Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/204

Thow that a lytyl pynt xulde coste a m^l. pownde,
  Brynge alwey of the beste, for coste take ȝe no care,—
            Anon that it be done.
Senescallus. My lorde, the tabyl is redy dyght;
Here is watyr, now wasche forth ryght!
Now blowe up mynstralle with alle ȝour myght!
            The servyse comyth in sone.

Herodes. Now am I sett at mete,
  And wurthely servyd at my degré;
Com forthe knyghtes, sytt down and ete,
  And be as mery as ȝe kan be.
Primus Miles. Lord, at ȝowre byddynge we take oure sete,
  With herty wyl obey we the;
Ther is no lord of myght so grett,
  Thorwe alle this werde in no countré,
            In wurchepp to abyde!
Herodes. I was nevyr meryer here beforn,
Suthe that I was fyrst born,
Than I am now ryght in this morn,—
            In joy I gynne to glyde.

Mors. Ow! I herde a page make preysyng of pride,
  Alle prynces he passyth, he wenyth, of powsté;
He wenyth to be the wurthyest of alle this werde wyde,—
  Kynge ovyr alle kynges that page wenyth to be.
He sent into Bedlem, to seke on every syde,
  Cryst for to qwelle, yf thei myght hym se;
But of his wykkyd wyl lurdeyn ȝitt he lyede,
  Goddys sone doth lyve,—ther is no Lord but he!
            Over alle lordys he is kynge!
I am Dethe, Goddys masangere!
Allemyghty God hath sent me here,
ȝon lordeyn to sle, withowtyn dwere,
            ffor his wykkyd workynge.