Aftyr this woman in hast we wende;
I am aferde ryght in good fay,
Hereself for sorwe that she wyl shende.
Nuncius. Here brothyr so sore is in hire mende,
She may not ete, drynke, nor slepe;
Streyte to his grave she goth on ende,
As a mad woman, ther for to wepe.
Magdalen. A! sovereyn Lord, and mayster dere!
Had ȝe with us ben in presens,
Than had my brother on lyve ben here,