XC. O synfull man, beholde and se,
What thy maker hath done for þe.
1
“O my dere sonne, why doest thou soo?
Why doest thou suffre alle this payne?
Thou bringest my hert in care and woo
Without offence to se the slayne,
To see the blede at euery vayne
And to beholde thy louely syde
With a sharpe spere wounded so wyde.
2
To se thy hede crowned with thorne
The blode rennyng vppon thy face,
Thy flesshe also with scourgis torne
Thus cruelly in euery place,
This is to me a woofull case,
Sith that thou art myne owne dere chielde
And I thy moder vndefiled.”
3
‘My dere moder, wepe thou nomore
And moorne nomore, moder, for me,
For why it greveth me full sore
In care and woo the forto see,
Sith I haue take nature of the
And am thy sonne, as thou hast seide,
Thou beyng bothe moder and meyde.
4
This wofull payne now will I take
And bitter dethe, moder, also
Onely for synfull mannes sake
To bringe hym out of payne and woo
And fro the fende, his mortall foo:
Though that he be vnkyende to me,
Yet will I die to make hym free.’
5
“Sith thou art king of heven blis
And lorde of alle, dere sonne, also,
Why shuldest thou die for mannes mys
And suffre alle this payne and woo,
Sith that he is thy mortall foo
Thus with scourgis forto scourge the
And thus to nayle the on a tre?
6
Myne owne dere sonne, it greveth me
For to beholde thy woundes smert,
To se the nayled on a tree
Thy blode bleding oute of thyn hert.
Why doest thou bere mannes desert,
Sith that to the he is vnkyende
And loue of hym thou cannest non fynde?”
7
‘Scripture, moder, I must fulfille,
Wherefore I toke nature of the,
For why it is my faders wille,
That I shall die to make man fre.
It is the wille also of me
To suffre deth for mannes mys
And bringe hym to eternall blis.
8
Sith man of me mercy doth craue
And I am lorde of indulgence,
Of my pite I will hym save
And forgeve hym alle his offence.
With hym, truly, I will dispence
And pay his raunsom on the rode
With the treasoure of my hert blode.’
