ffecisse hominem nunc pœnitet me! That I made man sore doth me rewe, Myn handwerk to sle sore grevyth me, But that here synne here deth doth brewe. Go sey to Noe, as I bydde the, Hymself, his wyf, his childeryn trewe, Tho viij. sowlys in shyp to be, Thei xul not drede the flodys fflowe, The fflod xal harme them nowht. Of alle ffowlys and bestys thei take a peyre, In shypp to save, bothe ffoule and ffayere, ffrom alle dowtys and gret dyspeyre, This vengeauns or it be wrought. _Angelus ad Noe._ Noe! Noe! a shypp loke thou make, And many a chaumbyr thou xalt have therinne; Of every kyndys best a cowpyl thou take, Within the shypp here lyvys to wynne. ffor God is sore grevyd with man for his synne, That alle this wyde werd xal be dreynt with flood, Saff thou and thi wyff xal be kept from this gynne, And also thi chylderyn with here vertuys good. _Noe._ How xuld I have wytt a shypp for to make, I am of ryght grett age, v. c. ȝere olde, It is not for me this werk to undyrtake, ffor ffeythnnesse of age my leggys gyn ffolde. _Angelus._ This dede ffor to do be bothe blythe and bolde, God xal enforme the and rewle the ful ryght, Of berd and of beste take, as I the tolde, A peyr into the shypp, and God xal the qwyght. _Noe._ I am ful redy as God doth me bydde, A shypp for to make be myght of his grace, Alas! that ffor synne it xal so be betydde, That vengeauns of flood xal werke this manase. God is sore grevyd with oure grett tresspas, That with wylde watyr the werd xal be dreynt; A shyppe for to make now lete us hens pas, That God aȝens us of synne have no compleynt. _Hic transit Noe cum familia sua pro navi, quo exeunte, locum interludii subintret statim Lameth conductus ab adolescente, et dicens_, _Lameth._ Gret mornyng I make, and gret cause I have; Alas! now I se not, for age I am blynde, Blyndenes doth make me of wytt for to rave, Whantynge of eye-syght in peyn doth me bynde. Whyl I had syht, ther myht nevyr man fynde My pere of archerye in alle this werd aboute; ffor ȝitt schet I nevyr at hert, are, nere hynde, But yf that he deyd, of this no man have doute. Lameth “the good archere,” my name was ovyr alle, ffor the best archere myn name dede ever sprede; Record of my boy, here wytnes this he xal, What merk that were set me to deth it xuld blede. _Adolescens._ It is trewe, mayster, that ȝe seyn, indede; ffor that tyme ȝe had ȝoure bowe bent in honde, If that ȝour prycke had be half a myle in brede, ȝe wolde the pryk han hitte, if ȝe ny had stonde.