And occasionally we find verses of true poetic feeling, such as
the following, in "The Fall of Man:"--
_Deus._ Adam, that with myn handys I made,
Where art thou now? What hast thou wrought?
_Adam._ A! lord, for synne oure floures do ffade,
I here thi voys, but I se the nought;
implying that the separation between God and man, although it had
destroyed the beatific vision, was not yet so complete as to make the
creature deaf to the voice of his Maker. Nor are the words of Eve, with
which she begs her husband, in her shame and remorse, to strangle her,
odd and quaint as they are, without an almost overpowering pathos:--
"Now stomble we on stalk and ston;
My wyt awey is fro me gon:
Wrythe on to my necke bon
With, hardnesse of thin honde."
To this Adam commences his reply with the verses,--
"Wyff, thi wytt is not wurthe a rosche.
Leve woman, turn thi thought."
And this portion of the general representation ends with these verses,
spoken by Eve:--
"Alas! that ever we wrought this synne.
Oure bodely sustenauns for to wynne,
Ye must delve and I xal spynne,
In care to ledyn oure lyff.
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