To these shepherds joins himself Mak, a thieving neighbour. Going to sleep, they make him lie between them, for they doubt his honesty. But for all their precautions he manages to steal a sheep, and carries it home to his wife. She thinks of an ingenious plan for concealing it from the shepherds if they visit the cottage seeking their lost property: she will pretend that she is in child-bed and that the sheep is the new-born infant. So it is wrapped up and laid in a cradle, and Mak sings a lullaby. The shepherds do suspect Mak, and come to search his house; his wife upbraids them and keeps them from the cradle. They depart, but suddenly an idea comes to one of them:-- "_The First Shepherd._ Gaf ye the chyld any thyng? _The Second._ I trow not oone farthyng. _The Third._ Fast agane will I flyng, Abyde ye me there. [_He goes back._] Mak, take it to no grefe, if I com to thi barne." Mak tries to put him off, but the shepherd will have his way:-- "Gyf me lefe hym to kys, and lyft up the clowtt. What the devill is this? he has a long snowte." So the secret is out. Mak's wife gives a desperate explanation:-- "He was takyn with an elfe, I saw it myself. When the clok stroke twelf Was he forshapyn." |136| Naturally this avails nothing, and her husband is given a good tossing by the shepherds until they are tired out and lie down to rest. Then comes the "Gloria in excelsis" and the call of the angel:-- "Ryse, hyrd men heynd! for now is he borne That shall take fro the feynd that Adam had lorne: That warloo[59] to sheynd,[60] this nyght is he borne, God is made youre freynd: now at this morne He behestys, At Bedlem go se, Ther lygys that fre[61] In a cryb fulle poorely, Betwyx two bestys." The shepherds wonder at the song, and one of them tries to imitate it; then they go even unto Bethlehem, and there follows the quaintest and most delightful of Christmas carols:-- "_Primus Pastor._ Hail, comly and clene, Hail, yong child! Hail, maker, as I meene, Of a maden so milde! Thou has wared,[62] I weene, The warlo[63] so wilde; The fals giler of teen,[64] Now goes he begilde. Lo! he merys,[65] Lo! he laghes, my sweting. A welfare meting! I have holden my heting.[66] Have a bob of cherys! _Secundus Pastor._ Hail, sufferan Savioure, For thou has us soght! Hail, frely[67] foyde[68] and floure, That all thing has wroght! |137| Hail, full of favoure, That made all of noght! Hail, I kneel and I cowre. A bird have I broght To my barne. Hail, litel tine mop![69] Of oure crede thou art crop;[70] I wold drink on thy cop, Litel day starne. _Tertius Pastor._