Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/61

 Deus. Ow, what menyht this myslevyng man, Whiche myn hand made and byldyd in blysse? Synne so sore grevyht me ȝa in certayn, I wol be vengyd of this grett mysse. Myn aungel dere, thou xalt gan To Noe that my servaunt is, A shypp to make on hond to tan Thou byd hym swythe ffor hym and his, ffrom drynchyng hem to save, ffor, as I am God off myght, I xal dystroye this werd downe ryght, Here synne so sore grevyht me in syght, Thei xal no mercy have.

ffecisse hominem nunc pœnitet me! That I made man sore doth me rewe, Myn handwerk to sle sore grevyth me, But that here synne here deth doth brewe. Go sey to Noe, as I bydde the, Hymself, his wyf, his childeryn trewe, Tho viij. sowlys in shyp to be, Thei xul not drede the flodys fflowe, The fflod xal harme them nowht. Of alle ffowlys and bestys thei take a peyre, In shypp to save, bothe ffoule and ffayere, ffrom alle dowtys and gret dyspeyre, This vengeauns or it be wrought.

Angelus ad Noe. Noe! Noe! a shypp loke thou make, And many a chaumbyr thou xalt have therinne; Of every kyndys best a cowpyl thou take, Within the shypp here lyvys to wynne. ffor God is sore grevyd with man for his synne, That alle this wyde werd xal be dreynt with flood,