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Centurio. In trewthe now I knowe with ful opyn syght, That Goddys dere sone is naylid on tre! These wundyrful tokenys aprevyn ful ryght Quod vere filius Dei erat iste!

Alius miles (2). The very child of God I suppose that he be, And so it semyth wele be his wundyrful werk! The erthe sore qwakyth, and that agresyth me, With myst and grett wedyr it is woundyr dyrk!

Alius Miles (3). Soche merveylis shewe may non erthely man, The eyr is ryght derke, that fyrst was ryght clere; The erthe-qwave is grett, the clowdys waxe whan, These tokenys preve hym a lord without any pere!

Centurio. His fadyr is pereles kyng of most empere, Bothe lorde of this world and kynge of hevyn hyȝe; ȝitt out of alle synne to brynge us owt of daungere, He soferyth his dere sone for us alle to dye.

Nichodemus. Alas! alas! what syght is this? To se the lorde and kynge of blys, That nevyr synnyd ne dede amys, Thus naylid upon a rode! Alas! ȝewys, what have ȝe wrought? A! ȝe wyckyd wytys, what was ȝour thought?