Jhesus, thou art welcome to me;
I kan Pylat gret thank for his sendyng;
I have desyryd ful longe the to se,
And of thi meracles to have knowyng.
It is told me thou dost many a wondyr thyng,
Crokyd to gon and blynd men to sen,
And thei that ben dede gevyst hem levyng,
And makyst lepers fayre and hool to ben.
These arn wondyr werkys wrougth of the,
Be what wey I wolde knowe the trew sentens.
Now Jhesu, I pray the, lete me se
O meracle wrougth in my presens.
In hast now do thi dylygens,
And peraventure I wyl shew favour to the;
ffor now thou art in my presens,
Thyn lyf and deth here lyth in me.
And here Jhesus xal not speke no word to the Herowde.
Jhesus, why spekyst not to thi kyng?
What is the cawse thou standyst so stylle?
Thou nowyst I may deme alle thyng, —
Thyn lyf and deth lyth at my wylle!
What? spek Jhesus, and telle me why
This pepyl do the so here acuse?
Spare not, but telle me now on he,
How thou canst thiself excuse.
Cayphas. Loo! serys, this is of hym a false sotylté,
He wyl not speke but whan he lyst;
Thus he dysceyvyth the pepyl in eche degré;
He is ful fals, ȝe veryly tryst.
Rex Herowde. What, thou onhangyd harlot, why wylt thou not speke?
Hast thou skorne to speke onto thi kyng?
