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Abraham. Now Goddys comaundement must nedys be done,
  Alle his wyl is wourthy to be wrought;
But ȝitt the fadyr to scle the sone,
  Grett care it causyth in my thought.
In byttyr bale now am I brought
  My swete childe with knyf to kylle;
But ȝit my sorwe avaylith ryght nowth,
  For nedys I must werke Goddys wylle.

With evy hert I walke and wende,
  My childys deth now for to be,
Now must the fadyr his suete sone schende
  Alas! for ruthe it is peté!
My swete sone, come hedyr to me:
  How, Isaac, my sone dere,
Com to thi ffadyr, my childe so fre,
  ffor we must wende to-gedyr in fere.

Isaac. Alle redy fadyr, evyn at ȝour wylle,
  And at ȝour byddyng I am ȝow by,
With ȝow to walk ovyr dale and hille,
  At ȝoure callyng I am redy.
To the fadyr evyr most comly,
  It ovyth the childe evyr buxom to be;
I wyl obey, ful hertyly,
  To alle thyng that ȝe bydde me.

Abraham. Now, son, in thi necke this fagot thou take,
  And this fyre here in thinne honde,
ffor we must now sacrefyse go make,
  Evyn aftyr the wylle of Goddys sonde.
Take this brennyng bronde,
  My swete childe, and lete us go;
Ther may no man that levyth in londe,
  Have more sorwe than I have wo.