_Mary._ My sorrow it is so sad, No solace may me save: Mourning makes me mad, No hope of help I have. I am redeless[349] and afraid For fear that I should rave, Nought may make me glad, Till I be in my grave. To death my dear is driven, His robe is all to-riven,[350] That by me was him given And shapen with my sides. These Jews and he have striven That all the bale he bides. Alas! my lamb so mild, Why wilt thou from me go Among these wolvés wild, That work on thee this woe? For shame, who may thee shield, For friends now hast thou foe. Alas, my comely child, Why will thou from me go? Maidens, make your moan, And weep, ye wives, every one With me, most sad, in wone[351] The child that born was best: My heart is stiff as stone That for no bale will brest.[352] _John._ Ah, lady, well wot I, Thy heart is full of care, When thou thus openly Seest thy child thus fare; Love drives him rathly. Himself he will not spare, Us all from bale to buy, Of bliss that are full bare For sin; My dear lady, therefore of mourning look thou blyn.[353] _Mary._ "Alas!" may ever be my song, While I may live in leyd,[354] Methinks now that I live too long, To see my bairn thus bleed. Jews work with him all wrong, Wherefore do they this deed? Lo, so high have they him hung, They let[355] for no dread; Why so? His foeman he is among. No friend he has, but foe, My frely food[356] from me must go What shall become of me? Thou art warpyd[357] all in woe, And spread here on a tree Full hie;[358] I mourn, and so may mo[359] That see this pain on thee. _John._ Dear lady, well for me If that I might comfort thee, For the sorrow that I see Shears my heart in sunder; When that I see my master hang With bitter pains and strong; Was never wight with[360] wrong Wrought so mickle wonder. _Mary._ Alas, death, thou dwellest too long, Why art thou hid from me? Who bid thee to my child to gang?[361] All black thou mak'st his ble;[362] Now witterly,[363] thou workest wrong The more I will wyte[364] thee. But if thou wilt my heart now sting That I may with him dee,[365] And bide. Sore sighing is my song. For pierced is his side! Ah, death, what hast thou done? With thee will I fare soon, Since I had children none but one, Best under sun or moon. Friends I had full foyn[366] That gars me greet[367] and groan Full sore. Good Lord, grant me my boon, And let me live no more! Gabriel! that art so good Sometime thou did me greet, And then I understood Thy words that were so sweet. But now they vex my mood, For grace thou canst me hete,[368] To bear all of my blood A child our bale should beat[369] With right. Now hangs he here on rood, Where is that thou me hight.[370] All that thou of bliss Hight me in that stede[371] From mirth is far amiss. And yet I trow thy rede[372] Counsel me now of this, My life how shall I lead When from me gone is He that was my head On high? My death, now, come it is: My dear son, have mercy!