Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/342

 Than of mercy we xal the beseche, And seyn thou art a Lord of gret renown! Jestes. Yf thou be Goddys sone, as thou dedyst seye, Helpe here now both the and us! But I fynde it not al in my feye, That thou xuldyst be Cryst, Goddys sone Jhesus.

Dysmas. Go wey, fool! why seyst thou so? He is the sone of God, I beleve it wel! And synne dede he nevyr, lo! That he xuld be put this deth tyl. Be we ful meche wrong han wrowth, — He dede nevyr thing amys! Now mercy, good Lord! mercy! and forgete me nowth Whan thou comyst to thi kyngham and to thi blysse!

Jhesus. Amen! amen! thou art ful wyse! That thou hast askyd I grawnt the! This same day in paradyse With me thi God thou xalt ther be!

Maria. O my sone! my sone! my derlyng dere! What have I defendyd the? Thou hast spoke to alle tho that ben here, And not o word thou spekyst to me!

To the Jewys thou art ful kende, Thou hast forgeve al here mysdede; And the thef thou hast in mende, For onys haskyng mercy hefne is his mede.

A! my sovereyn Lord, why whylt thou not speke To me that am thi modyr in peyn for thi wrong? A! hert! hert! why whylt thou not breke? That I were out of this sorwe so stronge!