Ludus Coventriæ

by Unknown

XXIV. LAZARUS.

Hic incipit de suscitatione Laȝari.

Laȝarus. God, that alle thynge dede make of nowth,

And puttyst eche creature to his fenaunce,

Save thyn handwerke that thou hast wrought,

As thou art lord of hiȝ substauns!

O, gracyous God! att thi plesauns,

Of my dysese now comforte me,

Whiche thorowe syknes hath suche penawnce,

On ethys ffor heed-ache may I now se.

Systyr Martha and Mawdelyn eke,

What hast helpe me in bedde to dresse;

ffor trewly I am so woundyrly seke,

I may nevyr schape this grett seknes.

My deth is com now I gesse,

Help into chawmere that I be led,

My grett desesse I hope xal lesse,

If I were leyd upon a bed.

Martha. Laȝarus, brother, be of good cher,

I hope ȝour syknes ryght wel xal slake;

Upon this bed rest ȝow rygh here,

And a good slep assay to take.

Magdalyn. Now, jentyl brothyr, ffor Goddys sake

Lyfte up ȝowre herte and be not feynt;

An hevy householde with us ȝe make,

If dedly syknes have ȝow ateynt.

Laȝarus. fforsothe, dere systeryn, I may not slepe,

My syknes so sore dothe evyr encrese;

Of me I pray ȝow take ryght good kepe,

Tyll that my peyne begynne relese.

Martha. God graunt grace that it may sese,

Of syknes God make ȝow sownde;

Or ellys oure joy wylle sone dyscres,

In so grett peynes if ȝe ly bownde.

Magdalyn. A! brothir, brothir, lyfte up ȝoure herte,

ȝour hevy cher doth us grevaunce;

If deth from us ȝow xulde departe,

Than were we brought in comberaunce.

ȝe be oure brothyr syb of alyaunce,

If ȝe wore deed, than had we none;

ȝe do us brynge in distemperaunce,

Whan ȝe us telle ȝe xal hens gone.

Primus consolator. Dame Martha and Magdalyne,

How faryth ȝour brothir? lete us hym se.

Martha. He is ryght seke and hath grett pyne,

I am aferde deed he xal be.

Magdalyn. A man may have ryght grett peté,

The fervent hete of hym to fele.

Secundus consolator. Take ȝe no thought in no degré,

I hope that he xal ffare fful wele.

Martha. He may nat leve, his colowre doth chaunge,

Come to his bed, ȝe xal hym se.

Magdalyn. Iff he longe leve, it wyl be straunge,

But as God wole, so mut it be;

Chere hym, gode frendys, ffor charyté,

Comforte of hym we kan non gete.

Alas! alas! what eylight me,

Myne herte for wo is wundyr grete.

Tertius consolator. Ah, heyl! syr Laȝarus, how do ȝe fare?

How do ȝe ffele ȝow in ȝour herte?

Laȝarus. I am with syknes alle woundyn in care,

And loke whan deth me xulde departe.

Quartus consolator et nuncius. ȝe xal have hele and leve in qwart,

If ȝe wol take to ȝow good chere.

Lazarus. Whan deth on me hath shet his dart,

I xal have hele and ly on bere.

Primus consolator. Be of good comforte and thynke not so,

Put out of herte that idyl thought;

ȝoure owyn mysdemynge may werke ȝow wo,

And cause ȝow sonere to dethe be brought.

Secundus consolator. With gret syknes thow ȝe be sought,

Upon ȝouresylf have no mystruste;

If that ȝe have, I wundyr ryght nought,

Thow ȝe be deed and cast in duste.

Tertius consolator. Many on hathe had ryght grett syknesse,

And aftyr hath had his hele ageyn;

And many a man, this is no lesse,

With his wantruste hymsylf hathe slayn.

ȝe be a man of ryght sad brayn,

Thow that ȝour syknes greve ȝow ryght ille,—

Pluk up ȝour herte with myght and mayn,

And chere ȝoursylf with alle ȝour wylle.

Laȝarus. Ageyn my syknes ther is non ese,

But Jhesu Cryst, my maystyr dere,

If that he wyst of my dyssese,

Ryght sone I trust he wolde ben here.

Quartus consolator. I xal go to hym withoutyn dwere,

And of ȝour syknes telle hym serteyne;

Loke that ȝe be of ryght good chere,

Whylle that I go and com ageyn.

