Qwyche I beseke, as the aungyl me bad,
That aforn my bere by you it be bore,
Saynge my dirige devouthly and sad;
ffor, John, I have herde the Jewys meche of me spelle.
Johannes. A! good Lady, what likyth it you to telle?
Maria. Secretly they ordeyne in here conseytis felle,
When my sowle is paste where Godis sete is,
To brenne my body and schamly it quelle,
ffor Jhesu was of me born that they slew with here fistis;
And therfore I beseke you, John, both fleche and felle