My swete childe with knyf to kylle;
But ȝit my sorwe avaylith ryght nowth,
For nedys I must werke Goddys wylle.
With evy hert I walke and wende,
My childys deth now for to be,
Now must the fadyr his suete sone schende
Alas! for ruthe it is peté!
My swete sone, come hedyr to me:
How, Isaac, my sone dere,
Com to thi ffadyr, my childe so fre,