Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/154

 Awey, seres, lete me com nere, A man of wurchep here comyth to place, Of curtesy me semyth ȝe be to lere, Do of ȝour hodys with an evyl grace. Do me sum wurchep befor my face, Or be my trowthe I xal ȝow make, If that I rolle ȝow up in my race, ffor fere I xal do ȝour ars qwake. But ȝit sum mede and ȝe me take, I wyl withdrawe my gret rough toth, Gold or sylvyr I wyl not forsake, But evyn as alle somnores doth.

A! Joseph, good day, with thi ffayr spowse, My lorde the buschop hath for ȝow sent; It is hym tolde that in thin house, A cockoldeis bowe is eche nyght bent. He that shett the bolt is lyke to be schent:— ffayre mayde, that tale ȝe kan best telle; Now be ȝoure trowthe telle ȝour entent, Dede not the archere plese ȝow ryght welle? Maria. Of God in hevyn I take wyttnes, That synful werk was nevyr my thought; I am a mayd ȝit of pure clennes, Lyke as I was into this werd brought. Den. Othyr wyttnes xal non be sought, Thou art with childe, eche man may se; I charge ȝow bothe ȝe tary nought, But to the buschop com forth with me. Joseph. To the buschop with ȝow we wende, Of oure purgacion have we no dowth. Maria. Almyghty God xal be oure frende, Whan the trewthe is tryed owth. Den. ȝa no this wyse excusyth here every scowte,