Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/72

 ffbr Godys byddyng forsothe it is, That I of ȝow my deth schulde take: Aȝens God ȝe don amys, Hys byddyng yf ȝe xuld forsake. ȝowre owyn dampnacion xulde ȝe bake, If ȝe me kepe from this reed; With ȝour swerd my deth ȝe make, And werk evyrmore the wylle of God.

Abraham. The wylle of God must nedys be done! To werke his wylle I seyd nevyr nay; But ȝit the ffadyr to sle the sone, My hert doth clynge and cleve as clay.

Ysaac. ȝitt werke Goddys wylle, fadyr, I ȝow pray, And sle me here anoon forthe ryght, And turne fro me ȝour face away, Myne heed whan that ȝe xul of smyght.

Abraham. Alas! dere childe, I may not chese,— must nedys my swete sone kylle! My dere derlyng, now must me lese, Myn owyn sybb blood now xal I spylle! ȝitt this dede or I fulfylle, My swete sone, thi mouth I kys.

Ysaac. Al redy, fadyr, evyn at ȝour wylle I do ȝour byddyng, as reson is.

Abraham. Alas! dere sone, here is no grace, But nedis ded now must thou be! With this kerchere I kure thi face, In the tyme that I sle the. Thy lovely vesage wold I not se, Not for alle this werdlys good: With this swerd, that sore grevyht me, My childe I sle and spylle his blood!