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Pilate
Torturer 1
Torturer 2
Torturer 3
Torturer 4
Jesus
Mary
John
Longeus
Joseph of Arimathea
Nichodemus
Sequitur processus crucis. 1
Peasse I byd evereich wight!
Stand as styll as stone in wall
Whyls ye ar present in my sight,
That none of you clattere ne call;
For if ye do youre dede is dight,
I warne it you both greatt and small,
With this brand burnyshyd so bright;
Therfor in peasse loke ye be all.
What, peasse in the dwillys name!
Harlottys and dustardys all bedene,
On galus ye be maide full tame;
Thefys and mychers keyn,
Will ye not peasse when I bid you?
By Mahownys bloode, if ye me teyn,
I shall ordan sone for you
Paynes that never ere was seyn,
And that anone.
Be ye so bold, beggars, I warn you,
Full boldly shall I bett you.
To hell the dwill shall draw yow
Body, bak, and bone.
I am a lord that mekill is of myght;
Prynce of all Jury, Sir Pilate I hight,
Next kyng Herode grettyst of all.
Bowys to my byddyng both greatt and small
Or els ye be shentt;
Therfor stere youre tonges, I warn you all,
And unto us take tent.
All peasse, all peasse, emang you all,
And herkyns now what shall befall
Of this fals chuffer here,
That with his fals quantyse
Hase lett hymself as God wyse
Emangys us many a yere.
He cals hymself a prophett,
And says that he can bales bete
And make all thyngys amende,
Bot or oght lang, wytt we shall
Wheder he can bete his awne bale,
Or skapp out of oure hende.
Was not this a wonder thyng
That he durst call hymself a kyng,
And make so greatt a lee?
Bot by Mahowne, whils I may lyf
Those prowde wordes shall I never forgyf
Tyll he be hanged on he.
Hys pride, fy, we sett at noght.
Bot ich man now kest in his thoght
And looke that we noght wante,
For I shall fownde if that I may
By the order of knyghtede today
To cause his hart pante.
And so shall I, with all my myght,
Abate his pride this ylk nyght,
And rekyn hym a crede.
Lo, he letys he cowde none yll,
Bot he can ay when he wyll
Do a full fowll dede.
Yei, felows ye, as have I rest,
Emangys us all I red we kest
To bryng this thefe to dede.
Loke that we have that we shuld nate
For to hald this shrew strate.
That was a nobyll red.
Lo, here I have a bande
If nede be to bynd his hande;
This thowng I trow will last.
And here oone to the othere syde
That shall abate his pride,
Be it be drawen fast.
Lo, here a hamere and nales also
For to festen fast oure foo
To this tre full soyn.
Ye ar wise, withoutten drede,
That so can help youreself at nede
Of thyng that shuld be done.
Now dar I say hardely
He shall with all his mawmentry
No longere us betell.
Syn Pilate hase hym tyll us geyn,
Have done belyfe; let it be seyn
How we can with hym mell.
Now ar we at the monte of Calvarye.
Have done, felows, and let now se
How we can with hym lake.
Yee, for as modee as he can loke,
He wold have turnyd an othere croke
Myght he have had the rake.
In fayth, syr, sen ye callyd you a kyng,
You must prufe a worthy thyng
That falles unto the were:
Ye must just in tornamente.
Bot ye sytt fast els be ye shentt,
Els downe I shall you bere.
If thou be Godys son as thou tellys,
Thou can thee kepe; how shuld thou ellys?
Els were it mervell greatt.
And bot if thou can, we will not trow
That thou hase saide, bot make thee mow
When thou syttys in yond sett.
If thou be kyng, we shall thank adyll,
For we shall sett thee in thy sadyll;
For fallyng be thou bold.
I hete thee well tho bydys a shaft;
Bot if thou sytt well, thou had better laft
The tales that thou has told.
Stand nere, felows, and let se
How we can hors oure kyng so fre
By any craft.
Stand thou yonder on yond syde
And we shall se how he can ryde,
And how to weld a shaft.
Sir, commys heder and have done,
And wyn apon youre palfray sone
For he is redy bowne.
