Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/48

 Go teyl thi mete with swynk and swoot, Into thi lyvys ende. Goo nakyd, ungry, and bare ffoot, Ete bothe erbys, gres, and root, Thy bale hath non other boot, As wrecche in werlde thou wende.

Womman thou sowtyst this synnyng, And bad hym breke myn byddyng, Therfore thou xalt ben undyrlyng, To mannys byddyng bend. What he byddyth the, do thou that thynge, And bere thi chyldere with gret gronynge, In daungere and in deth dredynge, Into thi lyvys ende.

Thou wyckyd worm fful of pryde, ffowle envye syt be thi syde, Upon thi gutt thou xalt glyde, As werm wyckyd in kende. Tyl a maydon in medyl-erth be borne, Thou ffende I warn the beforn, Thorwe here thi bed xal be to-torn, On wombe awey thou wende.

Diabolus. At thi byddyng ffowle I falle, I krepe hem to my stynkyng stalle, Helle pyt and hevyn halle, Xul do thi byddyng bone. I ffalle downe here a ffowle freke, ffor this ffalle I gynne to qweke, With a ffart my breche I breke, My sorwe comyth ful sone.

Deus. ffor ȝour synne that ȝe have do, Out of this blysse sone xal ȝe go,