Dødedans i London

Dethe to the abbott

Come forthe Sire Abbot / with ȝowre brode hatte
[B]e[e]th not abasshed / though ȝe haue right
Grete is ȝowre hede / ȝowr beli large & fatte
ȝe mote come daunce / thowȝ ȝe be nothing light
Leve[th] ȝowre abbei / to somme other wight
ȝowre eire [is] of age / ȝowre state to occupie
Who that is fattest / I haue hym be-hight
In his graue / shal sonnest putrefie.

The abbot answereth

Of thi [th]retis / haue I noon envie
That I shal now leue al gouernaunce
But that I shal / as a cloistre[r] deie
This dothe to me / passynge grete greuaunce
Mi liberte nor my grete habundaunce
What mai a-vaile / in eny maner wyse
ȝitte axe I merci / with hertli repentaunce
Though yn diynge / to late men hem a-vise.

Dethe to the Abbesse

And ȝe my ladi / Jentel dame abbesse
With ȝowre mantels furred large & wide
ȝowre veile ȝowre wimple / passyng of grete richesse
And beddes softe / ȝe mote now leyne a-side
For to this daunce / I shal be ȝowre gide
Thowgh ȝe be tender / & borne of Jentille blode
While that ȝe lyve / for ȝowre selfe prouyde
For after deth / no man hathe no gode.

The Abbesse answereth

Allas that dethe / hathe thus for me ordeyned
That yn no wise / I mai hit not declyne
Thowgh hit so be / ful ofte I haue constreyned
Breste & throte / my notes owte to twyne
Mi chekes rounde / vernysshed for to shyne
Ungirte ful ofte / to walke atte large
Thus cruel dethe / dothe al estates fyne
Who hath no Ship / mote rowe yn bote or barge.

Dethe to the Baylly

Come forthe Sire Bailli / that knewe al the gise
Bi ȝowre office of trewthe / & rightwisnesse
ȝe moste come / to a newe assise
Extorcions & wronges / to redresse
ȝe ben sommened / as lawe bitte expresse
To ȝefe a-comptes / the Juge wille ȝow charge
Whiche hathe ordeyned / to exclude al falsnesse
That eueri man / schal bere his owne charge.

The Baylly answereth

0 thou lorde god / this is an harde Journe
To whiche a-forne / I toke but litel hede
Mi chaun[c]e is turned / & that forthynketh me
Some-tyme with Juges / what me liste to spede
Lai yn my myȝte / be favoure or for mede
But sitthen ther is / no rescuse be bataile
I holde hym wise / that coude see yn dede
Aȝen dethe / that noon appele mai vaile.