[figure]
Uythe zardys grete þou ware alle to-daschyd,
With scorgys smerte alle to-laschyd;
Lord, socowre me of synnys thys,
Of stlowthe and eke of ydylnes.
Line 68
[figure]
The crown of thorn on þi hed preste,
Thyn here to-tere, thy skyn to-breste.
Lord, socowre me of synnys thys,
Of stlowthe and eke of Idylnes.
Line 72
[figure]
TO þe pyller, lorde, also,
With a rope men bownd þe too,
Hard drawe and streynyd faste;
The senews from þe bondys braste.
Line 76
Lorde, lose me of bondys in dystresse,
Thowe I ded onkend a-geyns kyndnesse.
