Tunc recumbent et sedebit Jesus in medio eorum, tunc benedicet Jesus panem et franget in tribus partibus, et postea evanebit ab oculis eorum; et dicet Lucas,

Lucas. Wemmow! where is this man becom
Right here that sat betwix us two?

He brake the breed and laide us som;
How myght he hens now fro us go
At his awne lyst?

It was oure Lorde, I trow right so,
And we not wyst.

Cleophas. When went he hens, whedir, and
how,

What I ne wote in warld so wyde,
For had I wyten, I make a vowe,
He shuld have byden what so betyde;
Bot it were Jesus that withe us was,
Selcouthe me thynk, the sothe to say,
Thus prevely from us to pas,

I wist never when he went away.
We were fulle blynde, ever alas !
I telle us now begylde for ay,
For speche and bewte that he has

Man myght hym knaw this day.

Lucas. A, dere God, what may this be? Right now was he here by me,

Now is this greatt vanyte,

He is away;

We ar begyld, by my lewte,

So may we say.

Cleophas. Where was oure hart, where was oure thoght,

So far on gate as he us broght

Knawlege of hym that we had noght

In alle that tyme ?

So was he lyke, bi hym me wroght,

Tille oon pylgryme.

Lucas. Dere God, how couthe we hym not knaw?

So openly alle on a raw

The tayles that he can tille us shaw,

By oone und oone;

And now from us within a thraw

Thus sone is gone.

Cleophas. I had no knawlege it was he, Bot for he brake this brede in thre,

And delt it here to the and me

Withe his awne hande ;

When he passyd hens we myght not se,
Here syttande.

Lucas. We ar to blame, yee, veramente,
That we toke no better tente

Whiles we by the way wente

Withe hym that stownd;

Knowlege of hym we myght have hentt
Syttyng on grownd.

Cleophas. Fro he tooke breede fulle welle I wyst,
And brake it here withe his awne fyste,
And laide it us at his awne lyst,

As we it hent;

I knew hym then, and sone it kyst
Withe good intente.

Lucas. That we hym knew wyst he welle enoghe, Therfor alle sone he hym withe-droghe,

Fro he saw that we hym knoghe,

Withe in this sted;

I have ferly what way and how
Away that he shuld glyde.

Cleophas. Alas, we war fulle myrk in thoght,
Bot he were bothe fulle wille of red;

Man, for shame whi held thou noght

When he on borde brake us this breede ?

He soght the prophecy more and les

And told it us right in this sted,

How that he hym self was

With wykid Jues broght to ded,
And more;

We wille go seke that kyng

That suffred woundes sore.

Lucas. Ryse, go we hens fro this place,

To Jerusalem take we the pace,

And telle oure brethere alle the case,
I red right thus ;

From ded to lyfe when that he rase
He apperyd tille us.

Cleophas. At Jerusalem I understande,

Ther hope I that thay be dwelland,
In that countre and in that land

We shalle theym mete;

Weynd we furthe I dar warand
Right in the strete.

Lucas. Let us not tary les ne mare,
Bot on oure feete fast let us fare,
I hope we shalle be cachid fro care
Fulle sone, iwys;

That blyssid childe that Mary bare
Graunt you his blys.

EXPLICIUNT PEREGRINI.

THOMAS INDIE.

Maria Magdalene. Haylle brether, and God be

here,

I bryng to amende youre chere,
Trist ye it and knawe;

He is rysen, the sothe to say,

I met hym goyng bi the way,
He bad me telle it

you.

Petrus. Do way, woman, thou carpys wast,
It is som spirite or els som gast,
Öthere was it noght;

We may trow on no kyns wyse,
That ded man may to lyfe ryse,

This then is oure thoght.

Paulus. It may be sothe for mans mede,

The Jues maide hym grymly blede

Thrughe feete, handes, and syde ;

With nayles on rode thay dyd hym hang,
Wherfor, woman, thou says wrang,

As myght I blys abide.

Maria Magdalene. Do way youre threpyng, ar ye wode ?

I saghe hym that dyd on roode,

And withe hym spake withe mowthe;

Therfor both red I

you

Put away your heresy,

Tryst it stedfast and cowthe.

Petrus. Do way, woman, let be thi fare,

For shame and also syn,

If wee make never siche care

His lyfe may we not wyn.

Paulus. And it is wretyn in oure law Ther is no trust in womans saw,

No trust faithe to belefe;

For with thare quantyse and thare gyle
Can thay laghe and wepe som while,
And yit nothyng theym grefe.
In oure bookys thus fynd we wretyn,

Alle manere of men welle it wytten,
Of women on this wyse;

Tille an appylle she is lyke,
Withoutten faille ther is none slyke
In horde ther it lyse,

Bot if a man assay it witterly,
It is fulle roten inwardly

At the colke within,

Therfor in woman is no laghe,
For she is withoutten aghe,

As Crist me lowse of syn.

Therfor trust we not trystely,
Bot if we saghe it witterly

Then wold we trastly trow;

In womans saw affy we noght,

For thay ar fekille in word and thoght,
This make I myne awowe.

Maria Magdalene. As be I lowsid of my care,
It is as trew as ye stand thare,

By hym that is my brothere.

Petrus. I dare lay my heede to wed

Or that we go

untille oure bed

That we shalle here anothere.

Paulus. If it be sothe that we here say,

Or this the thrid day

The sothe then mon we se.

Maria Magdalene. Bot it be sothe to trow, As ye mon here, els pray I you,

For fals that ye hold me.

Petrus. Waloway! my lefe deres, there I stand in this sted,

Sich sorow my hart sheres for rewthe I can no red; Sen that Mawdleyn witnes beres that Jesus rose from ded

Myn ees has letten salt teres on erthe to se ym trede. Bot alas! that ever I woke that carefulle catyf nyght When I for care and cold qwoke by a fyre burnyng fulle bright,

When I my lord Jesus forsoke for drede of woman's myght;

A rightwys dome I wille me loke that I tyne not that semely sight.

Bot ever alas! what was I wode? myght noman be

abarstir,