ffor, as I am God off myght,
I xal dystroye this werd downe ryght,
Here synne so sore grevyht me in syght,
Thei xal no mercy have.
ffecisse hominem nunc pœnitet me!
That I made man sore doth me rewe,
Myn handwerk to sle sore grevyth me,
But that here synne here deth doth brewe.
Go sey to Noe, as I bydde the,
Hymself, his wyf, his childeryn trewe,