_Jhesu._ ffrendys, take hede ȝe don unryth, So unkendely with cordys to bynd me here; And thus to falle on me be nyth, As thow I were a thevys fere. Many tyme beforn ȝow I dede apere; Withinne the temple sen me ȝe have, The lawys of God to teche and lere, To hem that wele here sowlys sawe. Wy dede ȝe not me dysprave, And herd me preche, both lowd and lowe? But now as wood men ȝe gynne to rave, And do thyng that ȝe notwth knove. _Gamalyel._ Serys, I charge ȝow not o word more this nyth, But onto Cayphas in hast loke ȝe hym lede; Have hym forth with gret dyspyte, And to his wordys take ȝe non hede. _Here the Jewys lede Cryst oute of the place with gret cry and noyse, some drawyng Cryst forward and some bakward, and so ledyng forth with here weponys alofte, and lytys brennyng. And in the mene tyme Marye Magdalene xal rennyn to oure Lady, and telle here of oure Lordys takyng, thus seyng_, _Maria Magdelene._ O, inmaculate modyr, of alle women most meke! O devowtest, in holy medytacyon evyr abydyng! The cawse, Lady, that I to ȝour person seke, Is to wetyn yf ȝe heryn ony tydyng Of ȝour swete sone, and my reverent Lord Jhesu, That was ȝour dayly solas, — ȝour gostly consolacyon! _Mary._ I wold ȝe xuld telle me, Mawdelyn, and ȝe knew, ffor to here of hym it is alle myn affeccyon. _Maria Magdelene._ I wold fayn telle, Lady, and I myth for wepyng, For sothe, Lady, to the Jewys he is solde; With cordys thei have hym bownde and have hym in kepyng, The hym bety spetously, and have hym fast in holde. _Maria Virgo._ A! A! A! how myn hert is colde! A! hert hard as ston, how mayst thou lest? Whan these sorweful tydyngys are the told, So wold to God, hert, that thou mytyst brest. A! Jhesu! Jhesu! Jhesu! Jhesu! Why xuld ȝe sofere this trybulacyon and advercyté? How may thei fynd in here hertys ȝow to pursewe, That nevyr trespacyd in no maner degré? For nevyr thyng but that was good thowth ȝe, Wherfore than xuld ȝe sofer this gret peyn? I suppoce veryly it is for the tresspace of me, And I wyst that myn hert xuld cleve on tweyn. ffor these langowrys may I susteyn, The swerd of sorwe hath so thyrlyd my meende; Alas! what may I do? alas! what may I seyn? These prongys myn herte asondyr thei do rende. O ffadyr of hefne! wher ben al thi behestys That thou promysyst me, whan a modyr thou me made? Thi blyssyd sone I bare betwyx tweyn bestys, And now the bryth colour of his face doth fade. O good fadyr! why woldyst that thin owyn dere sone xal sofre al this? And dede he nevyr aȝens thi precept, but evyr was obedyent; And to every creature most petyful, most jentyl, and benygn i-wys, And now for alle these kendnessys is now most shameful schent.