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 And ryght evyn so, As we have sayn, The trewthe we say, That out of clay, He is resyn this day That Jewys han slayn.

Quartus miles. I holde it best, Lete us nevyr rest, But go we prest That it were done. Alle heyl, Pilatt In thin astat! He is resyn up latt, That thou gast dome.

Pilat. What! what! what! what! Out upon the, why seyst thou that? ffy upon the, harlat, How darst thou so say? Thou dost myn herte ryght grett greff! Thou lyest upon hym, fals theff; How xulde he rysyn ageyn to lyff, That lay deed in clay?

Primus miles. ȝa, thow thou be nevyr so wrothe, And of these tydandys nevyr so lothe, ȝitt goodly on ground on lyve he gothe, Qwycke and levynge man. Yff thou haddyst a ben ther we ware, In hert thou xuldyst han had gret care, And of blysse a ben ryght bare, Of colore bothe pale and whan.

Pilatus. Or ȝe come there, ȝe dede alle swere,