What account is that which ye must render? That would I know.
Of all my works I must show, How I have lived, and my days spent; Also of ill deeds that I have used In my time, sith life was me lent, And of all virtues that I have refused: Therefore, I pray you, go thither with me To help to make mine account, for Saint Charity.
What, to go thither? Is that the matter? Nay, Everyman, I had liever fast bread and water, All this five year and more.
Alas, that ever I was bore! For now shall I never be merry, If that you forsake me.
Ah, sir! what, ye be a merry man! Take good heart to you, and make no moan. But one thing I warn you, by Saint Anne, As for me ye shall go alone.
No, by our lady, I have the cramp in my toe: Trust not to me; for, so God me speed, I will[85] deceive you in your most need.
It availeth not us to tice:[86] Ye shall have my maid with all my heart; She loveth to go to feasts, there to be nice, And to dance, and abroad to start: I will give her leave to help you in that journey, If that you and she may agree.
No, show me the very effect of your mind; Will you go with me, or abide behind?
Abide behind! yea, that will I, and I may; Therefore farewell till another day.
How should I be merry or glad? For fair promises men to me make; But, when I have most need, they me forsake; I am deceived, that maketh me sad.
Cousin Everyman, farewell now; For verily I will not go with you: Also of mine own life an unready reckoning I have to account, therefore I make tarrying; Now God keep thee, for now I go.
Ah, Jesu, is all come hereto? Lo, fair words maketh fools fain;[87] They promise, and nothing will do certain. My kinsmen promised me faithfully, For to abide with me steadfastly; And now fast away do they flee: Even so Fellowship promised me. What friend were best me of to provide? I lose my time here longer to abide; Yet in my mind a thing there is: All my life I have loved riches; If that my Good now help me might, It would make my heart full light: I will speak to him in this distress: Where art thou, my Goods and Riches?
Who calleth me? Everyman? what, hast thou haste? I lie here in corners trussed and piled so high, And in chests I am locked so fast, Also sacked in bags, thou mayest see with thine eye, I cannot stir; in packs, lo, where I lie! What would ye have, lightly me say.