My hart wyll not now ther too,
ȝyt fayn I woold warke my lordes wyll.
But thys ȝowng Innosent lygth so styll,
I may not fyndygth in my hart hym to kyll.
Line 304
O! Fader of heuyn! what schall I doo?
Ysaac.
A! mercy, fader, wy tery ȝe so,
And let me ley thus longe on þis heth?
Now I wold to god þe stroke were doo,
Line 308
Fader, I prey ȝow hartely, schorte me of my woo,
And let me not loke thus after my degth.
Abraham.
Now hart, wy wolddyst not thow breke on thre?
ȝyt schall þu not make me to my god on-myld. [folio 20a]
I wyll no lenger let for the,
Line [312
For that my god a-grevyd wold be,
Now hoold tha stroke, my owyn dere chyld.
[Her Abraham drew hys stroke and the angell toke the sword in hys hond soddenly.]
The Angell.
I am an angell, thou mayist se blythe,
Line 316
That fro heuyn to the ys senth,
Owr lord thanke the an c. sythe,
For the kepyng of hys commawment.
He knowyt þi wyll and also thy harte,
Line 320
That thow dredyst hym above all thyng,
And sum of thy hevynes for to departe
A fayr Ram ȝynder I gan brynge,
He standyth teyed, loo! a-mong þe breres.
Line 324
Now, Abraham, a-mend thy mood,
For ysaac, thy ȝowng son þat her ys,
Thys day schall not sched hys blood;
