But this joy now passyth alle sorwe,
That my childe suffryd in that hard morwe,
ffor now he is oure alderers borwe,
To brynge us alle to blys.
Tunc evigilabunt milites sepulcri, et dicet primus miles,
Awake! awake!
Hillis gyn quake,
And tres ben shake
Ful nere a too.
Stonys clevyd,