Ther is non of hem xal us withstonde.

Quartus miles. ȝa, and ther com an hunderyd thowsand and mo,

I xal hem kylle with myn honde.

Pylat. Wel, seres, than ȝour part ȝe do,

And to ȝour charge loke ȝe take hede,

Withowtyn wordys ony mo,

Wysly now that ȝe precede.

Here the knytes gon out of the place.

Lo! Ser Cayphas, how thynkyth ȝow?

Is not this wel browth abowth?