If ye be bond till hym, be not wrothe
For be ye secure; we were full lothe
On any wyse that ye fell downe.
Knyt thou a knott with all thi strenght
For to draw this arme on lengthe
Tyll it com to the bore.
Thou maddys, man, bi this light.
It wantys, tyll ich mans sight,
Othere half span and more.
Yit drawe owt this arme and fest it fast
With this rope that well will last,
And ilk man lay hand to.
Yee, and bynd thou fast that band;
We shall go to that othere hand
And loke what we can do.
Do dryfe a nayll ther thrughoutt,
And then thar us nothyng doutt
For it will not brest.
That shall I do as myght I thryfe,
For to clynke and for to dryfe
Therto I am full prest.
So lett it styk, for it is wele.
Thou says sothe, as have I cele,
Ther can no man it mende.
Hald downe his knees.
That shall I do.
His norysh yede never better to.
Lay on all your hende.
Draw out hys lymmes — let se, have at!
That was well drawen, that that!
Fare fall hym that so puld
For to have getten it to the marke;
I trow lewde man ne clerk
Nothyng better shuld.
Hald it now fast thor,
And oone of you take the bore
And then may it not fayll.
That shall I do withoutten drede
As ever myght I well spede
Hym to mekyll bayll.
So that is well; it will not brest.
Bot let now se who dos the best
With any slegthe of hand.
Go we now unto the othere ende.
Felowse, fest on fast youre hende
And pull well at this band.
I red, felowse, by this wedyr,
That we draw all ons togedir
And loke how it wyll fare.
Let now se and lefe youre dyn.
And draw we ilka syn from syn
For nothyng let us spare.
Nay, felowse, this is no gam.
We will no longere draw all sam,
So mekill have I asspyed.
No, for as have I blys,
Som can twyk, whoso it is
Sekys easse on somkyn syde.
It is better, as I hope,
On by hisself to draw this rope,
And then may we se
Who it is that erewhile
All his felows can begyle
Of this companye.
Sen thou will, so have here for me
How draw I, as myght thou thé.
Thou drew right wele;
Have here for me half a foyte.
Wema, man, I trow thou doyte!
Thou flyt it never a dele.
Bot have for me here that I may.
Well drawen, son, bi this day.
Thou gose well to thi warke;
Yit efte whils thi hande is in.
Pull therat with somkyn gyn.
Yee, and bryng it to the marke.
Pull, pull!
Have now.
Let se.
Aha!
Yit a draght.
Therto with all my maght.
A ha, hold still thore.
So, felowse, looke now belyfe
Which of you can best dryfe,
And I shall take the bore.
Let me go therto, if I shall;
I hope that I be the best mershall
For to clynke it right.
Do rase hym up now when we may,
For I hope he and his palfray
Shall not twyn this nyght.
Com hedir, felowse, and have done,
And help this tre sone
To lyft with all youre sleght.
Yit let us wyrke a whyle,
And no man now othere begyle
To it be broght on heght.
Felowse, fest on all youre hende
For to rase this tre on ende,
And let se who is last.
I red we do as that he says;
Set we the tre in the mortase
And ther will it stand fast.
Up with the tymbre.
A, it heldys!
For hym that all this warld weldys,
Put fro thee with thi hande.
Hald even emangys us all.
Yee, and let it into the mortase fall,
For then will it best stande.
Go we to it, and be we strong
And rase it, be it never so long,
Sen that it is fast bon.
Up with the tymbre, fast on ende.
A, felowse, fayr fall youre hende.
So, syr, gape agans the son.
A, felow, war thi crowne.
Trowes thou this tymbre will oght downe?
Yit help that it were fast.
Shog hym well, and let us lyfte.
Full shorte shal be his thryfte.
A, it standys up lyke a mast.
I pray you pepyll that passe me by,
That lede youre lyfe so lykandly,
Heyfe up youre hartys on hight.
Behold if ever ye sagh body
Buffet and bett thus blody,
Or yit thus dulfully dight;
In warld was never no wight
That suffred half so sare.
My mayn, my mode, my myght
Is noght bot sorow to sight,
And comforth none bot care.
