred, lett se,

Than mayste thou ete ryght good plenté,

Thyn hungyr for to slake.

Jhesus. Nott only be bred mannys lyff ȝitt stood,

But in the wurde of God, as I the say,

To mannys sowle is nevyr mete so good,

As is the wurd of God that prechid is alway.

Bred materyal dothe norche blood,

But to mannys sowle, this is no nay,

Nevyr more may be a betyr food,

Than the wurd of God, that lestyth ay.

To here Goddys wurde therfore man love.

Thi body doth love materal brede,

Withoute the wurde of God thi soule is but dede,

To love prechynge therfore I rede,

If thou wylt duellyn in blysse above.

Sathan. ffor no grett hungyr that I kan se,

In glotony thou wylt not synne;

Now to the temple come forthe with me,

And ther xal I shewe the a praty gynne.

Up to this pynnacle now go we,

I xal the sett on the hyȝest pynne,

Ther I preve what that thou be,

Or that we tweyn part a twynne,

I xal knowe what myght thou have.

Hic ascendit Deus pinnaculum templi, dum diabolus dicit quoque sequitur,

Whan thou art sett upon the pynnacle,

Thou xalt ther pleyn a qweynt steracle,

Or ellys shewe a grett meracle,

Thysself ffrom hurte thou save.

Hic Satanas ponit Jhesum super pinnaculum, dicens,

Now if thou be Goddys ssone of myght,

Ryght down to the erthe anon thou ffalle,

And save thisylf in every plyght

ffrom harm and hurte, and scappys alle;

ffor it is wretyn with aungelys bryght

That ben in hevyn, thi faderes halle,

The to kepe bothe day and nyght,

Xul be ful redy as thi tharalle,

Hurt that thou non have.

That thou stomele not ageyn the ston,

And hurt thi fote as thou dost gon,

Aungelle be redy alle everychon,

In weys the to save.

Jhesus. It is wretyn in holy book,

Thi Lorde God thou xalt not tempte;

Alle thynge must obeye to Goddys look,

Out of his myght is non exempt;

Out of thi cursydnes and cruel crook,

By Godys grace man xal be redempt:—

Whan thou to helle, thi brennynge brook,

To endles peyne xal evyr be dempt,

Therin alwey to abyde.

Thi Lorde God thou tempt no more,

It is nott syttenge to thi lore,

I bydde the sese anon therfore,

And tempte God in no tyde.

Sathan. Ow! in gloteny nor in veynglory it dothe ryght nott avayl

Cryst for to tempt, it profyteth me ryght nought;

I must now begynne to have a newe travayl,—

In covetyse to tempt hym it comyth now in my thought,

ffor if I went thus away and shrynkyd as a snayle,

Lorn were the labore alle that I have wrought;

Therfore in covetyse oure syre I xal asayle,

And assay into that synne yf he may be brought,

Anon forthe ryght.

Syr, ȝitt onys I pray to the,

To this hyȝ hyl com forthe with me,

I xal the shewe many a ceté,

And many a wurthy syght.

Tunc Jhesus transit cum diabolo super montem et diabolus dicit,

Into the northe loke fforthe evyn pleyn,

The towre of Babylony ther mayst thou se;

The ceté of Jerusalem stondyth ther ageyn,

And evyn ffast therby stondyth Galylé.

Nazareth, Naverne, and the kyngdom of Spayn,

ȝabulon, and Neptalym, that is a ryche countré,

Both ȝebee and Salmana, thou mayst se serteyn,

Itayl and Archage that wurthy remys be,

Bothe Jannense and Jurye.

Rome doth stonde before the ryght,

The temple of Salamon as sylver bryght,

And here mayst thou se opynly with syght

Bothe ffraunce and Normandye.

Turne the now on this syde and se here Lumbardye,

Of spycery ther growyth many an c. balys;

Archas and Aragon, and grett Almonye,

Parys and Portyngale, and the towne of Galys:

Pownteys and Poperynge, and also Pycardye,

Erlonde, Scottlonde, and the londe of Walys.

Grete pylis and castellys thou mayst se with eye,

ȝa, and alle the wyd werde without mo talys,

Alle this longygh to me.

If thou wylt knele down to the grownde,

And wurchepp me now in this stownde,

Alle this world, that is so rownd,

I xal it gyve to the!

Jhesus. Go a bak, thou fowle Sathanas!

In holy Scrypture wretyn it is,

Thi Lorde God to wurchipp in every plas,

As for his thralle and thou servaunt his.

Sathan. Out, out, harrow! alas! alas!

I woundyr sore what is he this?

I cannot brynge hym to no trespas,

Nere be no synne to don amys,

He byddyth me gon abakke!

What that he is I kannot se,

Whethyr God or man, what that he be

I kannot telle in no degré:

ffor sorwe I lete a crakke.

Hic venient angeli cantantes et ministrantes ei:—“Gloria tibi, Domine!” Dicens.

Jhesus. Now, alle mankende, exaumple take

By these grete werkys that thou dost se,

How that the devylle of helle so blake

In synne was besy to tempte me;

ffor alle hise maystryes that he dyd make,

He is overcom and now doth ffle;

Alle this I suffyr ffor mannys sake,

To teche the how thou xalt rewle the,

Whan the devylle dothe the assayle.

Loke thou concente nevyr to synne,

For no sleytys, ne for no gynne,

And than the victory xalt thou wynne,

The devyl xal lesyn alle his travayl.

To suffyr temptacion it is grett peyn,

If thou withstonde it thou wynnyst grett mede,

Of God the more grace thou hast serteyn,

If thou with-sett the devyl in his dede.

Thow that the fende tempt the ageyn,

Of his power take thou no drede;

ffor God hath the ȝovyn bothe myght and mayn,

Hym for to with-sytt evyr at nede,

Thou hast more myght than he.

Whan the devyl doth tempte the thoo,

Shewe thi myght aȝens thi ffoo,

Whan thi sowle partyth the froo,

In blysse than xal it be. Amen!