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 XLIII. 
XLIII. Synge we, synge we, Gloria tibi, Domine.
 XLV. 
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61

XLIII. Synge we, synge we,
Gloria tibi, Domine.

Man, if thou hast synnyd owth,
Chaunge redely thi thowth,
Thynk on hym that haȝt the bowth,
So dere upon the rode tre.
Thynk he cam for to ben born,
To beyin aȝen that was forlorn,
Many a ml ȝer beforn,
Out of his owyn magesté.

62

Thynk the Juwis quan hym tokyn,
Hese desipele hym forsokyn,
Alle the veynys on hym schokyn,
For dowt of deth wold he not fle.
Thynk the cros he dedyn hym bere,
Garlond of thorn he dedyn hym were,
False tretowres that they were,
Til he kemyn ther he wolde be.
Thynk he dedyn hym on the rode;
Thynk it was al for our goode;
Thynk the Juwys wyxin wode,
On hym they haddyn non peté.
Thynk how sore he was bowndyn;
Thynk he sufferid harde woundys,
Of tho false helle howndys,
With schorge and spere and naylys thre.
Thynk, man, on the werste of alle,
He ȝevyn hym drynkyn ezyl and galle,
Hely for peyne he gan to calle
To his fader in trenité.
Thynk, man, wytterly,
Think he bowt the bytterly;
Forsake thi synne and to hym cry,
That he have mercy upon the.