Ludus Coventriæ

by Unknown

XXXI. PILATE’S WIFE’S DREAM.

Sathan. Thus I reyne as a rochand with a rynggyng rowth,

As a devyl most dowty dred is my dynt;

Many a thowsand develys to me do thei lowth,

Brennyng in flamys as fyre out of flynt!

Ho so serve me, Sathan, to sorwe is he sent,

With dragonys in doungenys and develys fu derke,

In bras and in bronston the brethellys be brent,

That wene in this werd my wyl for to werke!

With myschef on moolde here membrys I merke,

That japyn with Jhesus that Judas solde;

Be he nevyr so crafty nor conyng clerke,

I harry them to helle as tretour bolde.

But ther is o thyng that grevyth me sore,

Of a prophete that Jhesu men calle;

He peynyth me every day more and more,

With his holy meraclis and werkys alle.

I had hym onys in a temptacyon,

With glotenye, with covetyse, and veynglorye,

I hasayd hym be alle weys that I cownde don,

And uttyrly he refusyd hem, and gan me defye.

That rebuke that he gaf me xal not be unqwyt,

Somwhat I have begonne, and more xal be do;

ffor alle his barfot goyng, fro me xal he not skyp,

But my derk dongeon I xal bryngyn hym to.

I have do made redy his cros that he xal dye upon,

And thre nayles to takke hym with that he xal not styrte;

Be he nevyr so holy he xal not fro me gon,

But with a sharpe spere he xal be smet to the herte.

And sythyn he xal come to helle be he nevyr so stowte,

And ȝet I am aferd and he come he wole do som wrake;

Therfore I xal go warnyn helle that thei loke abowte,

That thei make redy chenys to bynd hym with in lake.

Helle! Helle! make redy, for here xal come a gest,

Hedyr xal come Jhesus that is clepyd Goddys sone,

And he xal ben here be the oure of none,

And with the here he xal wone,

And han ful shrewyd rest.

Here xal a devyl spekyn in helle.

Demon. Out upon the! we conjure the,

That nevyr in helle we may hym se,

ffor and he onys in helle be,

He xal oure power brest.

Sathan. A! A! than have I go to ferre;

But som wyle help, I have a shrewde torne,

My game is wers than I wend here,

I may seyn my game is lorne.

Lo! a wyle ȝet have a kast,

If I myth Jhesus lyf save,

Helle gatys xal be sperd fast,

And kepe stylle alle tho I have.

To Pylatys wyff I wele now go,

And sche is aslepe a bed ful fast,

And byd here withowtyn wordys mo,

To Pylat that sche send in hast.

I xal asay, and this wol be

To bryng Pylat in belef;

Withinne a whyle, ȝe xal se,

How my craft I wole go pref.

Here xal the devyl gon to Pylatys wyf, the corteyn drawyn as she lyth in bedde; and he xal no dene make; but she xal sone after that he is come in, makyn a rewly noyse, commyng and rennyng of the schaffald, and her shert and here kyrtyl in here hand, and sche xal come beforn Pylat leke a mad woman, seyng thus,

Uxor Pilaty. Pylat, I charge the that thou take hede!

Deme not Jhesu, but be his frende!

ȝyf thou jewge hym to be dede,

Thou art dampnyd withowtyn ende!

A fend aperyd me beforn,

As I lay in my bed slepyng fast;

Sethyn the tyme that I was born

Was I nevyr so sore agast!

As wylde fyre and thondyr blast,

He cam cryeng onto me;

He seyd, thei that bete Jhesu or bownd hym fast,

Withowtyn ende dampnyd xal be!

Therfore a wey herein thou se,

And lete Jhesu from the clere pace;

The Jewys thei wole begyle the,

And put on the alle the trespace.

Pylat. Gramercy, myn wyf, for evyr ȝe be trewe;

ȝour cowncel is good and evyr hath be!

Now to ȝour chawmer ȝe do sewe,

And alle xal be weyl, dame, as ȝe xal se.