And thus the wofull nightes forwe
To joie is torned on the morwe.
All was thanking, all was bleffing,
Whiche erft was wepinge and curfing.
These women gone home glad inough,
Echone for joie on other lough
And praiden for this lordes hele,
Whiche hath relesed the quarele
And hath his owne will forfake
In charite for goddes fake.

But now hereafter thou fhalte here
What god hath wrought in this matere,
As he that doth all equite.
To him that wroughte charite
He was ayeinward charitous
And to pite he was pitous.
For it was never knowe yit,
That charite goth unaquit.

The night whan he was laid to slepe,
The highe god, which wold him kepe,
Saint Peter and faint Poule him fende,
By whom he wolde his lepre amende.
They two to him slepend appere
Fro god and faid in this manere :

O Conftantin, for thou haft ferved
Pite, thou haft pite deserved.
Forthy thou shalt such pite have,
That god through pite woll the fave.
So fhalt thou double hele finde,
First for thy bodeliche kinde,

And for thy wofull foule alfo.

Thou shalt ben hole of bothe two.
And for thou shalt the nought despeire,
Thy lepre shall no more empeire
Till thou wolt fende therupon
Unto the mount of Celion,

Where that Silvester and his clergie
To-gider dwelle in compaignie
For drede of the, which many a day
Haft ben a fo to Criftes lay

And haft deftruied to mochel shame
The prechours of his holy name.
But now thou haft fomdele appesed
Thy god and with good dede plesed,
That thou thy pite haft bewared
Upon the blood, which thou hast spared.
Forthy to thy falvacion

Thou shalt have informacion,

Such as Silvefter fhall the teche,

The nedeth of none other leche.

This emperour, whiche all this herde:

Graunt mercy lorde, he answerde,
I woll do fo as ye me fay.

But of o thing I wolde pray,
What shall I telle unto Silveftre

Or of your name or of your estre ?
And they him tolden what they hight
And forth with all oute of his fight
They paffen up into the heven.

And he awoke out of his fweven

nd clepeth, and men come anone And tolde his dreme, and therupon n fuche a wife as he hem telleth

The mount, wher that Silvefter dwelleth, They have in alle hafte fought,

And founde he was, and with hem brought
To themperour, which to him tolde

His fweven and elles what he wolde.
And whan Silvefter hath herd the king,
He was right joyfull of this thing
And him began with all his wit
To techen upon holy writ.

First how mankinde was forlore,
And how the highe god therfore
His fone fende from above,
Which bore was for mannes love,
And after of his owne chois
He toke his deth upon the crois.
And how in grave he was beloke,
And how that he hath helle broke
And toke hem out, that were him leve.
And for to make us full beleve
That he was verray goddes fone
Ayein the kinde of mannes wone
Fro deth he rose the thridde day.
And whan he wolde, as he well may,
He ftigh up to his father even
With flesh and blood into the heven.
And right so in the fame forme

In flesh and blood he fhall reforme,

T

Whan time cometh, the quicke and dede
At thilke wofull day of drede,

Where every man fhall take his dome
Als well the maister as the grome.
The mighty kinges retenue

That day may ftonde of no value
With worldes ftrengthe to defende.
For every man mot than entende
To stond upon his owne dedes
And leve all other mennes nedes.
That day may no counfeil availe,
The pledour and the plee shall faile
The fentence of that ilke day,
May none appele fette in delay.
There may no gold the juge plie,
That he ne shall the fothe trie
And fetten every man upright,
As well the plowman as the knight.
The leude man, the grete clerke
Shall ftonde upon his owne werke,
And fuche as he is founde tho,
Such fhall he be for evermo.
There may no peine be relesed,
There may no joie ben encresed,
But endeles as they have do
He shall receive one of two.

And thus Silvefter with his fawe
The ground of all the newe lawe
With great devocion he precheth
Fro point to point and plainly techeth

nto this hethen emperour

nd faith

the highe creatour

[ath underfonge his charite

Of that he wroughte fuche pite,
Vhan he the children had on honde.
Thus whan this lord hath understonde
Of all this thing how that it ferde,
Jnto Silvefter he than answerde
With all his hole herte and faith,
That he is redy to the feith.
And fo the veffell, which for blood
Was made, Silvefter, there it stood
With clene water of the welle
In alle hafte he let do felle
And fette Conftantin therinne
All naked up unto the chinne.
And in the while it was begunne
A light, as though it were a funne,
Fro heven into the place come,
Where that he toke his christendome,
And ever amonge the holy tales
Lich as they weren fisshes scales
They fellen from him now and efte,
Till that there was nothing belefte
Of all this grete maladie.

For he that wolde him purifie
The highe god hath made him clene,
So that there lefte nothing sene.
He hath him clenfed bothe two
The body and the foule also.