Angelus. Abraham! Abraham! thou fadyr fre.
Abraham. I am here redy, what is ȝour wylle?
Angelus. Extende thin hand in no degré,
I bydde thou hym not kylle!
Here do I se by ryght good skylle,
Allemyghty God that thou dost drede.
For thou sparyst nat thi sone to spylle,—
God wylle aqwhyte the welle thi mede.
Abraham. I thank my God in hevyn above,
And hym honowre for this grett grace!
And that my Lord me thus doth prove,
I wylle hym wurchep in every place.
My childys lyff is my solace,
I thank myn God evyr for his lyff,
In sacrifice here or I hens pace,
I sle this shepe with this same knyff.
Now this shepe is deed and slayn,
With this fyre it xal be brent;
Of Isaac my sone I am ful fayn,
That my swete childe xal not be shent.
This place I name, with good entent,
The hille of Godys vesytacion:
ffor hedyr God hath to us sent
His comforte, aftyr grett trybulacion.
Angelus. Herke, Abraham, and take good heyd!
By hymself God hath thus sworne,
ffor that thou woldyst a done this dede,
He wylle the blysse bothe evyn and morne.
ffor thi dere childe thou woldyst have lorn,
At Goddys byddyng, as I the telle;
God hath sent the word beforn,
Thi seed xal multyplye, wher so thou duelle.
Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/73
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