Ah, Moonen, it was wont to be so brave and fine. I have heard mine eme say that for its teaching The play was better than many a preaching. And in these plays oft times good ensamples there be. Ah, love, if ye would thereto agree I would fain see it. MOONEN To consent I am not glad.— By Lucifer’s rump, I am sore adrad Lest in the play she behold some virtuous condition Whereof haply she may catch contrition. By Lucifer, then were my high designs brought low. EMMA Ay, Moonen, let me hear it. MOONEN Well, see that ye be not slow To come when I call, else will my wrath be great. Emma besought Moonen so hardly that she might hear the play that he thereto consented, though sorely against his will as ye have heard. And the play began thus; MASKEROON Brr! hierio! I, Maskeroon, Lucifer’s advocate, Make my appeal before the assize Of Him called of men Most High and All Wise, Because He showeth to the vile human race More of His pity and of His grace Than to us poor spirits, damned perpetually. If all the sins that in the world there be Were wholly done by one sole man And then in heartfelt earnest he began To feel remorse, straight he to grace hath won. And we poor spirits, who have nought misdone, Save for one brief presumptuous thought, We be to the abyss down brought, Hopeless in everlasting pain. I, Lucifer’s procurator, ask again The God of mercy wherefor of His grace Comes less to us than to the race Of men who daily sin on every side. GOD My mercy is to none denied Who will repent him ere he die And in season confess that I Am God of justice and mildheartedness. But they that grow hard in wickedness And will not truly them repent With Lucifer in the pit they shall be shent, Where is wailing and hand-wringing. MASKEROON Thy justice fails in many a thing, Though Thou art a just God called in every land and clime. In Abraham’s, in Moses’, and in Davids’ time Men might Thee indeed the just name, But then didst Thou men blame and eke shame And punish them for uncleanness of thought. Nowadays though a child were with his mother naught, Or spurned his father underfoot and him smote, Yea, though one should thrust down his brother’s throat All the evil that in the world is brewed, And then but repented him in mood, Straightway to him is thine abundant grace supplied. GOD Wherefore was it I the death died Shamefully upon the cross of tree, Were it not that man, whether young or old he be, Might get him mercy at the hands of my Father? MASKEROON