_Et refudit sacrificium Joachi._ Amonge alle this pepyl barreyn be no mo, Therefore comyth up and offeryth here alle: Thou, Joachym, I charge the fast out the temple thou go; Than with Goddys holy wourde blysse ȝow I shalle! _Et redit flendo._ _Ministro catando._ Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini! _Johns._ Qui fecit cœlum et terram! _Minister._ Sit nomen Domini benedictum! _Chorus._ Ex hoc nunc et usque in sæculum! _Episcopus._ Benedicat vos divina majestas et una deitas, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus! _Chorus._ Amen. _Signando manu cum cruce solenniter, et recedant tribus extra templum._ Now of God and man blyssyd be ȝe alle, Homward aȝen now returne ȝe, And in this temple abyde we xalle, To servyn God in Trinyté. _Joachym._ A! mercyfful Lord, what is this lyff? What have I do, Lorde, to have this blame? ffor hevynes I dare not go hom to my wyff, And amonge my neybores I dare not abyde ffor shame. A Anne! Anne! Anne! al oure joye is turnyd to grame, ffrom ȝour blyssyd ffelacheppe I am now exilyd, And ȝe here onys of this ffowle fame, Sorwe wyl sle ȝow to se me thus revylyd. But son God soferyth thys us must sofron nede, Now wyl I go to my shepherdys and with hem abyde, And ther evyrmore levyn in sorwe and in drede, Shame makyth many man his hed for to hyde. Ha! how de ȝe, felas? in ȝow is lytel pryde, How fare ȝe and my bestys? this wete wolde I veryly. _Primus pastor._ A! welcome hedyr! blyssyd mayster, we pasture hem ful wyde, They be lusty and fayr and grettly multyply. How do ȝe, mayster? ȝe loke al hevyly! How dothe oure dame at hom? sytt she and sowyht? _Joachym._ To here the speke of here it sleyth myn hert veryly, How I and sche doth, God hymself knowythe! The meke God lyftyth up, the proude over-throwyht, Go do what ȝe lyst; se ȝour bestys not stray. _Secundus pastor._ Aftere grett sorwe, mayster, evyr gret grace growyht; Sympyl as we kan, we xal for ȝow pray. _Tertius Pastor._ ȝa, to pray ffor careful it is grett nede, We alle wul prey ffor ȝow knelende, God of his goodnes send ȝow good spede, And of ȝour sorwe ȝow sone amende! _Joachym._ I am nott wurthy, Lord, to loke up to hefne! My synful steppys anvempnyd the grounde; I loth folest that levyth thou, Lord, hyest in thi setys sefne, What art thou, Lord? what am I wrecche werse than an hownde? Thou hast sent me shame whiche myn hert doth wounde; I thank the more herefore than for alle my prosperité: This is a tokyn thou lovest me,—now to the I am bounde; Thou seyst thou art with hem that in tribulacion be.