_Abel._ Ryth sovereyn fadyr, semely sad and sure, Ever we thank ȝow in hert, body, and thowth, And alwey shulle whylle oure lyf may indure, As inwardly in hert it kan be sought, Bothe my brother and I. ffadyr, I ffalle onto ȝour kne, To knowe how we xul rewlyd be, ffor Godys that ffallyth bothe hym and me, I wolde ffayn wete trewly. _Adam._ Sonys, ȝe arn to spekyn naturaly, The ffyrst ffrute of kendely engendrure, Befforn whom, saff ȝour modyr and I, Were nevyr non of mannys nature. And ȝit were we al of another portature, As ȝe have me oftyn herd seyd sothly; Wherfore, sonys, yf ȝe wyl lyff sad and sure, ffyrst I ȝow counseylle most syngulerly, God ffor to love and drede. And suche good as God hath ȝow sent, The fyrst frute offyr to hym in sacryfice brent, Hym evyr besechyng with meke entent, In alle ȝour werkys to save and spede. _Abeelle._ Gramercy, ffadyr, ffor ȝour good doctrine, ffor as ȝe us techyn so xal we do, And as ffor me thoro Goddys grace dyvyne, I wyl fforthwith applye me therto. _Cayme._ And thow me be lothe I wyl now also Onto ȝour counselle, ffadyr, me inclyne; And ȝitt I say now to ȝow bothe too, I had levyr gon hom welle ffor to dyne. _Adam._ Now, God, graunt good sacryfice to ȝow bothe too, He vowchesaff to acceptyn ȝow and alle myne, And ȝeve ȝow now grace to plesyn hym soo, That ȝe may come to that blysse that hymself is inne, With gostly grace. That alle ȝour here levyng May be to his plesyng, And at ȝour hens partyng, To come to good place. _Abelle dicet._ Almyhtty God, and God ful of myth, Be whom alle thing is made of nowth, To the myn hert is redy dyht, For upon the is alle my thought. O sovereyn lord! reygnyng in eternyté, With alle the mekenesse that I kan or may, This lombe xal I offre it up to the,— Accept it, blyssyd Lord! I the pray. My ȝyft is but sympyl, this is no nay, But my wyl is good and evyr xal be, The to servyn and worchepyn bothe nyht and day, And therto thi grace, Lord, grawnt thou me, Throwhe thi gret mercy, Whiche in a lombys lyknes Thou xalt for mannys wyckydnes Onys ben offeryd in peynfulnes And deyn ful dolfoly. ffor trewly, Lord, thow art most worthy The best to have in eche degré, Bothe beste and werst ful certeynly, Alle is had thorowe grace of the. The best schep fulle hertyly, Amonges my flok that I kan se, I tythe it to God of gret mercy, And bettyr wolde, if bettyr myht be,— Evyn here is myn offryng. I tythe to the with ryht good wylle, Of the best thou sentyst me tylle. Now, gracyous God on hevyn hille, Accept now my tythyng.