In the xxxvj.ᵗⁱ pagent xal Cleophas And Sent Luke to a castel go, Of Crystes deth as thei fforth pas They make gret mornyng and be ful wo, Than Cryst them ovyrtok, as his wyl was, And walkyd in felachep fforth with hem too, To them he doth expowne bothe more and las Alle that prophetes spake ad of hymself also; That nyth in fay, Whan thei be set within the castelle, In brekyng of bred thei know Cryst welle, Than sodeynly, as I ȝow telle, Cryste is gon his way. _Secundus vexillator._ In the xxxvij. pagent than purpos we, To Thomas of Ynde Cryst xal apere, And Thomas evyn ther, as ȝe xal se, Xal put his hands in his woundes dere. _Tertius vexillator._ In the xxxviij.ᵗⁱ pagent up stye xal he Into hefne that is so clere, Alle hese apostele there xul be, And woundere sore and have gret dwere, Of that fferly syth. Ther xal come aungelle tweyne, And comfforte hem, this is certeyne, And tellyn that he xal comyn ageyne, Even by his owyn myth. _Primus vexillator._ Than ffolwyth next sekyrly, Of Wyttsunday that solempne ffest, Whyche pagent xal be ix. and thretty, To the apostelys to apere be Crystes hest; In Hierusalem were gaderyd xij. opynly, To the Cenacle comyng ffrom West to Est, The Holy Gost apperyd fful vervently, With brennyng ffere thyrlyng here brest, Procedyng from hevyn trone. Alle maner langage hem spak with tung, Latyn, Grek, and Ebrew amonge, And affter thei departyd and taryed not long, Here deth to take ful sone. _Secundus vexillator._ The xl.ᵗⁱ pagent xal be the last, And domysday that pagent xal hyth, Who se that pagent may be agast To grevyn his lord God eyther day or nyth; The erthe xal qwake, bothe breke and brast, Beryelys and gravys xul ope ful tyth, Ded men xul rysyn and that ther in hast, And ffast to here ansuere thei xul hem dyth, Beffore Godys fface. But prente wyl this in ȝour mende, Who so to God hath be unkende, ffrenchep ther xal he non ffynde, Ne ther get he no grace. _Tertius vexillator._ Now have we told ȝow alle be-dene The hool mater that we thynke to play; Whan that ȝe come, ther xal ȝe sene This game wel pleyd in good aray. Of holy wrytte this game xal bene, And of no fablys be no way, Now God them save from trey and tene, ffor us that prayth upon that day, And qwyte them wel ther mede. A Sunday next, yf that we may, At vj. of the belle we gynne oure play, In N. towne, wherfore we pray, That God now be ȝoure spede. _Amen._ I. THE CREATION. _Deus._ Ego sum alpha et Ω, principium et finis.