But yf ȝe knowe were he is bent,
Myn hert for woo asondyr wyl race.
Joseph. On my massage I hym not sent,
Forsothe, good wyff, in no degré;
How longe is it that he hens went?
What tyme dude ȝe ȝour childe last se?
Maria. Trewly, gode spowse, not these days thre;
Therfore myn herte is cast in care:
Hym for to seke, wher so he be;
In hast, good husbonde, lete us forthe fare.