I have run that I sweat from sir Herod our king
With this man that will not let our laws to down bring;
He has done so much yet of care may he sing;
Through realm of sir Pilate he gets an ill ending
The great works he has wrought
Shall serve him for naught,
And but they be dear bought,
Heed me no more.
But make room and make peace, I bid you belief,
And of your noise that you cease, both man and wife;
To sir Pilate at feast this man will we drive,
His deed for to beat, and rob him his life
Do draw him forward!
Why stand ye so backward?
Come on, sir, hitherward,
As fast as you may!
Do pull him apace, whiles we be going;
I shall spit in his face though it be far shining;
Of us three get you no grace, your deeds are so harming,
But more sorrow you waste our mirth is increasing,
Fellows, all cast,
With this band that will last
Let us bind fast
Both his hands on his back.
I shall lead you a dance unto sir Pilate's hall;
You betide an ill chance to come among us all.
Sir Pilate, with your chieftains, to you we cry and call
That ye make some ordinance with this wretch thrall,
This man that we led
On a cross you'll make dead.
What! With no more said?
That is not my will;
But you, wisest of law, help me understand:
This man without awe which you led in a band,
Neither in deed nor in saw can I find wrong to stand
Wherefore you should him draw or bear falsely on hand
You say he turns our people,
You call him false and fickle;
World's shame is on you full
His blood if you spill.
Of all these causes known which you put on him,
Herod, truly as stone, could find nothing again
Nothing hereupon that stuck to any sin;
Why should I then so soon to death here deem him?
This is my counsel:
I will not wish him ill;
Let him go where he will
For now and evermore.
Sir, I tell you one thing without any miss,
He calls himself king when he none is;
Thus he would down bring our laws, our bliss,
With his false teaching and cunning wits
Hark, fellow, come near!
You know I have power
To excuse or to damn here,
In bale to abide.
Such power have you naught to work your will thus with me,
But from my Father that is brought one-fold God in persons three.
Certain, it is fallen well in my thought at this time, as well know ye,
A thief that any felony has wrought to let him 'scape or go free
Therefore ye let him pass.
Nay, nay, but Barabas!
And Jesus in this case
To death ye damn this day.
Sirs, look ye take good heed: his clothes I from him throw.
You make his body bleed and beat him black with blows.
This man, as might I speed, that has wrought us this woe,
How judicious comes in creed shall we teach, or we go,
Bind him to this pillar.
Why stand you so far?
To beat his body bare
I haste, to make room.
Now fall I the first to flap on his hide.
My heart would all burst, but I might strike his side.
A stroke fain, if I durst, would I teach him this tide.
Let me give him the worst that the blood may down glide
Take thou that!
I shall teach thee a flap.
My strength for a gift.
How serves your prophecy you tell us in this case,
And all your works of great mastery you showed in diverse place?
Your apostles full readily are run from the race;
You are here heavily without any grace
Do rug him.
Do, ding him.
Nay, I myself should kill him
But for sir Pilate.
Sirs, at the feast held at Cana, this prophet he was;
There turned he water into wine that day he had such grace;
His apostles to him can incline and another time there was;
The sea he passed, but few years since; it let him walk thereon apace
The elements had been,
And winds that were so keen,
The firmament, as I ween,
By him became still.
A leper came full fast to this man that here stands,
And prayed him, in all haste, of bale to loose his bands;
His travail was not waste though he came from far lands;
This prophet by him passed and healed him with his hands.
The son of a centurion,
For whom his father made great moan,
Of the palsy he healed anon;
They loved his very soul.
Sirs, as he came from Jericho a blind man sat by the way;
To him he walked with many mo' and cried to him, to say,
"Thou son of David, before thou go of blindness heal thou me this day,"
There was he healed of all his woe; such wonders can he work all way
He raises men from death to life;
And casts out devils like a knife,
Sick men came to him full rife;
He heals them of all ill.
For all these deeds of great loving three things I have found certainly,
For which he is worthy to hang: One is our king that he would be;
Our Sabbath day in his working he cannot heal the sick truly;
He says our temple he shall down bring and in three days build it highly
All whole again;
Sir Pilate, as you sit,
Look wisely in your wit;
Damn Jesu or you're fit
On cross to suffer his pain.
You man that suffers all this ill, why will you us no mercy cry?
Slake your heart and your great will whiles on you we have mastery;
Of your great works show us some skill; men call you king, now tell us why;
Wherefore they seek your blood to spill the cause I would know wittingly,
Say what is your name,
You blush not for shame;
They put on you great blame,
Else might you 'scape from me.
Sir Pilate, prince peerless, this is my dread,
That he 'scape not harmless but damn him to dead:
He calls him a king in every place, thus has he many led
Our people in his trace and our laws down tread
Sir, your knights of good choice,
And the people, with one voice,
To hang him high on a cross
They cry and call you still.
Now, certain, this is a wondrous thing; that you would bring to naught
Him that is your liege lording, in faith this was far sought;
But say, why make you no obeying to him that all has wrought?
Sir, he is our chief lording sir Cesar so worthily wrought
Pilate, do after us,
And damn to death Jesus,
Or to sir Cesar we'll trust,
And count your friendship cold.
Now, that I am blameless of this blood shall you see;
Both my hands in express washed shall be;
This blood was dear bought, I guess, that you spill so freely.
We pray it fall endless on us and on our many,
His blood we take.
Now your desire fulfill I shall;
Take him among you all;
On cross you put that thrall,
His ending there to make.
Come on! Trip on your toes without any feigning;
You have made many woes with your false talking.
We have won a great rose that thus have brought a king
From sir Pilate and other foes thus into our ring,
Where he is doomed.
Sirs, a king he him calls,
Therefore a crown him befalls.
I swear by all mine elder laws,
I shall it ordain soon.
Lo, here's a crown of thorn to perch his brain within,
Put on his head with scorn and go through the skin.
Hail king! Where were you born, such worship for to win?
We kneel all you before and you to grieve will we not sin,
That be you bold;
Now by Mahowne's blood
There will no meat do me good
Til he be hanged on a rood,
And his bones be cold.
Sirs, we may be fain for I have found a tree,
I tell you for certain it is of great beauty,
On the which he shall suffer pain, bound fast with nails three
There shall nothing him gain there until he dead be,
I insure it:
Do bring him hence.
Take up our gear and defense.
I would spend all my pence
To see him endure it.
This cross up you take and make you ready now;
Without grudging you rake and bear it through the town;
Mary, your mother, I know, will make great mourning and moan,
But for your false deeds' sake shortly you shall be slain,
The people of Bedlem,
And gentles of Jerusalem,
All the commoners of this realm,
Shall wonder on you this day.