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t thay ar untrewe, Unto my dome[586] I shalle theym draw, And juge thaym wars[587] then any Jew. And thay that lyst to lere my law and lyf therby Shalle never have harmes here, bot welth as is worthy. _Sathanas._ Now here my hand, I hold me payde, Thise poyntes ar playnly for my prow,[588] If this be trew as thou has saide We shalle have mo then we have now; Thise lawes that thou has late here laide I shalle thym lere not to alow,[589] If thay myn take[590] thay ar betraide, And I shalle turne thym tytte I trow.[591] I shalle walk eest, I shalle walk west, And gar theym wyrk welle war.[592] _Jesus._ Nay feynde, thou shalbe feste,[593] That thou shalle flyt no far.[594] _Sathanas._ Feste? fy! that were a wykyd treson! Belamy, thou shalle be smytt.[595] _Jesus._ Deville, I commaunde the to go downe Into thi sete where thou shalle syt. _Sathanas._ Alas! for doylle[596] and care, I synk into helle pyt. _Rybald._ Sir Sathanas, so saide I are,[597] Now shalle thou have a fytt. _Jesus._ Com now furthe, my childer alle, I forgyf you youre mys;[598] Withe me now go ye shalle To joy and endles blys. _Adam._ Lord, thou art fulle mekylle of myght,[599] That mekys thi self on this manere, To help us alle as thou had us hight, When bothe frofett I and my fere;[600] Here have we dwelt withoutten light Four thousand and six hundreth yere, Now se we by this solempne sight How that mercy makes us dere. _Eva._ Lord, we were worthy more tornamentes[601] to tast,[602] Thou help us lord of thy mercy, as thou of myght is mast.[603] _Johannes._ Lord, I love the inwardly, That me wold make thi messyngere, Thi commyng in erthe to cry, And teche thi fayth to folk in fere;[604] Sythen before the forto dy,[605] To bryng theym bodword[606] that be here, How thay shuld have thi help in hy, Now se I alle those poyntes appere. _Moyses._ David, thi prophette trew, Of tymes told unto us; Of thi commyng he knew, And saide it shuld be thus. _David._ As I said ere yit say I so, _Ne derelinquas, domine, Animam meam in inferno_;[607] Leyfe never my saulle, Lord, after the, In depe helle whedur[608] dampned shalle go Suffre thou never thi sayntes to se The sorrow of thaym that won in wo,[609] Ay, fulle of fylthe, and may not fle.[610] _Moyses._ Make myrthe bothe more and les, And love oure lord we may, That has broght us fro bytternes In blys to abyde for ay. _Ysaias._ Therfor now let us syng To
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