It waxit alle derke, gon is the day,
The sonne is downe, lorn is the lyght,—
ȝe xal not gon from us away.
Christus. I may not dwelle, as I ȝow say,
I must this nyght go to my ffrende;
Therfore, good bretheryn, I ȝow pray,
Lett me not my wey to wende.
Cleophas. Trewly from us ȝe xal not go,
ȝe xal abyde with us here stylle;
ȝour goodly dalyaunce plesyth us so,