Seth answers that he does not know the road to Paradise. "Follow," says Adam—
"Follow the prints of my feet, burnt;
No grass or flower in the world grows
In that same road where I went—
I and thy Mother surely also—
Thou wilt see the tokens."
"Follow the prints of my feet, burnt;
No grass or flower in the world grows
In that same road where I went—
I and thy Mother surely also—
Thou wilt see the tokens."
Fine too is the story, in the Passio Domini Nostri, of the blind soldier Longius, who is led forward and given a lance, to pierce Christ's body on the Cross. He thrusts and the holy blood heals him of his blindness. Local colour is sparingly imported. One of the executioners, as he bores the Cross, says boastfully:—
"I will bore a hole for the one hand,
There is not a fellow west of Hayle
Who can bore better."
"I will bore a hole for the one hand,
There is not a fellow west of Hayle
Who can bore better."
—And in the Resurrectio Pilate rewards the gaoler for his trustiness with the Cornish manors of 'Fekenal, Carvenow and Merthyn,' and promises the soldiers by the Sepulchre 'the plain of Dansotha and Barrow Heath.' A simplicity scarcely less refreshing is exhibited in The Life of St. Meriasec (a play recently recovered) by a scholar whom a pompous pedagogue is showing off. He says:—
"God help A, B, and C!
The end of the song is D:
No more is known to me,"
"God help A, B, and C!
The end of the song is D:
No more is known to me,"
But promises to learn more after dinner.