2]
Now witterly,[363] thou workest wrong
The more I will wyte[364] thee.
But if thou wilt my heart now sting
That I may with him dee,[365]
And bide.
Sore sighing is my song. For pierced is his side!
Ah, death, what hast thou done?
With thee will I fare soon,
Since I had children none but one,
Best under sun or moon.
Friends I had full foyn[366]
That gars me greet[367] and groan
Full sore.
Good Lord, grant me my boon,
And let me live no more!
Gabriel! that art so good
Sometime thou did me greet,
And then I understood
Thy words that were so sweet.
But now they vex my mood,
For grace thou canst me hete,[368]
To bear all of my blood
A child our bale should beat[369]
With right.
Now hangs he here on rood,
Where is that thou me hight.[370]
All that thou of bliss
Hight me in that stede[371]
From mirth is far amiss.
And yet I trow thy rede[372]
Counsel me now of this,
My life how shall I lead
When from me gone is
He that was my head
On high?
My death, now, come it is:
My dear son, have mercy!

_Jesus._ My mother mild, change thou thy cheer,
Cease from thy sorrow and sighing sere,
It syttes[373] unto my heart full sore;
The sorrow is sharp, I suffer here;
But the dole thou drees,[374] my mother dear,
Me martyrs mickle more.
Thus wills my father I fare
To loose mankind from bands
His son will he not spare,
To loose that bond was e'er
Full fast in fiends' hands.
The first cause, mother, of my coming
Was for mankind miscarrying,
To save them sore I sought;
Therefore, mother make no mourning
Since mankind, through my dying,
May thus to bliss be brought.
Woman, weep thou right nought,
Take there, John, unto thy child,
Mankind must needs be bought;
And thou cast, cousin, in thy thought.[375]
John, lo, there, thy mother mild!
Blue and bloody thus am I beat,
Swongen with swepys[376] and all a-sweat,
Mankind, for thy misdeed.
For my love's sake when wouldst thou let,[377]
And thy heart sadly set,
Since I thus for thee have bled?
Such life for sooth, I lead,
That nothing may I more.
This I suffer for thy need,
To mark thee, man, thy meed!
Now thirst I wonder sore.

_1st Torturer._ Nought but hold thy peace,
Thou shalt have drink within a resse,[378]
Myself shall be thy knave;
Have here the draught that I thee hete,[379]
And I shall warrant it is not sweet
By all the good I have.

_2nd Torturer._ So, sir, say now all your will,
For if ye could have hold