Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/381

Jhesus. Woman, suche mornynge why dost thou make?
  Why is thi chere so hevy and badde?
Why dost thou sythe so sore and qwake?
  Why dost thou wepe so sore and sadde?

Maria Magdalene. A grettyr cawse had nevyr woman,
  ffor to wepe bothe nyth and day,
Than I myself have in serteyn,
  And for to sorwyn evyr and ay.
Alas! ffor sorwe myn hert doth blede,
  My Lorde is take fro me away;
I muste nedys sore wepe and grede;
  Where he is put I kan not say.

But, jentyl gardener, I pray to the,
  If thou hym took out of his grave,
Telle me qwere I may hym se,
  That I may go my Lorde to have.
Jhesus. MARIA.
Maria Magdalene. A! mayster and Lorde to the I crave,
  As thou art Lord and kynge of blys! [Spectans.
Graunt me, Lord, and thou vowchesave
  Thyn holy ffete that I may kys!

Jhesus. Towche me nott as ȝett, Mary,
  ffor to my fadyr I have not ascende;
But to my bretheryn in hast the hyȝ,
  With these gode wurdys here care amende.
Sey to my bretheryn that I intende
  To stey to my fadyr and to ȝowre,
To oure Lord both God and frende,
  I wyl ascende to hevyn towre.

In hevyn to ordeyn ȝow a place,
  To my ffadyr now wyl I go;