Abraham my name is kydde, And patryarke of age ful olde; And ȝit be the grace of God is bredde, In myn olde age, a chylde fulle bolde. Ysaac, lo! here his name is tolde, My swete sone that stondyth me by, Amonges alle chylderyn that walkyn on wolde, A lovelyer chylde is non trewly. I thanke God with hert welle mylde, Of his gret mercy and of his hey grace, And pryncepaly ffor my suete chylde, That xal to me do gret solace. Now, suete sone, ffayre fare thi fface, fful hertyly do I love the, ffor trewe herty love now in this place, My swete childe, com, kysse now me. _Ysaac._ At ȝoure byddynge ȝour mouthe I kys, With lowly hert I ȝow pray, ȝoure fadyrly love lete me nevyr mysse, But blysse me, ȝour chylde, bothe nyght and day. _Abraham._ Almyghty God, that best may, His dere blyssyng he graunt the, And my blyssyng thou have alle way, In what place that evyr thou be. Now, Ysaac, my sone so suete, Almyghty God loke thou honoure, Wiche that made bothe drye and wete, Shynyng sunne and scharpe schoure. Thu art my suete childe, and par amoure fful wele in herte do I the love, Loke that thin herte, in hevyn toure Be sett to serve oure Lord God above. In thi ȝonge lerne God to plese, And God xal quyte the weyl thi mede: Now, suete sone, of wordys these With alle thin hert thou take good hede. Now fare weyl, sone, God be thin spede! Evyn here at hom thou me abyde, I must go walkyn, ffor I have nede, I come aȝen withinne a tyde. _Ysaac._ I pray to God, ffadyr of myght, That he ȝow spede in alle ȝour waye, From shame and shenshipp, day and nyht, God mote ȝow kepe in ȝour jornay. _Abraham._ Now fare weylle, sone! I the pray Evyr in thin hert loke God thou wynde, Hym to serve, bothe nyght and day,— I pray to God sende the good mynde. Ther may no man love bettyr his childe, Than Isaac is lovyd of me; Almyghty God, mercyful and mylde, ffor my swete son I wurchyp the! I thank the, Lord, with hert ful fre, ffor this fayr frute thou hast me sent. Now, gracyous God, wher so he be, To save my sone evyr more be bent. Dere Lord, I pray to the also, Me to save for thi servvaunte; And sende me grace nevyr for to do Thyng that xulde be to thi displesaunte. Bothe ffor me and for myn infaunte, I pray the, Lord God, us to help,— Thy gracyous goodnes thou us grawnt, And save thi servaunt from helle qwelp. _Angelus._ Abraham, how! Abraham, Lyst and herke weylle onto me. _Abraham._ Al redy, sere, here I am; Telle me ȝour wylle what that it be. _Angelus._ Almyghty God thus doth bydde the,— Ysaac thi sone anon thou take, And loke hym thou slee anoon, lete se, And sacrafice to God hym make.