Martha. Now, jentyl ffrend, telle hym ryght thus,

He that he lovyth hath grett syknes,

Hedyr to come and comforte us,

Say that we prayd hym of his goodnes.

Magdalyn. Recomende us onto his hyȝnes,

And telle hym alle oure hertys wo;

But he comforte oure hevynes,

Oure werdly joy awey wyl go.

Quartus consolator et nuncius. The trewthe fforsothe alle every dele,

As ȝe have told, so xal I say;

Go to ȝour broythyr and cheryse hym wele,

ffor I walke fforthe streyte in my way.

Martha. What chere, good brothyr? telle me I pray;

What wele ȝe ete? what wele ȝe drynk?

Loke what is plesynge to ȝour pay;—

ȝe xal have what ȝe wole thynke.

Laȝarus. My wynde is stoppyd, gon is my brethe,—

And dethe is come to make myn ende;

To God in hevyn my sowle I qwethe,—

ffarwelle, systeryn, for hens I wende.

Hic Lazarus moritur, etc.

Magdalyn. Alas! ffor wo myn here I rende,

Myn owyn dere brothyr lyth here now ded;

Now have we lost a trusty ffrende,—

The sybbest blood of oure kynreed!

Martha. Alas! alas! and weleway!

Now be we tweyn bothe brothyrles!

ffor who my hert is colde as clay;

A! hoo xal comforte oure carefulnes?

Ther had nevyr woman more doolfulnes;

A! systyr Magdalyn, what is ȝour reed?

What whith may helpe oure hevynes,

Now that oure brother is gon and deed?

Magdalyn. Alas! dere systyr, I cannot telle;

The best comforte that I can sey,

But sum man do us sle and qwelle,

Lete us ly down by hym and dey.

Alas! why went he alone awey?

If we had deyd with hym also,

Than had oure care alle turnyd to pley,

Ther now alle joye is turnyd to woo.

Primus consolator. Be of good comforte and thank God of al,

ffor dethe is dew to every man;

What tyme that deth on us xal ffal,

Non erthely wyght the oure telle can.

Martha. We alle xul dye, that is sertan,

But ȝit the blood of kynde nature,

When dethe the brothyr awey hath tan,

Must nedys murne that sepulture.

Secundus consolator. Good ffrendys, I pray ȝow holde ȝour pes,

Alle ȝour wepynge moy not amende itt;

Of ȝour sorwinge therfore now ses,

And helpe he were buryed in a cley pitt.

Magdalyn. Alas! that wurde myn herte doth slytt,

That he must now in cley be grave;

I wolde sum man my throte wulde kytt,

That I with hym myght lyne in cave.

Tertius consolator. Bothe heed and ffoot now he is wounde,

In a schete bothe ffayr and clene,

Lete us bere hym streyte to that grounde,

Where that ȝe thynke his grave xal bene.

Martha. We be ffulle lothe that pytt to sen;

But stondynge it may no bettyr be,

The coors take up ȝow thre betwen,

With carefulle herte ȝow ffolwe xal we.

Hic portavit corpus ad sepelliendum.

Magdaleyn. Alas! comforte I se non othyr,

But alle of sorwe, and care, and woo;

We dulfulle women must hurry oure brothir,

Alas! that deth me wyl not slo.

If I to pitt with hym myght go,

Therin evyrmore with hym to abyde,

Than were my care alle went me fro,

Ther now grett sorwe doth wounde me wyde.

Primus consolator. This coors we burry here in this pytte,

Allemyghty God the sowle mut have;

And with this ston this grave we shytte,

ffro ravenous bestes the body to save.

Magdalyn. He is now brought into his cave,

Myn hert ffor woo this syght doth kylle;

Lete us sytt down here by the grave,

Or we go hens wepe alle oure ffylle.

Martha. Us for to wepe no man may lett,

Beforn oure face to se this syght.

Alas! qwhy doth deth us not fett,

Us for to brynge to this same plyght?

Secundus consolator. Arys, for shame, ȝe do not ryght,

Streyth from this grave he xul go hens.

Thus for to grugge ageyns Godys myght,

Aȝens hyȝ God ȝe do offens.

Magdalen. Syth I must nedys with ȝow hens gon,

My brotheres grave lete me fyrst kys;

Alas! no whith may helpe my mon,

ffarewel, my brother! farewel, my blys!

Tertius consolator. Hom to ȝour place we xal ȝow wysse,

ffor Goddys love be of good chere;

Indede ȝe do ryght sore amys,

So sore to wepe, as ȝe do here.

