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Joseph. How, dame, how! undo ȝoure dore, undo! Are ȝe at hom? why speke ȝe notht?

Susanna. Who is ther? why cry ȝe so? Telle us ȝour herand. Wyl ȝe ought?

Joseph. Undo ȝour dore, I sey ȝow to, ffor to com in is alle my thought.

Maria. It is my spowse that spekyth us to; Ondo the dore, his wyl were wrought. Wellecome hom, myn husbond dere, How have ȝe ferd in fer countré?

Joseph. To gete oure levynge withowtyn dwere, I have sore laboryd ffor the and me.

Maria. Husbond, ryght gracyously now come be ȝe, It solacyth me sore sothly to se ȝow in syth.

Joseph. Me merveylyth, wyff, surely ȝour face I cannot se, But as the sonne with his bemys qwhan he is most bryth.

Maria. Husbond, it is as it plesyth oure Lord, that grace of hym grew, Who that evyr beholdyth me veryly, They xall be grettly steryd to vertu, ffor this ȝyfte and many moo, good Lord, gramercy.

Joseph. How hast thou ferde, jentyl mayde, Whyl I have be out of londe?

Maria. Sekyr, sere, beth nowth dysmayde, Ryth aftyr the wyl of Goddys sonde.

Joseph. That semyth evyl, I am afrayd, Thi wombe to hyȝe doth stonde.