Page:The Cambridge Carol Book.djvu/44

 His drink of gall and vinegar, Hilariter, hilariter, Than honey-comb is sweeter far. Hilariter, hilariter.

The scornful Reed, the Lance, the Tree, Hilariter, hilariter, The Victor's Palm and Sceptre be. Hilariter, hilariter.

His death, in time replete with woe, Hilariter, hilariter, Is glory now for evermo, Hilariter, hilariter.

on Easter-morrow Spake an Angel bright and clear; 'Tis no time for sorrow; Maries, be you of good cheer. Christ, arisen from His prison, Is not here.

'Why, as He were mortal, Lifeless in the sepulchre, Bring ye to the portal Of the empty chamber myrrh? What befel ye here, go tell ye, Nor defer.'