Now, good Lord, fforgyf me that, That I to the now don have; For I dede I wyst not what,— The Jewys of myn ignorans dede me rave. Mercy! Mercy! Mercy! I crye. _Than Joseph doth set up the lederes and Nychodemus comyth to help hym._ _Nicodemus._ Joseph ab Aramathy, blyssyd thou be! ffor thou dost a fol good dede; I prey the lete me help the, That I may be partenere of thi mede. _Joseph._ Nychodemus, welcome indede! I pray ȝow ȝe wole help therto; He wole aqwyte us ryth wele oure mede, And I have lysens for to do. _Here Joseph and Nychodemus takyn Cryst of the cros, on on o ledyr and the tother on another leddyr; and qwhan is had down, Joseph leyth hym in our Ladys lappe, seyng the knytes turnyng hem, and Joseph seyth_, _Joseph._ Lo! Mary modyr, good and trewe, Here is thi son, blody and bloo! ffor hym myn hert ful sore doth rewe, Kysse hym now onys eer he go! _Maria Virgo._ A, mercy! mercy! myn owyn sone so dere, Thi blody face now I must kysse! Thi face is pale, withowtyn chere! Of meche joy now xal I mysse! Ther was nevyr modyr that sey this, So her sone dyspoyled with so gret wo; And my dere chylde nevyr dede amys,— A, mercy! fadyr of hefne, it xulde be so! _Joseph._ Mary, ȝour sone ȝe take to me; Into his grave it xal be browth. _Maria._ Joseph, blyssyd ever mot thou be, For the good ded that ȝe han wrowth! _Here thei xal leyn Cryst in his grave._ _Joseph._ I gyf the this syndony that I have bowth, To wynde the in whyl it is new. _Nichodemus._ Here is an onyment that I have browth, To anoynt withalle myn lord Jhesu. _Joseph._ Now Jhesu is withinne his grave, Wheche I ordeyn somtyme for me; On the, Lord, I vowche it save, I knowe my mede ful gret xal be. _Nichodemus._ Now lete us leyn on this ston ageyn, And Jhesu in this tombe stylle xal be; And we wyl walke hom ful pleyn,— The day passyth fast I se. Farewel, Joseph, and wel ȝe be; No lengere teryeng here we make. _Joseph._ Sere, almythy God be with the, Into his blysse he mote ȝou take! _Maria._ ffarewel, ȝe jentyl princes kende, In joye evyr mote ȝe be! The blisse of hefne withowtyn ende I knowe veryly that ȝe xal se. _Here the princes xal do reverens to oure Lady, and gon here way, and leve the Maryes at the sepulchre._ XXXV. THE RESURRECTION. _Cayphas goth to Pylat, seyng thus_, _Cayphas._ Herk, sere Pylat, lyst to me! I xal the telle tydynges new; Of o thyng we must ware be, Or ellys hereafter we myth it rewe. Thou wotyst weyl that Jhesu, He seyd to us with wordys pleyn, He seyd we xuld fynd it trew,— The thryd day he wold ryse ageyn. Yf that hese dyscyplys come serteyn, And out of his grave stele hym away, Thei wyl go preche and pleyn seyn That he is reson the thryd day.