To his byddinge I wilbe bayne,
And ever to hym pleasinge.
But that I do this dilfull deede,

my nede.

My Lorde will not quite me in Isaake. Marye, father, God forbydde,

But you doe your offeringe!

Father, at home your sonnes you shall fynde,
That you must love by course of kinde :
Be I onste out of your mynde,

Your sorowe maie sone cease;

But yet you muste do Godes byddinge.
Father, tell my mother for no thinge.

Here Abraham wrynges his handes, and saith:
Abraham. For sorowe I maie my handes wringe,
Thy mother I can not please.

Ho! Isaake, Isaake, blessed muste thou be!
Allmoste my witte I lose for thee;
The blood of thy bodye so free

I am full lothe to sheede.

Here Isaake askinge his father blessinge one his knyes, and saith:

Isaake. Father, seinge you muste nedes doe soe,
Let it passe lightlie, and over goe;
Kneelinge on my kneeyes towe,

Your blessinge on me spreade.

Abraham. My blessinge, deere son, give I thee,
And thy mothers with hart free;
The blessing of the Trinitie,

My deare sone, on thee lighte.

Isaake. Father, I praye you hyde my eyne

That I see not the sorde so keyne,

Your strocke, father, woulde I not seene,

Leste I againste yt grylle.

Abraham. My deare sonne Isaake, speake no more,

Thy wordes makes my harte full sore.

but that unless.

dilfull doleful.

grylle tremble.

THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC

Isaake. O deare father, wherefore! wherefore !
Seinge I muste nedes be dead,

Of on thinge I will you praie,

Seithen I muste dye the death to daie,

As fewe strockes as you well maie,

When you smyte of my heade.

Abraham. Thy meekness, childe, makes me affraye;

My songe maye be wayle-a-waie.
Isaake. O dere father, doe awaye, do awaye

Your makeinge so moche mone!

Nowe, trewlye, father, this talkinge
Doth but make longe taryeinge.
I praye you, come and make endinge,
And let me hense be gone.

47

Hence Isaake riseth and cometh to his father, and he taketh hym, and byndeth and laieth hym upon the alter to sacrifice hym, and saith:

Abraham. Come heither, my childe, thou arte soe sweete,
Thou muste be bounde both hande and feete.
Isaake. Father, we muste no more meete,

Be oughte that I maie see;

But doe with me then as you will,

I must obaye, and that is skille,
Godes commaundmente to fulfill,

For nedes soe must yt be.

Upon the porpose that you have sette you,
For south, father, I will not let you,
But ever more to you bowe,

While that ever I maie.

Father, greete well my brethren yinge,
And praye my mother of her blessinge,
I come noe more under her wynge,
Fare well for ever and aye ;

But father! crye you mercye,

For all that ever I have trespassed to thee,

skille reasonable.

young.

south-sooth.

let hinder.

yinge=

Forgeven, father, that it maye be

Untell domesdaie.

Abraham. My deare sonne, let be thy mones!
My childe, thou greves me ever ones;
Blessed be thou bodye and bones,

And I forgeve thee heare!

Nowe, my deere sonne, here shalt thou lye,
Unto my worke nowe must I hie;

I hade as leeve my selfe to die,

As thou, my darlinge deare.

Isaake. Father, if you be to me kinde,

Aboute my head a carschaffe bynde,
And let me lightlie out of your mynde,
And sone that I were speede.

Here Abraham doth kisse his sonne Isaake, and byndes a carschaffe aboute his heade.

Abraham. Fare well, my sweete sonne of grace.

Here let Isaake kneele downe and speake.

Isaake. I praye you, father, torne downe my face
A litill while, while you have space,

For I am sore adreade.

Abraham. To doe this deed I am sorye.

Isaake. Yea, Lorde, to thee I call and crye,
Of my soule thou have mercye,

Hartelye I thee praie !

Abraham. Lorde, I woulde fayne worke thy will,

This yonge innocente that lieth so still

Full loth were me hym to kille,

By any maner a waye.

Isaake. My deare father, I thee praye,

Let me take my clothes awaie,

For sheedinge blude on them to daye

At my laste endinge.

Abraham. Harte, yf thou wouldeste borste in three,

Thou shalte never master me;

carschaffe kerchief.

THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC

I will no longer let for thee,

My God, I maye not greeve.

Isaake. A mercye, father, why tarye you soe?

Smyte of my head, and let me goe.

I praye God rydd me of my woe,

For nowe I take my leve.

Abraham. Ah, sonne! my harte will breake in three,
To heare thee speake such wordes to me.
Jesu! on me thou have pittye,

That I have moste in mynde.

Isaake. Nowe father, I see that I shall dye :
Almightie God in magistie !

My soule I offer unto thee;
Lorde, to yt be kinde.

49

Here let Abraham take and bynde his sonne Isaake upon the alter; let hym make a signe as though he woulde cut of his head with his sorde; then let the angell come and take the sworde by the end and staie it, sainge :

Angelus. Abraham, my servante dere.
Abraham. Loe, Lorde, I am all readye here !
Angelus. Laye not thy sworde in noe manere
On Isake, thy deare darlinge;

And do to hym no anoye.

For thou dredes God, wel wote I,

That of thy sonne has no mercye,

To fulfill his byddinge.

Secundus Angelus. And for hys byddinge thou does aye, And spareste nether for feare nor fraye,

To doe thy sonne to death to daie,

Isake, to thee full deare:

Therfore, God hathe sent by me, in faye!

A lambe, that is bouth good and gaye,

Into this place, as thou se may,

Lo, have hym righte here.

Abraham. Ah! Lorde of heaven, and kinge of blesse,

Thy byddinge shalbe done, i-wysse!

Sacrafice here sente me is,

And all, Lorde, through thy grace.
A horned weither here I see,
Among the breyers tyed is he,
To thee offred shall he be

Anon righte in this place.

JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND
(1394-1437)

THE GREAT CHANGE

BEWAILLING in my chamber thus allone,
Despeired of all joye and remedye,
For-tiret of my thought and wo-begone,
And to the wyndow gan I walk in hye,
To see the warld and folk that went forbye,
As for the tyme though I of mirthis fude
Mycht have no more, to luke it did me gude.
Now was there maid fast by the Touris wall
A gardyn faire, and in the corneris set
Ane herbere grene, with wandis long and small
Railit about, and so with treïs set

Was all the place, and hawthorn hegis knet,
That lyf was non walkyng there forbye,
That mycht within scarce any wight aspy.

So thick the bewis and the levis grene
Beschadit all the allyes that there were,
And myddis every herbere mycht be sene
The scharpe grene suete jenepere,
Growing so fair with branchis here and there,
That, as it semyt to a lyf without,

The bewis spred the herbere all about.

And on the smale grene twistis sat

The lytil suete nyghtingale, and song So loud and clere, the ympnis consecrat arbour. hegis-hedges. lyf living thing. boughs, ympnis= hymns.

herbere

bewis=