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Betwyxe twey knyȝtes be-ȝunde þe see
Fyl a grete cuntek to be;
Betwyxe hem fyl swyche wraþ & wo
Þat þe toon weyted þe toþer to slo:
Þey mette to-gedyr, y ne wote how;
Algate þe toon þe toþer slow.
Þys ychë slayn knyȝt had a chylde,
A doghty bachelere, and a wylde;
þys ychë chylde toke hym to rede
For to venge hys fadrys ded;
He gate hym grete powere and myȝt
And beseged þe toþer knyȝt.
Þe toþer knyȝt perseyued hym wel,
And drogh hym to hys best castel.
Þo was he beseged so streytly,
Þat he durst come oute on no party
Of alle þe twelue monþe with no deseyt,
So was he beseged streyte;
Messe ne matyns he ne herde
Ne nagher to þe cherge he ferde;

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ȝede

And hyt was yn þe lentyn tyde,
when men shuld leuë wraþ & pryde.
Þan fyl hyt on þe gode fryday,
Þe knyȝt þat yn þe castel lay
loked oute, and say men go
To þe cherchë, to and fro;
Barfote to þe cherche þey ȝede,
To aske mercy for here mysdede.
“Ey,” þoght þe knyȝt, “long ys gone,
Þat messe at þe cherchë herd y none.
what so euer God wyl for me werche,
y wyl ryse, and go to þe cherche.”
He drogh of hys hosyn and hys shone,
And ded þe ȝatys be on-done.
Barfote his ȝede, as ys þe acyse,
To cherche, for to herë Goddys seruyse.
And as he þe wey to þe cherchë name,
Þe chylde, hys enmye, aȝens hym came,
And seyd, “treytur, now shalt þou deye,
And my fadyr deþ ful dere a-beye;
No wurldës gode ne shal þe saue,
Þat þou þe deþ of me shalt haue.”
Þe knyȝt say nonë ouþer bote,
But fel on knees byfore hys fote,
And seyd, “haue on me mercy
For hym þat lyȝt yn þe vyrgyne mary,
And suffred deþ on þe rodë tre
Þys day, to saue boþe þe and me,
And forȝaue hem þat hys blode spylte;
Ryght so forȝyue þou me my gylte;
y am as a presun here yn þys place,
y putte me now alle yn þy grace;
Þat goddys grace be on þe lent
At þe day of Iugëment!”
Þys chylde, þat was hys enmye,
herde hym prey so rufully,
And seyd, “syn þou hast me besoght
For Ihesu loue þat dere vs boght,
And for hys modyr loue so dere,
For hem y graunte þe my pes here.”
Þys ychë chylde down swyþe alyghte,
And yn gode louë kest þe knyȝt;
“Now are we frendys, þat ere were wroþe,
Go we nowe to þe cherchë boþe,
yn gode loue, and parfyte charyte,
For hys sake þat ordeyned pes to be.”

Þe knyȝt was glad, and no ferly,

[_]

wndyr

And so were al þat cumpanye,
Þat he forȝaue hym hys mysdede,
And to þe cherchë boþe þey ȝede.
Byfore þe cros þ[e]y knelyd downe
yn þe wurschyp of Ihesu passyowne,
For to kesse þe cros þat day,
As custume ys yn crystyn lay.
Þe elder knyȝt, for honoure,
Ȝede fyrst, and kyst hys creäture;
Aftyr þan, ȝedë þe chylde,
Þat was becomë meke and mylde;
wyþ þe tokene he gan hym blesse,
And kneled down, þe cros to kesse.
Þe crucyfyx, þat þere was leyd,
hys armës fro þe cros vpbreyd,
And clepd þe chyldë hym betwyx,
And aftyrward kyst hym, þat crucyfyx.

Alle þe parshe, boþe olde and ȝonge,
Parseyued, and say, þat clyppynge,
And how þe crucyfyx hym kyste;
Þey sagh hyt alle, and weyl hyt wyste.
Alle þey þanked swete Ihesu

Of þat myrácle and þat vertu.
Of þys chylde was grete selkouþe
Þat þe crycyfyx kyst wyþ mouthe.
Noþeles, forsoþe and ywys,
Y trowe þat yn hys herte were moche blys;
And al þe folke þat sagh þys þyng
Made to God grete þankyng.

Of þese twey knyȝtës, how hyt betyd,
Þe myracle was sone oueral kyd;
And euery man þerof gan telle,
Prestys þerof yn prechyng gun spelle,
So þat euery man yn þat cuntre
lyued wel þe more yn charyte,
And allë men þe sunner forȝaue
Here wraþþe þat þey to ouþer dyd haue.

Sekyr þou be þat he was dygne,
Þat god shewed for hym swyche a sygne;
A sygne hyt was of gretë loue
That God almyȝty, of heuene aboue,
Profrede hym to kesse so louely,
For he meked hys herte so hy.

Now mowe ȝe se þat God loueþ hem dere
Þat forȝyuen here wraþ in þys wrlde here.
So shal hys wraþ on hem be sene
Þat here wyl nat forȝeue here tene.

Of Ire and wraþ, wul we now blynne,
And telle furþer of a-noþer synne
God ȝyue vs grace, so wraþþe forȝyue
Þat we may alle wyþ Ihesu lyue.