Martha. Lete us go hom than to oure place,

We pray ȝow alle with us to abyde;

Us to comforte with sum solace,

Tyl that oure sorwe doth slake and sclyde.

Primus consolator. ȝow for to comforte at every tyde,

We xalle dwelle here bothe nyght and day,

And God that made this werd so wyde,

Be ȝowre comforte, that best may.

Hic quartus consolator et nuncius loquitur Jhesu dicens,

Quartus consolator. Heyl, holy prophete, Jhesu by name!

Martha and Mawdelyn, tho systeryn too,

Recommende hem to ȝour hyȝ fame,

And bad me sey to ȝow thus, loo!

How that Lazarus, qwhiche that ȝe lovyd so,

With grett syknes is sore dyssesyd;

To hym they prayd ȝow that ȝe wolde goo,

If that ȝour hyȝnes therwith were plesyd.

Jhesus. Dedly syknes Laȝarus hath non,

But for to shewe Goddys grete glorye;

ffor that syknes is ordeynyd alon,

The sone of God to gloryfie.

Nuncius. They be in dowte that he xal deye,

Grett syknes hym sore doth holde;

ffor vervent hete his blood dothe dreye,

His colore chaungyth, as they me tolde.

Jhesus. Goo hom ageyn, and telle hem thus,

I xal come to hem whan that I may.

Nuncius. At ȝour comaundement, O prophete Jhesus!

I xal hem telle, as ȝe do say.

Jhesus. Com forthe, bretheryn, walke we oure way,

Into Jurye go we anon;

I cam not there ful many a day,

Therfore thedyr now wyl I gon.

Omnes discipuli. The Jewys ageyn the were grym and grylle,

Whan thou were there wolde the a slayn;

With stonys they sowte the ffor to kylle,

And wylt thou now go thedyr ageyn.

Jhesus. Xij. owrys the day hathe in certeyn,

In them to walke bothe clere and bryght;

He xal not stomble ageyn hylle nor pleyn,

That goth the wey whyl it is day lyght.

But if men walke whan it is nyght,

Sone they offende in that dyrknes,

Becawse they may have no cler syght,

They hurte there ffete ofte in suche myrkenes.

But as ffor this, ȝitt nevyrthelesse,

The cawse therfore I thedyr wyl wende,

Is ffor to reyse, ffrom bedde expresse,

Laȝarus that slepyth, oure althere ffrende.

Omnes discipuli. Of his syknes he xal be save,

If that he slepe, good sygne it is.

Jhesus. Laȝarus is deed and leyd in grave,

Of his slepynge ȝe deme amys;

I was not there, ȝe knew weyl this,

To strengthe ȝoure feyth I am ful glad.

Therfore I telle ȝow the trewthe i-wys,

Oure ffrende is deed and undyr erthe clad.

Thomas. Than goo we alle ryght evyn streyth thedyr,

There as oure ffrende Laȝarus is deed;

And lete us deye with hym togedyr,

Ther as he lyth in the same stede.

Jhesus. The ffor to deye have thou no drede,

The wey streyth thedyr in hast we take;

Be the grett myght of myn Godhede,

Oute of his slepe he xal awake.

Nuncius. Alle heyl! Martha and Mawdelyn eke,

To Jhesu I have ȝour massage seyd,

I tolde hym how that ȝour brothyr was seke,

And with grett peyn in his bed leyd.

He bad ȝe xulde not be dysmayde,

Alle his syknes he xal askape;

He wylle byn here within a brayde,

As he me tolde, he comyth in rape.

Mawdelyn. That holy prophete doth come to late,

Oure brothyr is beryed iij. days or this;

A grett stone stoppyth the pyttys gate,

There as oure brothere beryde is.

Nuncius. Is Laȝarus deed? now God his sowle blys!

ȝit loke ȝe take non hevynes,

So longe to wepe ȝe don amys,

It may not helpe ȝour sorynes.

Martha. Oute of myn herte alle care to lete,

Alle sorwe and wo to caste away,

I xal go forthe in the strete

To mete with Jhesu, if that I may.

Secundus consolator. God be ȝour spede bothe evyr and ay,

ffor with ȝour sustyr we wyl abyde;

Here to comforte we xal asay,

And alle here care to caste asyde.

Tertius consolator. Mary Mawdelyn, be of good herte,

And wel bethynke ȝow in ȝour mynde,

Eche creature hens must depart,

Ther is no man but hens must wende!

