Cryst stode on his fete as meke as a lom,
And we loyn stylle lyche ded men tyl he bad us ryse;
Whan we were up, fast handys we leyd hym upon,
But ȝet me thought I was not plesyd with the newe gyse.
Therfore takyth now ȝour cowncel and avyse ȝou ryth weyl,
And beth ryth ware that he make ȝou not amat;
ffor be my thryfte I dare sweryn at this seyl,
ȝe xal fynde hym a strawnge watt!
Here bryng thei Jhesus beforn Annas and Cayphas, and on xal seyn thus,
Lo! lo! lordys, here is the man