Here the knytes gon out of the place.
Lo! Ser Cayphas, how thynkyth ȝow?
Is not this wel browth abowth?
Cayphas. In feyth, ser, it is sure anow, Hardely have ȝe no dowth. Arfaxat. Let se, ser Amaraunt, where wele ȝe be? Wole ȝe kepe the feet or the hed? Ameraunt. At the hed, so mote I the, And ho so come here he is but dead. Arfaxat. And I wole kepe the feet this tyde, Thow ther come both Jakke and Gylle. Cosdram. And I xal kepe the ryth syde, And ho so come I xal hym kylle. Affraunt. And I wole on the lefte hand ben, And ho so come here, he xal nevyr then; fful sekyrly his bane xal I ben, With dyntys of dowte. Syr Pylat, have good day! We xul kepyn the body in clay, And we xul wakyn wele the way, And wayten alle abowte. Pylatus. Now, jentyl seres, wole ȝe vowchesaffe To go with me and sele the graffe, That he ne ryse out of the grave, That is now ded? Cayphas. We graunte, wel lete us now go: Whan it is selyd and kepte also, Than be we sekyr withowtyn wo, And have of hym no dred.
Tunc ibunt ad sepulcrum Pilatus, Cayphas, Annas, et omnes milites, et dicunt.