Deth to no wyht can be a frende,

Alle thinge to erthe he wyl downe cast;

Whan that God wol alle thynge hath ende,

Lengere than hym lyst nothynge may last.

Magdalyn. I thanke ȝow, frendys, ffor ȝour good chere,

Myn hed doth ake, as it xulde brest;

I pray ȝow, therfore, while ȝe ben here,

A lytil whyle that I may rest.

Quartus consolator nuncius. That Lord that made bothe est and west,

Graunt ȝow good grace suche rest to take,

That onto hym xulde plese most best,

As he this worlde of nought dyd make!

Martha. A! gracyous Lord, had ȝe ben here,

My brother Lazarus this tyme had lyvyd;

But iiij. days gon upon a bere

We dede hym berye whan he was ded.

ȝitt now I knowe withowtyn drede,

What thynge of God that thou do crave,

Thou xalt spede of the hyȝ Godheede,

What so thou aske thou xalt it have.

Jhesus. Thy brothyr Lazarus aȝen xal ryse,

A levynge man aȝen to be.

Martha. I woot wel that at the grett last syse,

He xal aryse and also we.

Jhesus. Resurreccion thou mast me se,

And hendeles lyff I am also;

What man that deyth and levyth in me,

ffrom deth to lyve he xal ageyn go.

Eche man in me that feytheful is,

And ledyth his lyff aftere my lore,

Of hendeles lyff may he nevyr mys,

Evere he xal leve and deye nevyr more.

The body and sowle I xal restore

To endeles joye, dost thou trowe this?

Martha. I hope in the, O Cryst! ful sore,

Thou art the Sone of God in blys!

Thy ffadyr is God of lyff endeles,

Thiself is Sone of lyff and gras;

To sese these wordlys wrecchydnes,

ffrom hefne to erth ethou toke the pas.

Jhesus. Of hevynly myght ryght grett solas,

To alle this world me xul sone se;

Go, calle thi systyr into this plas,

Byd Mary Mawdelyn come hedyr to me.

Martha. At thi byddyng I xalle here calle,

In hast we were here ȝow beforn.

Mawdelyn. Alas! my mowthe is byttyr as galle,

Grett sorwyn my herte on tweyn hath scorne;

Now that my brothyr from syth is lorn,

Ther may no myrthe my care releve.

Alas, the tyme that I was borne!

The swerde of sorwe myn hert doth cleve.

Primus consolator. ffor his dere love that alle that wrought,

Ses sumtyme of ȝour wepynge,

And putt alle thynge out of thought,

Into this care that ȝow doth brynge.

Secundus consolator. ȝe do ȝourself ryght grett hyndrynge,

And short ȝoure lyff or ȝe beware;

ffor Goddys love, ses of ȝour sorwynge,

And with good wysdam refreyn ȝour care.

Martha. Sustyr Magdalen, come out of halle,

Our maystyr is com, as I ȝow say;

He sent me hedyr ȝow for to calle,

Come forthe in hast, as I ȝow pray.

Magdalen. Ha! where hath he ben many a longe day?

Alas! why cam he no sonere hedyr?

In hast I folwe ȝow anon the way,

Me thynkyth longe or I come thedyr.

Tertius consolator. Herke, gode ffrendys, I ȝow pray,

Aftyr this woman in hast we wende;

I am aferde ryght in good fay,

Hereself for sorwe that she wyl shende.

Nuncius. Here brothyr so sore is in hire mende,

She may not ete, drynke, nor slepe;

Streyte to his grave she goth on ende,

As a mad woman, ther for to wepe.

Magdalen. A! sovereyn Lord, and mayster dere!

Had ȝe with us ben in presens,

Than had my brother on lyve ben here,

Nat ded but qwyk, that now is hens.

Ageyn deth is no resystens,

Alas! myn hert is woundyrly wo,

Whan that I thynke of his absens,

That ȝe ȝourself in herte lovyd so.

Primus consolator. Whan we have mynd of his sore dethe,

He was to us so gentyl and good,

That mend of hym oure hertes sleth,

The losse of hym doth marre oure mood.

Secundus consolator. Be bettyr neybore nevyr man stood,

To every man he was ryght hende;

Us he dede refresche with drynk and food,

Now he is gon, gon is oure frende!

Jhesus. ȝowre grett wepynge doth me constreyne

ffor my good ffrend to wepe also;

I cannot me for wo restreyn,

But I must wepe lyke as ȝe do.

Hic Jhesus fingit se lacrimari.

