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 I xal nevyr returne to synful trace, That xulde me dampne to helle pytt. I wurchep the on knes bare, Blyssyd be the tyme that I hedyr sowth, And this oynement that I hedyr brought, ffor now myn hert is clensyd from thought, That ffyrst was combryd with care.

Judas. Lord! me thynkyth thou dost ryght ille, To lete this oynement so spylle, To selle it yt were more skylle,            And bye mete to poer men. The box was worthe of good moné, iij.c. pens, fayr and fre, This myght a bowht mete plenté. To ffede oure power kene. Jhesus. Pore men xul abyde;  Ageyn the woman thou spekyst wronge. And I passe forthe in a tyde,  Off mercy is here mornyng songe. Here Cryst restyth and etyth a lytyl, and seyth, syttyng to his disciplis, and Mary Mawdelyn,

Jhesus. Myn herte is ryght sory and no wondyr is, Thoo dethe I xal go and nevyr dyd trespas; But ȝitt most grevyth myn hert evyr of this, On of my bretheryn xal werke this manas. On of ȝow here syttynge my treson xal tras, On of ȝow is besy my dethe here to dyth, And ȝitt was I nevyr in no synful plas, Wherefore my dethe xuld so shamfully be pyght.

Petrus. My dere Lord, I pray the the trewthe for to telle, Whiche of us ys he that treson xal do?