_Now._ Come wind: come rain! Though I come never again; The devil put out both your eyne! Fellows! go we hence tight!
_Nought._ Go we hence, a devil way! Here is the door; here is the way! Farewell, gentle Geoffrey! I pray God give you good night! [_Exiunt sil._
_Mer._ Thanked be God! we have a fair deliverance Of these three unthrifty guests: They know full little what is their ordinance. I preve by reason they be worse than beasts: A beast doth after his natural institution; Ye may conceive, by their disport and behaviour, Their joy and delight is in derision Of their own Christ, to His dishonour. This condition of living, it is prejudicial; Beware thereof! it is worse than any felony or treason. How may it be excused before the justice of all When, for every idle word, we must yield a reason? They have great ease; therefore, they will take no thought; But how then, when the angel of heaven shall blow the trump, And say to the transgressors that wickedly have wrought: "Come forth unto your Judge, and yield your account!" Then shall I, Mercy, begin sore to weep; Nother comfort nor counsel, there shall none be had; But, such as they have sown, such shall they reap; They be wanton now; but, then, shall they be sad. The good new guise, now-a-days, I will not disallow; I discommend the vicious guise--I pray have me excused-- I need not to speak of it; your reason will tell it you: Take that is to be taken, and leave that is to be refused!
_Mankind._ Of the earth and of the clay we have our propagation; By the providence of God thus we be derived: To whose mercy I recommend this whole congregation. I hope unto His bliss ye be all predestinate: Every man, for his degree, I trust shall be participate; If we will mortify our carnal condition, And our voluntary desires that ever be pervertionate-- To renounce these and yield us under God's provision. My name is Mankind; I have my composition Of a body and of a soul, of condition contrary. Betwixt the twain is a great division: He that should be s[u]bject, now he hath the victory. This is to me a lamentable story: To see my flesh, of my soul to have governance; Where the good wife is master, the goodman may be sorry. Alas! what was thy fortune and thy chance To be associate with my flesh, that stinking dunghill? Lady, help! Sovereigns! it doth my soul much ill To see the flesh prosperous, and the soul trodden under foot. I shall go to yonder man; and assay him I will; I trust of ghostly solace he will be my boot.