Thou art the why I scle hym so sone,
Therfore xal I kylle the here, thou skapyst nowght.
Hic Lameth cum arcu sua verberat adolescentem ad mortem, dicente adolescente,
Adolescens. Out, out, I deye here! my deth is now sought! This theffe with his bowe hath broke my brayn! Ther may non helpe be, my dethe is me brought, Ded here I synke down as man that is sclayn! Lameth. Alas! what xal I do? wrecche, wykkyd on woolde, God wyl be vengyd ful sadly on me; ffor deth of Caym I xal have vij. folde More peyn than he had that Abelle dede sle. These to mennys deth fulle sore bought xal be, Upon alle my blood God wylle venge this dede, Wherefore sore wepyng hens wyl I fle, And loke where I may best my hede sone heyde.
Hic recedat Lameth et statim intrat Noe cum navi cantantes,
Noe. With doolful hert syenge sad and sore,
Grett mornyng I make ffor this dredful flood!
Of man and of best is dreynte many a skore,
Alle this werd to spylle these flodys be ful wood.
And alle is for synne of mannys wylde mood,
That God hath ordeyned this dredfulle vengeaunce;
In this flood spylt is many a mannys blood,
ffor synfulle levynge of man we have gret grevauns.
Alle this hundryd ȝere ryght here have I wrought,
This schypp for to make, as God dede byd me;
Of alle maner bestes a copylle is in brought,
Within my shypp borde on lyve for to be.
Ryght longe God hath soferyd amendyng to se;
Alle this hundryd ȝere God hath shewyd grace.
