And this fyre here in thinne honde,
ffor we must now sacrefyse go make,
Evyn aftyr the wylle of Goddys sonde.
Take this brennyng bronde,
My swete childe, and lete us go;
Ther may no man that levyth in londe,
Have more sorwe than I have wo.
Ysaac. ffayr fadyr, ȝe go ryght stylle,
I pray ȝow, fadyr, speke onto me.
Abraham. Mi gode childe, what is thi wylle?