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Christus. Beholde wele, Thomas, my woundys so wyde
  Whiche I have sufferyd ffor alle mankynde;
Put thin hool hand into my ryght syde,
  And in myn hert blood thin hand that thou wynde.
So ffeythffulle a ffrend were mayst thou fynde?
  Be stedfast in feythe, beleve wel in me;
Be thou not dowtefful of me in thi mynde,
  But trust that I leve that deed was on a tre.

Thomas. My Lord and my God, with syght do I se
  That thou art now qwyk, whiche henge deed on rode;
More feythful than I ther may no man be,
  ffor myn hand have I wasche in thi precyous blode.
Christus. ffor thou hast me seyn, therfore thi ffeyth is good,
  But blyssyd be tho of this that have no syght,
And beleve in me, they ffor here meke mood
  Shalle come into hefne, my blysse that is so bryght!

Thomas. As a ravaschyd man whos witt is alle gon,
  Grett mornynge I make ffor my dredfful dowte;
Alas! I was dowteful that Crysst from undyr ston
  Be his owyn grett myght no wyse myght gone owte.
Alas! what mevyd me thus in my thought?
  My dowtefful beleve ryght sore me avexit,
The trewthe do I knowe that God so hath wrought,
  Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!

He that was bothe deed and colde put in grave,
  To lyve is arysen by his owyn myght;
In his dere herte blood myn hand wasche I have,
  Where that the spere poynt was peynfully pyght.
I take me to feyth, fforsakynge alle unryght,
  The dowte that I had fful sore me avexit,
ffor now have I seyn with ful opyn syght,
  Quod mortuus et sepultus nunc resurrexit!