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 Maria Salome. To myghtfful God omnypotent, I bere a boyst of oynement; I wold han softyd his sore dent, His sydys al abowte. Lombe of Love withowt lothe, I ffynde the not, myn hert is wroth, In the sepulcre ther lyth a cloth, And jentyl Jhesu is owte.

Angelus. Wendyth fforthe, ȝe women thre, Into the strete of Galylé; ȝour Savyour ther xul ȝe se           Walkynge in the waye. ȝour ffleschely lorde now hath lyff, That deyd on tre with strook and stryff; Wende fforthe, thou wepynge wyff, And seke hym, I the saye.

Now, gothe fforthe ffast alle thre To his dyscyplys ffayr and fre, And to Petyr the trewthe telle ȝe,— Therof have ȝe no dreed. Spare ȝe not the soth to say, He that was deed and closyd in clay, He is resyn this same day, And levyth with woundys reed.

Maria Magdalen. A, myrthe and joye in herte we have! ffor now is resyn out of his grave, He levyth now oure lyf to save, That dede lay in the clay. Maria Jacoby. In hert I was ryght sore dysmayd, The aungel to us whan that he sayd That Cryst is resyn; I was affrayd The aungel whan I say.