Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/71

Ysaac. ffayr fadyr, ȝe go ryght stylle,
  I pray ȝow, fadyr, speke onto me.

Abraham. Mi gode childe, what is thi wylle?
  Telle me thyn hert, I pray to the.

Ysaac. ffadyr, fyre and wood here is plenté,
  But I kan se no sacryfice;
What ȝe xulde offre fayn wold I se,
  That it were don at the best avyse.

Abraham. God xal that ordeyn that sytt in hevynne,
  My swete sone, ffor this offryng,
A derrere sacryfice may no man nempne,
  Than this xal be, my dere derlyng.

Ysaac. Lat be, good fadyr, ȝour sad wepynge!
  ȝour hevy cher agrevyth me sore:
Telle me, fadyr, ȝour grett mornyng,
  And I xal seke sum help therfore.

Abraham. Alas! dere sone, for nedys must me,
  Evyn here the kylle, as God hath sent;
Thyn owyn fadyr thi deth must be,—
  Alas! that evyr this bowe was bent.
With this fyre bryght thou must be brent,
  An aungelle seyd to me ryght so:
Alas! my chylde, thou xalt be shent!
  Thi careful fadyr must be thi ffo!

Ysaac. Almyghty God, of his grett mercye,
  fful hertyly I thanke the sertayne:
At Goddys byddyng here for to dye,
  I obeye me here for to be sclayne.
I pray ȝow, fadyr, be glad and fayne,
  Trewly to werke Goddys wylle:
Take good comforte to ȝow agayn,
  And have no dowte ȝour childe to kylle.