In endles peynes grett myscheff to lede.
Jacobus major. It is not I, Lord, ffor dowte I have drede,
This synne to fulfylle cam nevyr in my mende.
Iff that I solde the thy blood ffor to blede,
In doyng that treson my sowle xulde I shende.
Matheus. Alas! my dere Lord, what man is so wood,
ffor gold or for sylvyr hymself so to spylle?
He that the doth selle ffor gold and for other good,
With his grett covetyse hymself he doth kylle.
Bartholomeus. What man so evyr he be of so wyckyd wylle,