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 Maria. Alas! alas! I leve to longe, To se my swete sone with peynes stronge, As a theff on cros doth honge, And nevyr ȝet dede he synne! Alas! my dere chyld to deth is dressyd! Now is my care wel more incressyd! A! myn herte with peyn is pressyd! ffor sorwe myn hert doth twynne.

Johannes. A! blyssyd mayde, chaunge ȝour thought; ffor thow ȝour sone with sorwe be sought, ȝitt by his owyn wyl this werk is wrought, And wylfully his deth to take! ȝow to kepe he chargyd me here; I am ȝour servaunt, my lady dere, Wherfore I pray ȝow, be of good chere, And merthis that ȝe make!

Maria. Thow he had nevyr of me be born, And I sey his flesche thus al to-torn, On bak behyndyn, on brest beforn, Rent with woundys wyde! Nedys I must wonyn in woo, To se my ffrende with many a fo Alle to-rent from top to too, His flesche withowtyn hyde!

Johannes. A! blyssyd lady, as I ȝow telle, Had he not deyd, we xuld to helle, Amonges ffendys ther evyr to dwelle, In peynes that ben smert! He sufferyth deth for oure trespace, And thorwe his deth we xal have grace, To dwelle with hym in hevyn place; Therfore beth mery in hert!