ne een
That I see not your sword so keen;
Your stroke, father, I would not seen,
Lest I against it thrill.

_Abraham._ My dear son Isaac, speak no more,
Thy words make my heart full sore.

_Isaac._ O dear father, wherefore, wherefore?
Since I must needs be dead,
One thing I would you pray:
Since I must die the death this day,
As few strokes as you may,
When you smite off my head.

_Abraham._ Thy meekness, child, makes me afray;[79]
My song may be "Well away!"

_Isaac._ O, dear father, do away
Your making so mickle moan!
Now truly, father, this talking
Doth but make long tarrying.
I pray you come and make ending
And let me hence gone!

_Abraham._ Come hither, my child, that art so sweet:
Thou must be bound now, hand and feet.

[_Binding Isaac._

_Isaac._ Ah, father! we must no more meet
By aught that I can see,
But do with me just as you will,
I must obey, and that is skill,
God's commandment to fulfil,
For needs so must it be.
Upon the purpose that have set you,
Forsooth, father, I will not let you,
But evermore unto you bow,
While that I may.
Father, greet well my brethren young,
And pray my mother for her blessing,
I come no more under her wing:
Farewell for ever and aye!
But, father, I cry you mercy,
Of that I have trespassed to thee,
Forgiven, father, that it may be
Until doom's day.

_Abraham._ My dear son, let be thy moans;
My child, thou grievedst me but once.
Blessed be thou body and bones,
And I forgive thee here.
Lo, my dear son, here shalt thou lie;
Unto my work now must I hie,
I had as lief myself to die
As thou, my darling dear.

_Isaac._ Father, if you be to me kind,
About my head a kercher[80] bind,
And let me lightly out of your mind,
And soon that I were sped.

_Abraham._ Farewell, my sweet son of grace!

_Isaac._ I pray you, father, turn down my face
A little while, while you have space,
For I am full sore adread.

_Abraham._ To do this deed I am sorry.

_Isaac._ Yea, Lord, to thee I call and cry:
On my soul may thou have mercy,
Heartily I thee pray.

_Abraham._ Lord, I would fain work thy will.
This young innocent that lies so still
Full loth were I him to kill
By any manner of way.

_Isaac._ My dear father, I you pray,
Let me take my clothes away,
For shedding blood on them to-day,
At my last ending.

_Abraham._ Heart! if thou would'st break in three,
Thou shalt never master me,
I will no longer let[81] for thee,
M