_Martha._ Laȝarus, brother, be of good cher, I hope ȝour syknes ryght wel xal slake; Upon this bed rest ȝow rygh here, And a good slep assay to take. _Magdalyn._ Now, jentyl brothyr, ffor Goddys sake Lyfte up ȝowre herte and be not feynt; An hevy householde with us ȝe make, If dedly syknes have ȝow ateynt. _Laȝarus._ fforsothe, dere systeryn, I may not slepe, My syknes so sore dothe evyr encrese; Of me I pray ȝow take ryght good kepe, Tyll that my peyne begynne relese. _Martha._ God graunt grace that it may sese, Of syknes God make ȝow sownde; Or ellys oure joy wylle sone dyscres, In so grett peynes if ȝe ly bownde. _Magdalyn._ A! brothir, brothir, lyfte up ȝoure herte, ȝour hevy cher doth us grevaunce; If deth from us ȝow xulde departe, Than were we brought in comberaunce. ȝe be oure brothyr syb of alyaunce, If ȝe wore deed, than had we none; ȝe do us brynge in distemperaunce, Whan ȝe us telle ȝe xal hens gone. _Primus consolator._ Dame Martha and Magdalyne, How faryth ȝour brothir? lete us hym se. _Martha._ He is ryght seke and hath grett pyne, I am aferde deed he xal be. _Magdalyn._ A man may have ryght grett peté, The fervent hete of hym to fele. _Secundus consolator._ Take ȝe no thought in no degré, I hope that he xal ffare fful wele. _Martha._ He may nat leve, his colowre doth chaunge, Come to his bed, ȝe xal hym se. _Magdalyn._ Iff he longe leve, it wyl be straunge, But as God wole, so mut it be; Chere hym, gode frendys, ffor charyté, Comforte of hym we kan non gete. Alas! alas! what eylight me, Myne herte for wo is wundyr grete. _Tertius consolator._ Ah, heyl! syr Laȝarus, how do ȝe fare? How do ȝe ffele ȝow in ȝour herte? _Laȝarus._ I am with syknes alle woundyn in care, And loke whan deth me xulde departe. _Quartus consolator et nuncius._ ȝe xal have hele and leve in qwart, If ȝe wol take to ȝow good chere. _Lazarus._ Whan deth on me hath shet his dart, I xal have hele and ly on bere. _Primus consolator._ Be of good comforte and thynke not so, Put out of herte that idyl thought; ȝoure owyn mysdemynge may werke ȝow wo, And cause ȝow sonere to dethe be brought. _Secundus consolator._ With gret syknes thow ȝe be sought, Upon ȝouresylf have no mystruste; If that ȝe have, I wundyr ryght nought, Thow ȝe be deed and cast in duste. _Tertius consolator._ Many on hathe had ryght grett syknesse, And aftyr hath had his hele ageyn; And many a man, this is no lesse, With his wantruste hymsylf hathe slayn. ȝe be a man of ryght sad brayn, Thow that ȝour syknes greve ȝow ryght ille,— Pluk up ȝour herte with myght and mayn, And chere ȝoursylf with alle ȝour wylle.