Þe cros I kalle þe heerdys ȝerde,
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Þerwith þe deuyl a dent he ȝaf,
With þat ȝerd þe wolfe he werid,
With dyntes drofe hym all to draf."
¶ Þe Cros þis tale tolde,
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How he was þe staf in herdis hande,
Whan scheep borsten oute of bande [MS. hande.] ,
Þe wolfe he wered oute of lande
Þat deuouride crystis folde.
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XVIII.
¶ Oure ladye seyde, "Cros, of þi werk [[Mari]a.]
Wonder naȝt þei I be wroþe,
Þus seyde Poule, crystes clerk,
To þe fikell Iewes, with-oute oþe,
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Iewes stone hard, with synnes merke,
Þei bete a lambe with-oute loþe,
Softer þan water vnder serk,
Milk or mede melled boþe:
Line 220
¶ Þe Iewes were þe hard stonys.
Softer þan water or mylk lycour,
Or dew þat lithe on lily-flour
Was cristes body in blode colour,
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Þe Iewes brisseden hys bonys.
XX.
¶ Siþe mannys sone was so nedy,
To be lad as a lamb so mylde,
Why were gylours so gredy
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To fowle so my faire chylde?
And Cros, why were þou so redy
My fruite to foule fer in felde?"
Þe cros seyde, "to make þe deuyll dredy,
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God schope me schelde schame to schelde,
