_Adam._ Lord I have wrought aȝens thi wylle, I sparyd nat mysylf to spylle, The woman that thou toke me tylle, Sche brougth me therto. It was here counselle and here reed, Sche bad me do the same deed, I walke as werme withowtyn wede, A wey is schrowde and sho. _Deus._ Womman that arte this mannys wyffe, Why hast thou steryd ȝour bothers stryffe? Now ȝe be ffrom ȝour ffayr lyffe, And are demyd for to deye. Unwys womman, sey me why, That thou hast don this fowle foly, And I made the a gret lady, In paradys for to pleye? _Eva._ Lord! whan thou wentyst from this place, A werm with an aungelys face, He hyth us to be ful of grace, The frute yf that we ete. I dyd his byddyng, alas! alas! Now we be bowndyn in dethis las, I suppose it was Sathanas, To peyne he gan us pete. _Deus._ Thou werm with thi wylys wyk, Thi fals fablis thei be ful thyk, Why hast thou put dethis pryk In Adam and his wyff? Thow thei bothyn my byddyng have brokyn, Out of whoo ȝet art not wrokyn, In helle logge thou xalt be loky[n], And nevyr mo lacche lyff. _Diabolus._ I xal the sey whereffore and why I ded hem alle this velony, ffor I am ful of gret envy, Of wrethe and wyckyd hate. That man xulde leve above the sky, Where as sumtyme dwellyd I, And now I am cast to helle sty, Streyte out at hevyn gate. _Deus._ Adam! ffor thou that appyl boot, Aȝens my byddyng, welle I woot, Go teyl thi mete with swynk and swoot, Into thi lyvys ende. Goo nakyd, ungry, and bare ffoot, Ete bothe erbys, gres, and root, Thy bale hath non other boot, As wrecche in werlde thou wende. Womman thou sowtyst this synnyng, And bad hym breke myn byddyng, Therfore thou xalt ben undyrlyng, To mannys byddyng bend. What he byddyth the, do thou that thynge, And bere thi chyldere with gret gronynge, In daungere and in deth dredynge, Into thi lyvys ende. Thou wyckyd worm fful of pryde, ffowle envye syt be thi syde, Upon thi gutt thou xalt glyde, As werm wyckyd in kende. Tyl a maydon in medyl-erth be borne, Thou ffende I warn the beforn, Thorwe here thi bed xal be to-torn, On wombe awey thou wende. _Diabolus._ At thi byddyng ffowle I falle, I krepe hem to my stynkyng stalle, Helle pyt and hevyn halle, Xul do thi byddyng bone. I ffalle downe here a ffowle freke, ffor this ffalle I gynne to qweke, With a ffart my breche I breke, My sorwe comyth ful sone. _Deus._ ffor ȝour synne that ȝe have do, Out of this blysse sone xal ȝe go, In erthely labour to levyn in wo, And sorwe the xal atast. ffor your synne and mysdoyng, An angelle with a swerd brennyng, Out of this joye he xal ȝow dyng, ȝour welthe awey is past.