_Accusator._ Alas! for sorwe myn herte doth blede, Alle myn synnys ȝon man dude wryte; If that my felawys to them toke hede, I kannot me ffrom deth acquyte. I wold I wore hyd sumwhere out of syght, That men xuld me no where se ne knowe; Iff I be take I am afflyght In mekyl shame I xal be throwe. _Scriba._ Alas! the tyme that this betyd, Ryght byttyr care doth me embrace! Alle my synnys be now unhyd, ȝon man befor me hem alle doth trace. If I were onys out of this place, To suffyr deth gret and vengeauns able; I wyl nevyr come befor his face, Thow I xulde dye in a stable. _Mulier._ Thow I be wurthy ffor my trespas To suffyr dethe abhomynable, ȝitt, holy prophete, of ȝour hyȝ grace In ȝour jugement be mercyable. I wyl nevyr more be so unstable, O, holy prophete! graunt me mercy! Of my synnys unresonable, With alle myn hert I am sory. _Jhesus._ Where be thi fomen that dude the accuse? Why have thei lefte us to alone? _Mulier._ Bycawse they cowde nat hemself excuse, With shame they ffled hens everychone; But, gracyous prophete, lyst to my mone! Of my sorwe take compassyon! Now alle myn enmyes hens be gone, Sey me sum wurde of consolacion. _Jhesus._ ffor tho synnys that thou hast wrought, Hath any man condempnyd the? _Mulier._ Nay forsothe that hathe ther nought, Butt in ȝour grace I putt me. _Jhesus._ ffor me thou xalt nat condempnyd be; Go hom ageyn and walke at large: Loke that thou leve in honesté, And wyl no more to synne, I the charge. _Mulier._ I thanke ȝow hyȝly, holy prophete, Of this grett grace ȝe have me graunt; Alle my lewde lyff I xal doun lete, And ffonde to be Goddys trewe servaunt. _Jhesus._ What man of synne be repentaunt, Of God if he wyl mercy crave, God of mercy is so habundawnt, That what man haske it he xal it have. Whan man is contrite, and hath wonne grace, God wele not kepe olde wrethe in mynde, But bettyr love to hem he has, Very contryte whan he them fynde. Now God, that dyed ffor alle mankende, Save alle these pepyl, both nyght and day! And of oure synnys he us unbynde, Hyȝe Lorde of hevyn, that best may! _Amen._ XXIV. LAZARUS. _Hic incipit de suscitatione Laȝari._ _Laȝarus._ God, that alle thynge dede make of nowth, And puttyst eche creature to his fenaunce, Save thyn handwerke that thou hast wrought, As thou art lord of hiȝ substauns! O, gracyous God! att thi plesauns, Of my dysese now comforte me, Whiche thorowe syknes hath suche penawnce, On ethys ffor heed-ache may I now se. Systyr Martha and Mawdelyn eke, What hast helpe me in bedde to dresse; ffor trewly I am so woundyrly seke, I may nevyr schape this grett seknes. My deth is com now I gesse, Help into chawmere that I be led, My grett desesse I hope xal lesse, If I were leyd upon a bed.