The iii.ᵈᵉ pagent is now ȝow tolde; The ffourte pagent of Noe xal be, How God was wrothe with man an molde, Because fro synne man dede not fle. He sent to Noe an angel bolde, A shyp ffor to makyn and swymmen on the se, Upon the water bothe wood and coolde, And viij. sowles ther savyd xulde be. And j. peyre of everiche bestes in brynge. Whan xl.ᵗⁱ days the flode had fflowe, Than sente Noe out a crowe, And after hym he sent a dowe, That brouth ryth good tydyng. _Tertius vexillator._ Of Abraham is the fyfte pagent, And of Ysaac his sone so fre, How that he xulde with fere be brent, And slayn with swerd, as ȝe xal se. Abraham toke with good atent His sone Ysaac, and knelyd on kne, His suerd was than ful redy bent, And thouth his chylde ther offered xuld be, Upon an hylle ful ryff. Than God toke tent to his good wyl, And sent an angel ryth sone hym tyl, And bad Abraham a shep to kyl, And savyd his chyldys lyff. _Primus vexillator._ The sexte pagent is of Moyses, And of tweyn tabelys that God hym took, In the whiche were wrete, without les, The lawes of God to lerne and lok. And how God charged hym be wordys these, The lawes to lerne al of that book, Moyses than doth nevyr more sese, But prechyth duly both ȝere and woke, The lawes as I ȝow telle. The ten comaundementes alle be-dene, In oure play ȝe xal hem sene, To alle tho that there wyl bene, If that ȝe thenke to duelle. _Secundus vexillator._ Off the gentyl Jesse rote, The sefnt pagent forsothe xal ben, Out of the whiche doth sprynge oure bote, As in prophecye we redyn and sen; Kyngys and prophetes with wordys fful sote, Schulle prophesye al of a qwene, The whiche xal staunche oure stryff and moote, And wynnyn us welthe withoutyn wene, In hevyn to abyde. They xal prophecye of a mayde, Alle ffendys of here xal be affrayde, Here sone xal save us, be not dismayde, With hese woundys wyde. _Tertius vexillator._ Of the grete bushop Abyacar, The tende pagent xal be without lesyng, The whiche comaundyth men to be war, And brynge here douteres to dew weddyng; Alle that ben xiiij. ȝere and more, To maryage he byddyth hem bryng, Wherevyr thei be, he chargyth sore, That thei not ffayle for no lettyng, The lawe byddyth so serteyn than. Than Joachym and Anne so mylde, Thei brynge forthe Mary that blyssyd chylde, But she wold not be defylyde, With spot nor wem of man.