The Bocheres
5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 375 380 385 390 395 400 405 410 415	PILATUS   Sees, seniours, and see what I saie, Takis tente to my talkyng enteere. Devoyde all this dynne here this day, And fallis to my frenschippe in feere. Sir Pilate, a prince withowten pere, My name is full nevenly to neven And domisman full derworth in dede. Of gentillest Jewry full even Am I. Who makis oppressioun Or dose transgressioun, Be my discressioun Shall be demed dewly to dy. To dye schall I deme thame, to dede, Tho rebelles that rewles thame unright. Who that to yone hill wille take heede May se ther the soth in his sight, Howe doulfull to dede thei are dight That liste noght owre lawes for to lere. Lo, thus be my mayne and my myght Tho churles schalle I chasteise and cheere Be lawe. Ilke feloune false Shall hynge be the halse, Transgressours als On the crosse schalle be knytte for to knawe. To knawe schall I knytte thame on crosse; To schende thame with schame schall I shappe, Ther liffis for to leese is no losse, Suche tirrauntis with teene for to trappe. Thus leelly the lawe I unlappe And punyssh thame pitously. Of Jesu I holde it unhappe That he on yone hill hyng so hye For gilte. His bloode to spille Toke ye you till, Thus was youre wille Full spitously to spede he were spilte. CAIPHAS   To spille hym we spake in a speede, For falsed he folowde in faie, With fraudes oure folke gan he feede And laboured to lere thame his laye. ANNA   Sir Pilate, of pees we youe praye, Oure lawe was full lyke to be lorne. He saved noght oure dere Sabott daye, And that for to scape it were a scorne, By lawe. PILATUS   Sirs, before youre sight With all my myght I examynde hym right, And cause non in hym cowthe I knawe. CAIPHAS   Ye knawe wele the cause, sir, in cace: It touched treasoune untrewe. The tribute to take or to trace Forbadde he, our bale for to brewe. ANNA   Of japes yitt jangelid yone Jewe, And cursedly he called hym a kyng. To deme hym to dede it is diewe, For treasoune it touches that thyng Indede. CAIPHAS   Yitt principall And worste of all, He garte hym call Goddes Sonne, that foulle motte hyme speede. PILATUS   He spedis for to spille in space, So wondirly wrought is youre will; His bloode schall youre bodis enbrace, For that have ye taken you till. ANNA   That forwarde ful fayne to fulfille Indede schall we dresse us bedene; Yone losell hym likis full ille, For turned is his trantis all to teene, I trowe. CAYPHAS   He called hym kyng, Ille joie hym wring. Ya, late hym hyng, Full madly on the mone for to mowe. ANNA   To mowe on the moone has he mente. We, fye on thee, faitour in faye! Who trowes thou to thi tales toke tente? Thou saggard, thiselffe gan thou saie, The Tempill distroie thee todaye, Be the thirde day ware done ilka dele, To rayse it thou schulde thee arraye. Loo, howe was thi falsed to feele, Foule falle thee! For thy presumpcyoune Thou haste thy warisoune; Do faste come doune, And a comely kyng schalle I calle thee. CAYPHAS   I calle thee a coward to kenne That mervaylles and mirakills made. Thou mustered emange many menne, But, brothell, thou bourded to brade. Thou saved thame fro sorowes, thai saide: To save nowe thiselffe late us see; God Sonne if thou grathely be grayde, Delyvere thee doune of that tree Anone. If thou be funne Thou be Goddis Sonne, We schall be bonne To trowe on thee trewelye, ilkone. ANNA   Sir Pilate, youre pleasaunce we praye, Takis tente to oure talkyng this tide And wipe ye yone writyng away: It is not beste it abide. It sittis youe to sette it aside, And sette that he saide in his sawe, As he that was prente full of pride, “Jewes kyng am I,” comely to knawe, Full playne. PILATUS   Quod scripci, scripci. Yone same wrotte I; I bide therby, What gedlyng will grucche there agayne. JESUS   Thou man that of mys here has mente, To me tente enteerly thou take. On roode am I ragged and rente, Thou synfull sawle, for thy sake. For thy misse amendis will I make. My bakke for to bende, here I bide; This teene for thi traspase I take. Who couthe thee more kyndynes have kydde Than I? Thus for thy goode I schedde my bloode. Manne, mende thy moode, For full bittir thi blisse mon I by. MARIA   Allas, for my swete Sonne I saie, That doulfully to dede thus is dight. Allas, for full lovely thou laye In my wombe, this worthely wight. Allas, that I schulde see this sight Of my Sone so semely to see. Allas, that this blossome