My childe I sle and spylle his blood!
Angelus. Abraham! Abraham! thou fadyr fre.
Abraham. I am here redy, what is ȝour wylle?
Angelus. Extende thin hand in no degré,
I bydde thou hym not kylle!
Here do I se by ryght good skylle,
Allemyghty God that thou dost drede.
For thou sparyst nat thi sone to spylle,—
God wylle aqwhyte the welle thi mede.
Abraham. I thank my God in hevyn above,