Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/71

 Ysaac. ffayr fadyr, ȝe go ryght stylle, I pray ȝow, fadyr, speke onto me.

Abraham. Mi gode childe, what is thi wylle? Telle me thyn hert, I pray to the.

Ysaac. ffadyr, fyre and wood here is plenté, But I kan se no sacryfice; What ȝe xulde offre fayn wold I se, That it were don at the best avyse.

Abraham. God xal that ordeyn that sytt in hevynne, My swete sone, ffor this offryng, A derrere sacryfice may no man nempne, Than this xal be, my dere derlyng.

Ysaac. Lat be, good fadyr, ȝour sad wepynge! ȝour hevy cher agrevyth me sore: Telle me, fadyr, ȝour grett mornyng, And I xal seke sum help therfore.

Abraham. Alas! dere sone, for nedys must me, Evyn here the kylle, as God hath sent; Thyn owyn fadyr thi deth must be,— Alas! that evyr this bowe was bent. With this fyre bryght thou must be brent, An aungelle seyd to me ryght so: Alas! my chylde, thou xalt be shent! Thi careful fadyr must be thi ffo!

Ysaac. Almyghty God, of his grett mercye, fful hertyly I thanke the sertayne: At Goddys byddyng here for to dye, I obeye me here for to be sclayne. I pray ȝow, fadyr, be glad and fayne, Trewly to werke Goddys wylle: Take good comforte to ȝow agayn, And have no dowte ȝour childe to kylle.