Everyman :
A. C. Cawley

Scene 8

Who calleth me? Eueryman? / What, hast thou haste?
I lye here in corners, trussed and pyled so hye,
And in chestes I am locked so fast,
Also sacked in bagges. Thou mayst se with thyn eye
I can not styre; in packes, lowe I lye.
What wolde ye haue? Lyghtly me saye.
Come hyder, Good, in al the hast thou may,
For of counseyll I must desyre the.
Syre, & ye in the worlde haue sorowe or aduersyte,
That can I helpe you to remedy shortly.
It is another dysease that greueth me;
In this worlde it is not, I tell the so.
I am sent for, an other way to go,
To gyue a strayte counte generall
Before the hyest Iupyter of all.
And all my lyfe I haue had ioye & pleasure in the,
Therfore, I pray the, go with me;
For parauenture, thou mayst before God Almyghty
My rekenynge helpe to clene and puryfye, [signature B.iiii]
For it is sayd euer amonge
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That 'money maketh all ryght that is wronge.'
Nay, Eueryman, I synge an other songe.
I folowe no man in suche vyages;
For, and I wente with the,
Thou sholdest fare moche the worse for me.
For bycause on me thou dyd set thy mynde,
Thy rekenynge I haue made blotted and blynde,
That thyne accounte thou can not make truly —
And that hast thou for the loue of me!
That wolde greue me full sore,
Whan I sholde come to that ferefull answere.
Vp, let vs go thyder to-gyder.
Nay, not so! I am to brytell, I may not endure.
I wyll folowe no man one fote, be ye sure.
Alas, I haue the loued, and had grete pleasure
All my lyfe-dayes on good and treasure.
That is to thy dampnacyon, without lesynge,
For my loue is contrary to the loue euerlastynge.
But yf thou had me loued moderately durynge,
As to the poore gyue parte of me,
Than sholdest thou not in this dolour be,
Nor in this grete sorowe and care.
Lo, now was I deceyued or I was ware;
And all I may wyte my spendynge of tyme.
What, wenest thou that I am thyne?
I had went so.
Naye, Eueryman, I saye no.
As for a whyle I was lente the;
A season thou hast had me in prosperyte.
My condycyon is mannes soule to kyll;
If I saue one, a thousande I do spyll.
Wenest thou that I wyll folowe the?
Nay, fro this worlde not, veryle.
I had wende otherwyse.
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Therfore to thy soule Good is a thefe;
For whan thou arte deed, this is my gyse —
Another to deceyue in this same wyse
As I haue done the, and all to his soules reprefe.
O false Good, cursed thou be,
Thou traytour to God, that hast deceyued me
And caught me in thy snare!
Mary, thou brought thy selfe in care,
Wherof I am gladde.
I must nedes laugh; I can not be sadde.
A, Good, thou hast had longe my hertely loue;
I gaue the that whiche sholde be the Lordes aboue.
But wylte thou not go with me in dede?
I praye the trouth to saye.
No, so God me spede!
Therfore fare well, and haue good daye.