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 A! quod Jeremye, who xal gyff wellys to myn eynes, That I may wepe bothe day and nyght? To se oure bretheryn in so longe peynes, Here myschevys amende may thi meche myght. As grett as the se, Lord, was Adamys contryssyon ryght, ffrom oure hed is ffalle the crowne, Man is comeryd in synne, I crye to thi syght, Gracyous Lord! Gracyous Lord! Gracyous Lord, come downe!

Virtutes. Lord! plesyth it thin hiȝ domynacion, On man that thou made to have pyté, Patryarchys and prophetys han mad supplycacion, Oure offyse is to presente here prayeres to the. Aungelys, archaungelys, we thre That ben in the fyrst ierarchie, ffor man to thin hy magesté, Mercy! mercy! mercy! we crye.

The aungel, Lord, thou made so gloryous, Whos synne hath mad hym a devyl in helle, He mevyd man to be so contraryous, Man repentyd, and he in his obstynacye doth dwelle. Hese grete males, good Lord, repelle, And take man onto thi grace, Lete thi mercy, make hym with aungelys dwelle, Of Locyfere to restore the place.

Pater. Propter miseriam inopum, et gemitum pauperum nunc exurgam. ffor the wretchydnes of the nedy, And the porys lamentacion, Now xal I ryse that am Almyghty, Tyme is come of reconsyliacion, My prophetys with prayers have made supplicacion, My contryte creaturys crye alle for comforte,