Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/68

Ysaac. At ȝoure byddynge ȝour mouthe I kys,
  With lowly hert I ȝow pray,
ȝoure fadyrly love lete me nevyr mysse,
  But blysse me, ȝour chylde, bothe nyght and day.

Abraham. Almyghty God, that best may,
  His dere blyssyng he graunt the,
And my blyssyng thou have alle way,
  In what place that evyr thou be.

Now, Ysaac, my sone so suete,
  Almyghty God loke thou honoure,
Wiche that made bothe drye and wete,
  Shynyng sunne and scharpe schoure.
Thu art my suete childe, and par amoure
  fful wele in herte do I the love,
Loke that thin herte, in hevyn toure
  Be sett to serve oure Lord God above.

In thi ȝonge lerne God to plese,
  And God xal quyte the weyl thi mede:
Now, suete sone, of wordys these
  With alle thin hert thou take good hede.
Now fare weyl, sone, God be thin spede!
  Evyn here at hom thou me abyde,
I must go walkyn, ffor I have nede,
  I come aȝen withinne a tyde.

Ysaac. I pray to God, ffadyr of myght,
  That he ȝow spede in alle ȝour waye,
From shame and shenshipp, day and nyht,
  God mote ȝow kepe in ȝour jornay.

Abraham. Now fare weylle, sone! I the pray
  Evyr in thin hert loke God thou wynde,
Hym to serve, bothe nyght and day,—
  I pray to God sende the good mynde.