Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/69

Ther may no man love bettyr his childe,
  Than Isaac is lovyd of me;
Almyghty God, mercyful and mylde,
  ffor my swete son I wurchyp the!
I thank the, Lord, with hert ful fre,
  ffor this fayr frute thou hast me sent.
Now, gracyous God, wher so he be,
  To save my sone evyr more be bent.

Dere Lord, I pray to the also,
  Me to save for thi servvaunte;
And sende me grace nevyr for to do
  Thyng that xulde be to thi displesaunte.
Bothe ffor me and for myn infaunte,
  I pray the, Lord God, us to help,—
Thy gracyous goodnes thou us grawnt,
  And save thi servaunt from helle qwelp.

Angelus. Abraham, how! Abraham,
  Lyst and herke weylle onto me.

Abraham. Al redy, sere, here I am;
  Telle me ȝour wylle what that it be.

Angelus. Almyghty God thus doth bydde the,—
  Ysaac thi sone anon thou take,
And loke hym thou slee anoon, lete se,
  And sacrafice to God hym make.

Thy welbelovyd childe thou must now kylle,
  To God thou offyr hym, as I say,
Evyn upon ȝon hey hylle,
  That I the shewe here in the way.
Tarye not be nyght nor day,
  But smertly thi gate thou goo;
Upon ȝon hille thou knele and pray
  To God, and kylle the childe ther and scloo!