so bright Untrewly is tugged to this tree, Allas! My lorde, my leyffe, With full grete greffe Hyngis as a theffe. Allas, he did never trespasse. JESUS   Thou woman, do way of thy wepyng, For me may thou nothyng amende; My Fadirs wille to be wirkyng, For mankynde my body I bende. MARIA   Allas, that thou likes noght to lende, Howe schulde I but wepe for thy woo? To care nowe my comforte is kende. Allas, why schulde we twynne thus in twoo Forevere? JESUS   Womanne, instede of me, Loo, John thi sone schall bee. John, see to thi modir free, For my sake do thou thi devere. MARIA   Allas, Sone, sorowe and sighte That me were closed in clay, A swerde of sorowe me smyte, To dede I were done this day. JOHANNES   A, modir, so schall ye noght saie, I praye youe be pees in this presse, For with all the myght that I maye Youre comforte I caste to encresse Indede. Youre sone am I, Loo, here redy, And nowe forthy I praye yowe hense for to speede. MARIA   My steven for to stede or to steere, Howe schulde I such sorowe to see: My Sone that is dereworthy and dere Thus doulfull a dede for to dye. JOHANNES   A, dere modir, blynne of this blee; Youre mournyng it may not amende. MARIA CLEOPHE   A, Marie, take triste unto thee, For socoure to thee will he sende This tyde. JOHANNES   Fayre modir, faste Hense latte us caste. MARIA   To he be paste Wille I buske here baynly to bide. JESUS   With bittirfull bale have I bought, Thus, man, all thi misse for te mende, On me for to looke lette thou noght Howe baynly my body I bende. No wighte in this worlde wolde have wende What sorowe I suffre for thy sake. Manne, kaste thee thy kyndynesse be kende, Trewe tente unto me that thou take And treste. For foxis ther dennys have thei, Birdis hase ther nestis to paye, But the Sone of Man this daye Hase noght on his heed for to reste. LATRO A SINISTRIS   If thou be Goddis Sone so free, Why hyng thou thus on this hille? To saffe nowe thyselffe late us see, And us now, that spedis for to spille. LATRO A DEXTRIS   Manne, stynte of thy steven and be stille, For douteles thy God dredis thou noght; Full wele are we worthy thertill. Unwisely wrange have we wrought, Iwisse. Noon ille did hee Thus for to dye. Lord, have mynde of me Whan thou art come to thi bliss. JESUS   Forsothe, sonne, to thee schall I saie, Sen thou fro thy foly will falle, With me schall dwelle nowe this daye In paradise place principall. Heloy! heloy! My God, my God, full free, Lama zabatanye, Wharto forsoke thou me, In care? And I did nevere ille This dede for to go tille, But be it at thi wille. A, me thirstis sare. GARCIO   A drinke schalle I dresse thee indede, A draughte that is full dayntely dight, Full faste schall I springe for to spede. I hope I schall holde that I have hight. CAYPHAS   Sir Pilate, that moste is of myght, Harke, “Heely” now harde I hym crye; He wenys that that worthely wight In haste for to helpe hym in hye In his nede. PILATUS   If he do soo, He schall have woo. ANNA   He wer oure foo If he dresse hym to do us that dede. GARCIO   That dede for to dresse yf he doo, In sertis he schall rewe it full sore. Neverethelees, if he like it noght, loo, Full sone may he covere that care. Now swete sir, youre wille yf it ware, A draughte here of drinke have I dreste To spede for no spence that ye spare, But baldely ye bib it for the beste Forwhy Aysell and galle Is menged withalle. Drynke it ye schalle. Youre lippis, I halde thame fulle drye. JESUS   Thi drinke it schalle do me no deere, Wete thou wele, therof will I none. Nowe, Fadir, that formed alle in fere, To thy moste myght make I my mone. Thi wille have I wrought in this wone. Thus ragged and rente on this roode, Thus doulffully to dede have thei done. Forgiffe thame be grace that is goode, Thai ne wote noght what it was. My Fadir, here my bone, For nowe all thyng is done. My spirite to thee right sone Comende I in manus tuas. MARIA   Now, dere Sone, Jesus so jente, Sen my harte is hevy as leede, O worde wolde I witte or thou wente. Allas, nowe my dere Sone is dede. Full rewfully refte is my rede. Allas, for my darlyng so dere. JOHANNES   A modir, ye halde uppe youre heede And sigh noght with sorowes so seere, I praye. MARIA CLEOPHE   It dose hir pyne To see hym tyne. Lede we her heyne, This mornyng helpe hir ne maye. CAIPHAS   Sir Pilate, parceyve, I you praye, Oure costemes to kepe wele ye canne. Tomorne is our dere Sabott daye, Of mirthe muste us meve ilke a man. Yone