ȝour hevy cher agrevyth me sore:
Telle me, fadyr, ȝour grett mornyng,
And I xal seke sum help therfore.
Abraham. Alas! dere sone, for nedys must me,
Evyn here the kylle, as God hath sent;
Thyn owyn fadyr thi deth must be,—
Alas! that evyr this bowe was bent.
With this fyre bryght thou must be brent,
An aungelle seyd to me ryght so:
Alas! my chylde, thou xalt be shent!