_Deus._ Caym, come fforthe and answere me, Asoyle my qwestyon anon ryght, Thy brother Abel, wher is now he? Ha don, and answere me as tyght. _Caym._ My brothers kepere ho made me? Syn whan was I his kepyng knyght? I kan not telle wher that he be, To kepe hym was I nevyr dyght, I knowe not wher he is. _Deus._ Acursyd Caym, thou art untrewe, And for thi dede thou xalt sore rewe; Thi brothers blood that thou slewe, Askyht vengeauns of thi mys. Thu xalt be cursyd on the grounde, Unprophitable where so thou wende, Bothe veyn and nowthty and nothyng sounde, With what thing thou medele thou xalt it shende. _Caym._ Alas! in whoo now am I wounde, Acursyd of God, as man unkende; Of any man yf I be founde, He xal me slo, I have no ffrende, Alas and weleaway! _Deus._ Of what man that thou be sclayne, He xal have vij. folde more payn, Hym were bettyr never to be sayn On lyve be nyth ne day. _Caym._ Alas! alas! whedyr may I go? I dare nevyr se man in the vesage, I am woundyn as a wrecche in wo, And cursyd of God ffor my ffalfage. Unprofytabyl and vayn also, In felde and towne, in strete and stage, I may nevyr make merthis mo, I wot nevyr whedyr to take passage; I dare not here abyde. Now wyl I go wende my way, With sore syeng and welaway, To loke where that I best may ffrom mannys ssyht me hyde. IV. NOAH’S FLOOD. _Introitus Noe._ _Noe._ God of his goodnesse and of grace grounde, By whoys gloryous power alle thyng is wrought, In whom alle vertu plentevously is ffounde, Withowtyn whos wyl may be ryth nought; Thy servauntes save, Lord, fro synful sownde, In wyl, in werk, in dede, and in thouht; Oure welth in woo lete nevyr be fownde, Us help, Lord, from synne that we be in brought, Lord God fful of myght! Noe, seres, my name is knowe, My wyff and my chyldere here on rowe, To God we pray with hert ful lowe, To plese hym in his syght. In me Noe, the secunde age Indede begynnyth, as I ȝow say; Afftyr Adam, withoutyn langage, The secunde fadyr am I in fay. But men of levyng be so owtrage, Bothe be nyght and eke be day, That lesse than synne the soner swage, God wyl be vengyd on us sum way, Indede. Ther may no man go ther owte, But synne regnyth in every rowte, In every place rownde abowte Cursydnes doth sprynge and sprede.