Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/72

ffbr Godys byddyng forsothe it is,
  That I of ȝow my deth schulde take:
Aȝens God ȝe don amys,
  Hys byddyng yf ȝe xuld forsake.
ȝowre owyn dampnacion xulde ȝe bake,
  If ȝe me kepe from this reed;
With ȝour swerd my deth ȝe make,
  And werk evyrmore the wylle of God.

Abraham. The wylle of God must nedys be done!
 To werke his wylle I seyd nevyr nay;
But ȝit the ffadyr to sle the sone,
  My hert doth clynge and cleve as clay.

Ysaac. ȝitt werke Goddys wylle, fadyr, I ȝow pray,
  And sle me here anoon forthe ryght,
And turne fro me ȝour face away,
  Myne heed whan that ȝe xul of smyght.

Abraham. Alas! dere childe, I may not chese,—
  must nedys my swete sone kylle!
My dere derlyng, now must me lese,
  Myn owyn sybb blood now xal I spylle!
ȝitt this dede or I fulfylle,
  My swete sone, thi mouth I kys.

Ysaac. Al redy, fadyr, evyn at ȝour wylle
  I do ȝour byddyng, as reson is.

Abraham. Alas! dere sone, here is no grace,
  But nedis ded now must thou be!
With this kerchere I kure thi face,
  In the tyme that I sle the.
Thy lovely vesage wold I not se,
  Not for alle this werdlys good:
With this swerd, that sore grevyht me,
  My childe I sle and spylle his blood!