warlous nowe waxis full wan, And nedis muste thei beried be. Delyver ther dede, sir, and thane Shall we sew to oure saide solempnité Indede. PILATE   It schalle be done, In wordis fone. Sir knyghtis, go sone To yone harlottis you hendely take heede. Tho caytiffis thou kille with thi knyffe; Delyvere, have done, thei were dede. MILES   Mi lorde, I schall lenghe so ther liffe That tho brothelles schall nevere bite brede. PILATUS   Ser Longeus, steppe forthe in this steede. This spere, loo, have halde in thy hande, To Jesus thou rake fourthe I rede And sted nought but stiffely thou stande A stounde. In Jesu side Schoffe it this tyde; No lenger bide, But grathely thou go to the grounde. LONGEUS LATUS   O, maker unmade, full of myght. O, Jesu so jentill and jente, That sodenly has lente me my sight. Lorde, louyng to thee be it lente. On rode arte thou ragged and rente Mankynde for to mende of his mys. Full spitously spilte is and spente Thi bloode, Lorde, to bringe us to blis Full free. A, mercy my socoure, Mercy, my treasoure, Mercy my Savioure, Thi mercy be markid in me. CENTERIO   O, wondirfull werkar iwis, This weedir is waxen full wan, Trewe token I trowe that it is That mercy is mente unto man. Full clerly consayve thus I can No cause in this corse couthe thei knowe, Yitt doulfull thei demyd hym than To lose thus his liffe be ther lawe, No righte. Trewly I saie, Goddis Sone verraye Was he this daye That doulfully to dede thus is dight. JOSEPH [OF ARIMATHEA]   That Lorde lele aylastyng in lande, Sir Pilate, full preste in this presse, He save thee be see and be sande, And all that is derworth on deesse. PILATUS   Joseph, this is lely no lesse; To me arte thou welcome iwisse. Do saie me the soth or thou sesse, Thy worthyly wille what it is Anone. JOSEPH   To thee I praye, Giffe me in hye Jesu bodye In gree it for to grave al alone. PILATUS   Joseph, sir, I graunte thee that geste. I grucche noght to grath hym in grave. Delyver, have done he were dreste, And sewe, sir, oure Sabott to saffe. JOSEPH   With handis and harte that I have I thanke thee in faith for my frende. God kepe thee thi comforte to crave, For wightely my way will I wende In hye. To do that dede He be my speede, That armys gun sprede, Mannekynde be his bloode for to bye. NICHODEMUS   Weill mette, ser; in mynde gune I meffe For Jesu that juged was unjente. Ye laboured for license and leve To berye his body on bente? JOSEPH   Full myldely that matere I mente, And that for to do will I dresse. NICHODEMUS   Both same I wolde that we wente And lette not for more ne for lesse, Forwhy Oure frende was he, Faithfull and free. JOSEPH   Therfore go we To berie that body in hye. All mankynde may marke in his mynde To see here this sorowfull sight. No falsnesse in hym couthe thei fynde That doulfully to dede thus is dight. NICHODEMUS   He was a full worthy wight, Nowe blemysght and bolned with bloode. JOSEPH   Ya, for that he mustered his myght. Full falsely thei fellid that foode, I wyne, Bothe bakke and side His woundes wide; Forthi this tyde Take we hym doune us betwene. NICHODEMUS   Betwene us take we hym doune, And laie hym on lenthe on this lande. JOSEPH   This reverent and riche of rennoune, Late us halde hym and halse hym with hande. A grave have I garte here be ordande That never was in noote, it is newe. NICHODEMUS   To this corse it is comely accordande To dresse hym with dedis full dewe This stounde JOSEPH   A sudarye Loo here have I, Wynde hym forthy, And sone schalle we grave hym in grounde. NICHODEMUS   In grounde late us grave hym and goo; Do liffely, latte us laie hym allone. Nowe Saviour of me and of moo, Thou kepe us in clennesse ilkone. JOSEPH   To thy mercy nowe make I my moone, As Saviour be see and be sande, Thou gyde me that my griffe be al gone; With lele liffe to lenge in this lande And esse. NICHODEMUS   Seere oynementis here have I Brought for this faire body. I anoynte thee forthy With myrre and aloes. JOSEPH   This dede it is done ilke a dele, And wroughte is this werke wele iwis. To thee, Kyng, on knes here I knele That baynly thou belde me in blisse. NICHODEMUS   He highte me full hendely to be his A nyght whan I neghed hym full nere. Have mynde, Lorde, and mende me of mys, For done is oure dedis full dere This tyde. JOSEPH   This Lorde so goode That schedde his bloode, He mende youre moode And buske on this blis for to bide.	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