Seche materys the pepyl doth conseyve, To ȝeve credens to his werkys alle, In hefne, he seyth, xal be his reyn, Bothe God and man he doth hym calle. _Rewfyn._ And alle this day we xuld contryve, What shameful deth Jhesu xuld have; We may not do hym to meche myscheve, The worchep of oure lawe to save. _Leyon._ Upon a jebet lete hym hongyn be, This jugement me semyth it is reson; That alle the countré may hym se, And be ware be his gret treson. _Rewfyn._ ȝet o thyng, serys, ȝe must aspye, And make a ryth sotyl ordenawns; Be what menys ȝe may come hym bye, ffor he hath many folwerys at his instawns. _Annas._ Serys, therof we must have avysement, And ben acordyd or than we go; How we xal han hym at oure entent, Som wey we xal fynd therto. _Here Judas Caryoth comyth into the place._ _Maria Magdalene._ As a cursyd creature closyd alle in care, And as a wyckyd wrecche alle wrappyd in wo, Of blysse was nevyr no berde so bare, As I mysylf that here now go. Alas! alas! I xal forfare, ffor tho grete synnys that I have do; Lesse that my lord God sumdel spare, And his grett mercy receyve me to. Mary Maudelyn is my name. Now wyl I go to Cryst Jhesu, ffor he is Lord of alle vertu, And for sum grace I thynke to sew, ffor of myself I have grett shame. A! mercy! Lord! and salve my synne, Maydenys ffloure thou wasche me fre, Ther was nevyr woman of mannys kynne, So ful of synne in no countré. I have beffowlyd be fryth and ffenne, And sowght synne in many a ceté; But thou me borwe, Lord, I xal brenne, With blake ffendys ay bowne to be. Wherefore, kynge of grace, With this oynement that is so sote, Lete me anoynte thin holy fote And for my balys thus wyn sum bote, And mercy, Lord, for my trespace. _Jhesus._ Woman, ffor thi wepynge wylle, Sum socowre God xal the sende; The to save I have grett skylle, ffor sorwefful hert may synne amende. Alle thi prayour I xal fulfylle, To thi good hert I wul attende, And save the fro thi synne so hylle, And fro vij. develys I xal the ffende,— ffendys, flethe ȝour weye! Wyckyd spyritys I ȝow conjowre, fflethe out of hire bodyly bowre, In my grace she xal evyr fflowre, Tyl dethe doth here to deye. _Maria Magdalene._ I thanke the, Lorde, of this grett grace; Now these vij. ffendys be fro me fflytt. I xal nevyr fforffett nor do trespace, In wurd nor dede, ne wyl, nor wytt. Now I am brought ffrom the fendys brace, In thi grett mercy closyd and shytt; I xal nevyr returne to synful trace, That xulde me dampne to helle pytt. I wurchep the on knes bare, Blyssyd be the tyme that I hedyr sowth, And this oynement that I hedyr brought, ffor now myn hert is clensyd from thought, That ffyrst was combryd with care.