Tertius consolator. Beholde this prophete, how he doth wepe lo!

He lovyd Lazarus ryght woundyrly sore,

He wolde not ellys for hym thus wepe so,

But if that his love on hym were the more.

Nuncius. A straw for thi tale, what nedyth hym to wepe?

A man born blynde dyde he nat ȝeve syght?

Myght he not thanne his frende on lyve kepe,

Be the vertu of that same hyȝ myght?

Jhesus. Where is he put? telle me anon ryght;

Brynge me the weye streyth to his grave.

Martha. Lord! at ȝour wylle we xal brynge ȝow tyght,

Evyn to that place ther he doth lyve in cave.

Magdalyn. Whan that we had the massangere sent,

Or he had fullyche half a myle gon,

Deyd my brother, and up we hym hent,

Here in this grave we beryed hym anon.

Jhesus. The myght of the Godhed xal gladd ȝow everychon,

Suche syght xal he se hens or ȝe wende;

Sett to ȝour handys, take of the ston,

A syght lete me have of Laȝarus my ffrende.

Martha. He stynkygh ryght fowle longe tyme or this,

Iiij. days gon forsothe he was dede.

Lete hym ly stylle ryght evyn as he is,

The stynke of his careyn myght hurte us I drede.

Jhesus. As I have the tolde, syght of the Godhede

Thyself xuldyst have, feythful if thou be;

Take of the ston, do aftyr my rede,

The glorye of the Godhede anon ȝe xal se.

Primus consolator. ȝoure byddynge xal be done a ful swyfte,

Sett to ȝour handys and helpe echone;

I pray ȝow, seres, help me to lyfte,

I may not reyse it myself alon.

Secundus consolator. In feyth it is an holy ston,

Ryth sad of weyth and hevy of peys.

Tertius consolator. Thow it were twyes so hevy as on,

Undyr us foure we xal it reyse.

Nuncius. Now is the ston take ffrom the cave,

Here may men se a rewly sygth

Of this ded body that lyth here in grave,

Wrappyd in a petefful plyght.

Jhesus elevatis ad cælum oculis, dicit,

I thanke the, Fadyr, of thin hyȝ myght,

That thou hast herd my prayour this day;

I know ful wel, bothe day and nyght,

Ever thou dost graunt that I do say.

But for this pepyl that stondyth about,

And beleve not the power of the and me;

Them for to brynge clene out of dowt,

This day oure myght they alle xul se.

Hic Jhesus clamat voce magna, dicens,

Laȝarus! Laȝarus! my frende so fre!

ffrom that depe pitt come out anon!

Be the grett myght of the hyȝ magesté,

Alyve thou xalt on erthe ageyn gon.

Laȝarus. At ȝoure comaundement I ryse up ful ryght,

Heyn, helle, and erthe ȝoure byddyng must obeye;

ffor ȝe be God and man, and Lord of most myght,

Of lyff and of deth ȝe have bothe lok and keye.

Hic resurget Lazarus ligatis manibus et pedibus ad modum sepulturi, et dicit Jhesus,

Jhesus. Goo forthe, bretheryn, and Laȝarus ȝe untey,

And alle his bondys losyth hym asundyr;

Late hym walke hom with ȝow in the wey,

Ageyn Godes myght this meracle is now undyr.

Petrus. At ȝour byddynge his bondys we unbynde,

Alle thynge muste lowte unto ȝour magesté!

Be this grett meracle opynly we fynde,

Very God and man in trewthe that ȝe be.

Johannes. That thou art very God every man may se,

Be this meracle so grett and so mervaylle;

Alle thynge undyr hevyn must nedys obeye the,—

Whan aȝens the thowh deth be, he may not prevaylle.

Omnes Consolatores. We alle with o voys ffor God do the knowe,

And for oure Savyour we do the reverens;

Alle oure hool love now in the doth growe,

O sovereyn Lord of most excellens!

Helpe us of ȝour grace whan that we go hens,

ffor azens deth us helpyht not to stryve,

But aȝen ȝour myght is no resistens,

Oure dethe ȝe may aslake and kepe us stylle on lyve.

Jhesus. Now I have shewyd in opyn syght,

Of my Godhed the gret glorye;

To-ward my passyon I wyl me dyght,

The tyme is nere that I must deye.

ffor alle mankynde his sowle to bye,

A crown of thorn xal perchyn myn brayn,

And on the mont of Calvarye,

Upon a cros I xal be slayn.