O ruler of the heavens and the elements, God that in justice sittest enthroned, If but to Lucifer and the infernal synod were loaned Thy will and power, then could we Chastise mankind all utterly Until from sinning they shall cease. Thus only canst Thou win surcease And they release, from the evils they do in Thy despight. Thy hand of justice must them smite If Thou wouldst make Thee known of men. GOD Maskeroon, it may not be over long till then And I give thee leave to plague mankind, For to good they will not be inclined Or ere their stubborn necks I bend. OUR LADY O son, men will yet their evil ways amend. Bethink Thee ere too swift Thy hand hath struck. Bethink Thee on the breasts that gave Thee suck, Bethink Thee on the bosom that did Thee enfold, Bethink Thee on the passion Thou hast tholed, Bethink Thee of the blood-offering Thou didst make. Was it not all done for man his sake That to Thy Father’s mercy he might win? Thyself hast said that if a man should sin In his sole self of sins each one That ever upon earth were done And heartily on Thee for mercy cried, Thine arms to him would open wide. This is Thy word as man well wot. GOD Lady Mother, I have spoken, and repent Me not, But I say again that if a man commit All the sins whereto he could bethink him in his wit, If he confess and repent he shall be of the chosen straightway; For liefer than one soul should go astray I would suffer all the pain twice o’er Which the Jews did unto Me in days of yore. O man, this it behooveth thee to know. The longer Emma hearkened to this play, even the more she bethought of her sins, saying thus: Now do my tears begin to flow And course adown my cheeks like rain. Ah, to what contrition I do now attain At hearkening to these words; O Lord of Lords, Were it possible that should I turn me towards Thy mercy, I might have of it some part? Ere now contrition hath visited not my heart. Were it possible? Alas, I fear me nay. I be wandered too far out of the way, Not letting reason be of my will the guide. Open, O Earth, swallow me and hide, For I am not worthy to tread on thee in any wise. MOONEN Help Modicack, how the flames start from mine eyes; The lass hath got a crop full of contrition. ... To some merry part of the town haste we And there crush a cup of wine. EMMA Nay, let be, Foul fiend, be gone without any tarrying! Woe’s me, that ever I did such a thing As summon you, God’s mercy all forgot. Ah, ah! repentance within me doth burn so hot It will consume my heart. Alas, I swound! My strength hath left me. MOONEN