Hic subito discedat Christus ab oculis eorum.
A, mercy, God! what was oure happe?
Was not oure hert with love brennynge,
Whan Cryst oure mayster so nere oure lappe
Dede sitt and speke suche suete talkynge?
He is now quyk and man lyvenge,
That fyrst was slayn and put in grave;
Now may we chaunge alle oure mornynge,
ffor oure Lord is resyn his servauntes to save!
Lucas. Alas! for sorwe, what hap was this?
Whan he dyd walke with us in way,
He prevyd by Scripture, ryght wel i-wys,
That he was resyn from undyr clay.
We trustyd hym not, but evyr seyd nay;
Alas, for shame! why seyd we so?
He is resyn to lyve this day,
Out of his grave oure Lord is go!
Cleophas. Latt us here no lengere dwelle,
But to oure bretheryn the wey we wende;
With talys trewe to them we telle
That Cryst dothe leve, oure mayster and frende.
Lucas. I graunt therto with hert ful hende,
Lete us go walke forthe in owre way;
I am ful joyfulle in hert and mende,
That owre Lord levyth, that fyrst ded lay.
Cleophas. Now was it not goodly don
Of Cryst Jhesu, oure mayster dere;
He hath with us a large wey gon,
And of his uprysyng he dede us lere.
Whan he walkyd with us in fere,
And we supposyd hym bothe deed and colde,
