_Maria Jacobi._ My systeres sone I woot he was, He lyth in here as sunne in glas, The chylde was born by oxe and asse Up in a bestys stalle. Thow his body be gravyd undyr gras, The grete godhede is nevyr the lasse, The Lord xal rysyn and gon his pas, And comfortyn his ffrendys alle. _Maria Salomæ._ My name is Mary Salome, His modyr and I systeres we be, Annys dowteres we be alle thre,— Jhesu, we be thin awntys. The naylis gun his lemys feyn, And the spere gan punche and peyn, Ontho woundys we wold have eyn, That grace now God graunt us. _Maria Magdalene._ Now go we stylle, With good wylle, Ther he is leyd. He deyd on crowche, We wolde hym towche, As we han seyd. _Tunc respicit Maria Magdalene in sepulcro, dicens_, Where is my Lord that was here, That for me bledde bowndyn in brere? His body was beryed rygh by this mere, That ffor me gan deye. The Jewys, ffekylle and ffals ffownde, Where have thei do the body with wounde? He lythe not upon this grownde, The body is don aweye. _Maria Jacobi._ To my Lorde, my love, my ffrende, ffayn wolde I salve a spende, And I myght aught amende His woundys depe and wyde. To my lorde I owe lowlyté, Bothe homage and fewté I wolde with my dewté A softyd hand and syde. _Maria Salome._ To myghtfful God omnypotent, I bere a boyst of oynement; I wold han softyd his sore dent, His sydys al abowte. Lombe of Love withowt lothe, I ffynde the not, myn hert is wroth, In the sepulcre ther lyth a cloth, And jentyl Jhesu is owte. _Angelus._ Wendyth fforthe, ȝe women thre, Into the strete of Galylé; ȝour Savyour ther xul ȝe se Walkynge in the waye. ȝour ffleschely lorde now hath lyff, That deyd on tre with strook and stryff; Wende fforthe, thou wepynge wyff, And seke hym, I the saye. Now, gothe fforthe ffast alle thre To his dyscyplys ffayr and fre, And to Petyr the trewthe telle ȝe,— Therof have ȝe no dreed. Spare ȝe not the soth to say, He that was deed and closyd in clay, He is resyn this same day, And levyth with woundys reed. _Maria Magdalen._ A, myrthe and joye in herte we have! ffor now is resyn out of his grave, He levyth now oure lyf to save, That dede lay in the clay. _Maria Jacoby._ In hert I was ryght sore dysmayd, The aungel to us whan that he sayd That Cryst is resyn; I was affrayd The aungel whan I say. _Maria Salome._ Now lete us alle thre fulfylle The angelys wurde and Goddys wylle, Lett us sey, with voys wul shrylle, Cryst that Jewys dede sle, Oure Lord that naylyd was on the rode, And betyn out was his bodyes blode, He is aresyn, thoughe they ben wode; A, Lorde! ȝitt wele thou be! _Maria Magdalene dicit Petro et cæteris apostolis_,