I say certain
_Quod scriptum scripsi_,[392]
That same wrote I,
What gadlyng[393] grumbles there again.

_4th Torturer._ Since that he is a man of law
He must needs have his will;
I trow he had not written that saw
Without some proper skill.

_1st Torturer._ Yea, let it hang above his head
It shall not save him from the dead
Naught that he can write.

_2nd Torturer._ Now ill a hale[394] was he born!

_3rd Torturer._ My faith, I tell his life is lorn
He shall be slain as tyte.[395]
If thou be Christ, as men thee call
Come down now among us all
And thole[396] not these missays.[397]

_4th Torturer._ Yea, and help myself that we may see
And we shall all believe in thee,
Whatsoever thou says.

_1st Torturer._ He calls himself good of might,
But I would see him be so wight[398]
To do such a deed.
He raised Lazare out of his delf[399]
But he cannot help himself
Now in his great need.

_Jesus._ Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani!
My God, my God! wherefor and why
Hast thou forsaken me?

_2nd Torturer._ How, hear ye not as well as I
How he can upon Eli cry
Upon this wise?

_3rd Torturer._ Yea, there is no Eli in this country
Shall deliver him from this meneye[400]
No, in no wise.

_4th Torturer._ I warrant you now at the last
That he shall soon yield the ghost
For bursten is his gall.

_Jesus._ Now is my passion brought to end,
Father of heaven, into thy hende[401]
I do commend my soul.

_1st Torturer._ Let one prick him with a spear,
And if it should do him no dere[402]
Then is his life near past.

_2nd Torturer._ This blind knight may best do that.

_Longeus._ Gar me not do, save I wit what.

_3rd Torturer._ Naught, but strike up fast.

_Longeus._ Ah! Lord, what may this be?
Once I was blind, now I can see;
Gode's son, hear me, Jesu!
For this trespass on me thou rue[403]
For, Lord, other men me gart[404]
That I thee struck unto the heart,
I see thou hangest here on high,
And dies to fulfil the prophecy.

_4th Torturer._ Go we hence, and leave him here
For I shall be his bail, this year
He feels now no more pain;
For Eli, ne for none other man
All the good that ever he won
Gets not his life again. [_Exeunt Torturers._

_Joseph._ Alas, alas, and well a way!
That ever I should abide this day
To see my master dead;
Thus wickedly as he is shent,
With so bitter tornament[405]
Thro' the false Jews' red.[406]
Nicodeme, I would we yede[407]
To