This thretty wyntyr I myth not se,
And now I may se I wote nevyr how!
But ho is this that hangyth here now?
I trowe it be the mayndonys sone;
And that he is now I knowe wel how,
The Jewys to hym this velany han don!
Here he ffallyth downe on his knes.
Now, good Lord, fforgyf me that,
That I to the now don have;
For I dede I wyst not what,—
The Jewys of myn ignorans dede me rave.
Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! I crye.
Than Joseph doth set up the lederes and Nychodemus comyth to help hym.
Nicodemus. Joseph ab Aramathy, blyssyd thou be! ffor thou dost a fol good dede; I prey the lete me help the, That I may be partenere of thi mede. Joseph. Nychodemus, welcome indede! I pray ȝow ȝe wole help therto; He wole aqwyte us ryth wele oure mede, And I have lysens for to do.
Here Joseph and Nychodemus takyn Cryst of the cros, on on o ledyr and the tother on another leddyr; and qwhan is had down, Joseph leyth hym in our Ladys lappe, seyng the knytes turnyng hem, and Joseph seyth,
Joseph. Lo! Mary modyr, good and trewe,
Here is thi son, blody and bloo!
ffor hym myn hert ful sore doth rewe,
Kysse hym now onys eer he go!
