_Scriba._ Alas! Alas! oure lawe is lorn! A! fals ypocryte, Jhesu be name, That of a sheppherdis dowtir was born, Wyl breke oure lawe and make it lame. He wyl us werke ryght mekyl shame, His fals purpos if he upholde; Alle oure lawys he dothe defame, That stynkynge beggere is woundyr bolde. _Phariseus._ Sere scrybe, in feyth that ypocryte Wyl turne this londe al to his lore; Therfore I councelle hym to indyte, And chastyse hym ryght wel therfore. _Scriba._ On hym beleve many a score, In his prechynge he is so gay; Eche man hym ffolwygh ever more and more, Aȝens that he seyth no man seyth nay. _Phariseus._ A ffals qwarel if we cowde feyne, That ypocrite to puttyn in blame; Alle his prechynge xulde sone disteyne, And than his wurchepp xuld turne to shame. With sum falshede to spyllyn his name Lett us assay, his lore to spylle; The pepyl with hym yff we cowde grame, Than xulde we sone have al oure wylle. _Accusator._ Herke, sere pharysew, and sere scrybe, A ryght good sporte I kan ȝow telle, I undyrtake that ryght a good brybe We alle xul have to kepe councelle. A fayre ȝonge qwene here by doth dwelle, Bothe ffresche and gay upon to loke, And a talle man with her dothe melle,— The wey into hyr chawmere ryght evyn he toke. Lett us thre now go streyte thedyr, The wey fful evyn I xalle ȝow lede; And we xul take them bothe togedyr, Whylle that thei do that synful dede. _Scriba._ Art thou sekyr that we xal spede? Shalle we hym fynde whan we cum there? _Accusator._ Be my trowthe I have no drede, The hare fro the fforme we xal arere. _Phariseus._ We xal have game and this be trewe! Lete us thre werke by on assent, We wyl here brynge evyn beforn Jhesu, And of here lyff the truthe present; How in advowtrye hyre lyff is lent; Than hym beforn whan she is browth, We xul hym aske the trew jugement, What lawful deth to here is wrouthe? Of grace and mercy hevyr he dothe preche, And that no man xulde be vengeable; Ageyn the woman if he sey wreche, Than of his prechynge he is unstabyl; And if we fynde hym varyable Of his prechynge that he hath tawth, Than have we cawse, bothe juste and able, ffor a fals man that he be cawth. _Scriba._ Now, be grete God, ȝe sey fful welle: If we hym fyndyn in varyaunce, We have good reson, as ȝe do telle, Hym for to brynge to foule myschauns. If he holde stylle his dalyauns, And preche of mercy hire for to save; Than have we mater of gret substauns, Hym for to kylle and putt in grave. Grett reson why I xal ȝow telle; ffor Moyses dothe bydde in oure lawe, That every advowterere we xuld qwelle, And ȝitt with stonys thei xulde be slawe; Ageyn Moyses if that he drawe, That synful woman with grace to helpe, He xal nevyr skape out of oure awe, But he xal dye lyke a dogge whelpe.