But one and all make their excuses; they have reckonings of their own which are not ready, and they cannot and will not go with him. Thus again disappointed he breaks out in more lamentations; and then catches at another fallacious hope. Yet in my mynde a thynge there is; All my lyfe I have loved Ryches; If that my good now helpe me myght He wolde make my herte full lyght. I wyll speke to hym in this distresse, Where art thou, my Goodes, and Ryches? Goodes. Who calleth me? Every-man? What hast thou haste? I lye here in corners, trussed and pyled so hye, And in chestes I am locked so fast, Also sacked in bagges, thou mayst se with thyn eye I cannot styrre; in packes low I lye. What wolde ye have? lightly me saye,— Syr, an ye in the worlde have sorowe or adversyte That can I helpe you to remedy shortly. Every-man. In this world it is not, I tell thee so, I am sent for an other way to go, To gyve a strayte counte generall Before the hyest Jupiter of all: And all my life I have had joye and pleasure in the, Therefore, I pray the, go with me: For paraventure, thou mayst before God Almighty My rekenynge helpe to clene and puryfye; For it is said ever amonge That money maketh all ryght that is wrong. Goodes. Nay, Every-man, I synge an other songe; I folowe no man in such vyages. For an I wente with the, Thou sholdes fare moche the worse for me. Goodes then exults in having beguiled him, laughs at his situation and leaves him. Of whom shall he take council? He bethinks him of Good Dedes. But alas she is so weke That she can nother go nor speke. Yet wyll I venter on her now My Good Dedes, where be you? Good Dedes. Here I lye colde on the grounde, Thy sinnes hath me sore bounde That I cannot stere. Every-man. I pray you that ye wyll go with me. Good Dedes. I wolde full fayne, but I can not stand veryly. Every-man. Why, is there any thynge on you fall? Good Dedes. Ye, Sir; I may thanke you of all. If ye had parfytely sheved me, Your boke of counte full redy had be. Loke, the bokes of your workes and dedes eke, A! se how they lye under the fete, To your soules hevynes. Every-man. Our Lorde Jesus helpe me, For one letter here I cannot se! Good Dedes. There is a blynde rekenynge in tyme of dystres! Every-man. Good-Dedes, I pray you, helpe me in this nede, Or elles I am for ever dampned in dede. Good Dedes calls in Knowledge to help him to make his reckoning; and Knowledge takes him lovingly to that holy man Confession; and Confession gives him a precious jewel called Penance, in the form of a scourge.