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Eft wille I tast,

Now am I agast,

It is wanyd a grete dele.

Now ar the weders cest and cateractes knyt,
Both the most and the leest.

Uxor. Me thynk, bi my wit,

The son shynes in the eest, lo, is not yond it?
We shuld have a good feest were thise flodes flyt
So spytus.

Noe. We have been here, alle we,

ccc dayes and fyfty.

Uxor. Yei, now wanys the see,

Lord, welle is us !

Noe. The thyrd tyme wille I prufe what depnes we bere.

Uxor. Now long shalle thou hufe, lay in thy lyne there.

Noe. I may towch with my hufe the grownd evyn here.

Uxor. Then begynnys to grufe to us mery chere ;

Bot, husband,

What grownd may this be?

Noe. The hyllys of Armonye.
Uxor. Now blissid be he

That thus for us can ordand.

Noe. I see toppys of hyllys he, many at a syght,
No thyng to let me, the wedir is so bright.
Uxor. Thise ar of mercy tokyns fulle right.
Noe. Dame, thi counselle me, what fowlle best
myght,

And cowth,

42 With flight of wyng

Bryng, without taryying,

Of mercy som tokynyng

Ayther bi north or southe?

For this is the fyrst day of the tent moyne.
Uxor. The ravyn, durst I lay, wille com agane

sone,

As fast as thou may cast hym furth, have done,
He
may happyn to day com agane or none
With grath.

Noe. I wille cast out also

Dowfes oone or two,

Go youre way, go,

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God send you som wathe!

Now ar thise fowles flone into seyr countre,
Pray we fast ich-on, kneland on our kne,
To hym that is alone worthiest of degre,
That he wold send anone oure fowles som fee
To glad us.

Uxor. Thai may not faylle of land,

The water is so wanand.

Noe. Thank we God alle weldand,
That Lord that made us.

It is a wonder thyng, me thynk sothle,
Thai ar so long taryyng the fowles that we
Cast out in the mornyng.

Uxor.

Syr, it may be

Noe.

The ravyn is ahungrye

Thai tary to thay bryng.

Alle way;

He is without any reson,

And he fynd any caryon,
As peraventure may befon,

He wille not away;

The dowfe is more gentille, her trust I untew,
Like unto the turtille for she is ay trew.

Uxor. Hence bot a litille she comys, lew, lew!
She brynges in her bille som novels new;
Behald!

It is of an olif tre

A branch thynkes me.

Noe. It is soth, perde,

Right so is it cald.

Doufe, byrd fulle blist, fayre myght the befalle!
Thou art trew for to trist as ston in the walle;
Fulle welle I it wist thou wold com to thi halle,
Uxor. A trew tokyn ist we shalle be savyd alle,
For whi?

The water syn she com,

Of depnes plom,

Is fallen a fathom,

And more hardely.

Primus filius. These floodes ar gone, fader,
behold.

Secundus filius. Ther is left right none, and
that be ye bold.

Tercius filius. As stille as a stone oure ship is stold.

Noe. Apon land here anone that we were fayn
I wold,

My childer dere,

Sem Japhet and Cam,

With gle and with gam,

Com go we alle sam,

We wille no longer abide here.

Uxor. Here have we beyn noy long enoghe,
With tray and with teyn, and dreed mekille woghe.
Noe. Behald on this greyn nowder cart ne
ploghe

Is left, as I weyn, nowder tre then boghe
Ne other thyng,

Bot alle is away,

Many castels I say,

Grete townes of aray,

Flitt has this flowing.

Uxor. These floodes not afright alle this warld so wide

Has mevid with myght on se and bi side.

Noe. To dede ar thai dyght prowdist of pryde, Ever ich a wyght that ever was spyde

With syn,

Alle ar thai slayn,

And put unto payn.

Uxor. From thens agayn

May thai never wyn?

Noe. Wyn? no, i-wis; bot he that myght hase Wold myn of thare mys and admytte thaym to

grace,

As he in baylle is blis I pray hym in this space,
In heven hye with his to purvaye us a place,
That we,

With his santes in sight,
And his angels bright,
May com to his light,

Amen, for charite.

EXPLICIT PROCESSUS NOE, SEQUITUR ABRAHAM.

SEQUITUR ABRAHAM.

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Abraham. Adonay, thou God veray,
Thou here us when we to the calle,
As thou art he that best may,
Thou art most socoure and help of alle;
Mightful Lord! to thee I pray,
Let onys the oyle of mercy falle,
Shalle I never abide that day,
Truly yit I hope I shalle.
Mercy, Lord omnipotent!

Long since He this warld has wroght,
Wheder ar alle oure elders went ?
This musys mekille in my thoght.
From Adam unto Eve assent,
Ete of that appylle sparid he noght,
For alle the wisdom that he ment
Fulle dere that bargan has he boght,
From paradise that bad hym gang;
He went mowrnyng with symple chere,
And after liffyd he here fulle lang,
More then ccc yere,

In sorow and in travelle strang,
And every day he was in were,
His childre angred hym amang,
Caym slo Abelle was hym fulle dere.
Sithen Noe, that was trew and good,
His and his chyldre three,
Was saved when alle was flood;
That was a wonder thyng to se.

And Lothe from Sodome when he yede,
ધ Three cytees brent yit eschapyd he,
Thus, for thai menged my Lordes mede,
He vengid syn thrugh his pauste.
When I thynk of oure elders alle,
And of the marvels that has been,
No gladnes in my hart may falle,
My comfort goys away
fulle cleyn.

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Lord, when shalle dede make me his thralle?
An c yeris, certes, have I seyn;

Ma fa! sone I hope he shalle,
For it were right hie tyme I weyn.
Yit Adam is to helle gone,
And ther has ligen many a day,
And alle oure elders, ever ychon,
Thay ar gone the same way;
Unto God wille here thare mone,
Now help, Lord, Adonay!

For, certes, I can no better wone,
And ther is none that better may.

Deus. I wille help Adam and his kynde,
Mighte I luf and lewte fynd;

Wold thay to me be trew, and blyn
Of thare pride and of thare syn:
My servand I wille found and frast,
Abraham, if he be trast,

On certan wise I wille hym prove,
If he to me be trew of louf.
Abraham! Abraham!

Abraham. Who is that? war, let me se,

I herd oone neven my name.

Deus. It is I, take tent to me,
That fourmed thi fader Adam,

And every thyng in it degre.

Abraham. To here thi wille redy I am,
And to fulfille what ever it be.

Deus. Of mercy have I herd thi cry,
Thi devoute prayers have me bun,
If thou me luf look that thou hy
Unto the land of Visyon;

And the thyrd day be ther bid I,
And take with the Isaac, thi son,
As a beest to sacryfy,

To slo hym look thou not shon,

And bren hym ther to thyn offerand.

Abraham. A, lovyd be thou Lord in throne!
Hold over me, Lord, thy holy hand;
For certes thi bidyng shalle be done,
Blissyd be that Lord in every land
Wold viset his servand thus so soyn.
Fayn wold I this thyng ordand,
For it perfettes noght to hoyne ;

This commaundement must I nedes fulfille,