Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/370

To fyght in fere,
            And bete and bynde.
Alle this was trayn,
ȝour wurdes wore vayn,
This is sertayn,
            ȝow fals I fynde.

Secundus miles. Be the dethe the devyl deyd,
We were of hym so sore atreyd,
That ffor ffer we us down leyd
            Ryght evyn upon oure syde.
Whan we were leyd upon the grounde,
Stylle we lay as we had be bounde,
We durst not ryse for a thousand pounde,
            Ne not for alle this worlde so wyde.

Pilatus. Now ffy upon ȝour grett bost!
Alle ȝour wurchep is now lost;
In felde, in town, and in every cost,
            Men may ȝow dyspravyn.
Now alle ȝour wurchep it is lorn,
And every man may ȝow we scorn,
And bydde ȝow go syttyn in the corn,
            And chare awey the ravyn.

Tertius miles. ȝa, it was hyȝ tyme to leyn oure bost,
ffor whan the body toke aȝen the gost,
He wold a frayd many an ost,
            Kynge, knyght, and knave.
ȝa, whan he dede ryse out of his lake,
Than was ther suche an erthe-quake,
That alle the worlde it gan to shake,
            That made us ffor to rave.

Quartus miles. ȝa, ȝa, herke, ffelawys, what I xal say;
Late us not ses be nyght nor day,