Now alle mankynde bethe glad with gle,
ffor deth is deed, as ȝe may se,
And lyff is reysed endles to be
In hevyn dwellynge above!
Whan my sone was nayled on tre,
Alle women myght rewe with me,
ffor grettere sorwe myght nevyr non be,
Than I dede suffyr i-wys.
But this joy now passyth alle sorwe,
That my childe suffryd in that hard morwe,
ffor now he is oure alderers borwe,
To brynge us alle to blys.
Tunc evigilabunt milites sepulcri, et dicet primus miles,
Awake! awake!
Hillis gyn quake,
And tres ben shake
Ful nere a too.
Stonys clevyd,
Wyttys ben revid,
Erys ben devid,
I am servid soo.
Secundus miles. He is aresyn, this is no nay,
That was deed and colde in clay, —
Now is he resyn belyve this day,
Grett woundyr it is to me.
He is resyn by his owyn myght,
And fforthe he gothe his wey ful ryght;
How xul we now us qwytte,
Whan Pylat doth us se?
Tertius miles. Lete us now go
Pilat ontoo,