My folk, what have I done to thee
That thou all thus shall tormente me?
Thy syn by I full sore.
What have I grevyd thee, answere me,
That thou thus nalys me to a tre,
And all for thyn erroure?
Where shall thou seke socoure?
This mys how shall thou amende
When that thou thy saveoure
Dryfes to this dyshonoure,
And nalys thrugh feete and hende?
All creatoures that kynde may kest,
Beestys, byrdys, all have thay rest
When thay ar wo-begon;
Bot Godys Son that shuld be best
Hase not whereapon his hede to rest
Bot on his shuder bone.
To whome now may I make my mone
When thay thus martyr me
And sakles will me slone
And beete me blode and bone
That my brethere shuld be?
What kyndnes shuld I kythe theym to?
Have I not done that I aght to do,
Maide thee to my lyknes?
And thou thus refys me rest and ro
And lettys thus lightly on me, lo!
Sich is thy catyfnes.
I have thee kyd kyndnes;
Unkyndly thou me quytys.
Se thus thi wekydnes;
Loke how thou me dyspytys.
Gyltles thus am I put to pyne,
Not for my mys, man, bot for thyne.
Thus am I rent on rode,
For I that tresoure wold not tyne
That I markyd and made for myne;
Thus by I Adam blode
That sonkyn was in syn
With none erthly good
Bot with my flesh and blode
That lothe was for to wyn.
My brethere that I com for to by
Has hanged me here thus hedusly,
And freyndys fynde I foyn;
Thus have thay dight me drerely
And all byspytt me spytusly,
As helples man in won.
Bot Fader that syttys in trone,
Forgyf thou them this gylt;
I pray to thee this boyn.
Thay wote not what thay doyn,
Nor whom thay have thus spylt.
Yis, what we do full well we knaw.
Yee, that shall he fynde within a thraw.
Now with a myschaunce tyll his cors!
Wenys he that we gyf any force
What dwill soever he ayll?
For he wold tary us all day
Of his dede to make delay,
I tell you sans fayll.
Lyft us this tre emanges us all.
Yee, and let it into the mortase fall,
And that shall gar hym brest.
Yee, and all to-ryfe hym lym from lym.
And it will breke ilk jonte in hym.
Let se now who dos best.
Alas, the doyll I dre!
I drowpe, I dare in drede.
Whi hyngys thou, son, so hee?
My bayll begynnes to brede.
All blemyshyd is thi ble;
I se thi body blede.
In warld, son, were never we
So wo as I in wede.
My foode that I have fed,
In luf-longyng thee led,
Full stratly art thou sted
Emanges thi foo-men fell.
Sich sorow for to se,
My dere barn, on thee,
Is more mowrnyng to me
Then any tong may tell.
Alas, thi holy hede
Hase not wheron to helde;
Thi face with blode is red
Was fare as floure in feylde.
How shuld I stand in sted
To se my barne thus blede?
Bett as blo as lede,
And has no lym to weylde:
Festynd both handys and feete
With nalys full unmete,
His woundes wrynyng wete.
Alas, my childe, for care,
For all rent is thi hyde.
I se on aythere syde
Teres of blode downe glide
Over all thi body bare.
Alas, that ever I shuld byde
And se my feyr thus fare.
Alas, for doyll, my lady dere.
All forchangid is thi chere
To se this prynce withoutten pere
Thus lappyd all in wo.
He was thi fode, thi faryst foine,
Thi luf, thi lake, thi lufsom son
That high on tre thus hyngys alone
With body blak and blo.
Alas,
To me and many mo
A good master he was.
Bot lady, sen it is his will
The prophecy to fulfyll
That mankynde in syn not spill,
For theym to thole this payn
And with his dede raunson to make,
As prophetys beforn of hym spake,
Forthi I red thi sorowe thou slake.
Thi wepyng may not gayn;
In sorowe
Oure boytt he byes full bayn,
Us all from bale to borowe.
Alas, thyn een as cristall clere
That shoyn as son in sight,
That lufly were in lyere,
Lost thay have thare light
And wax all faed in fere;
All dym then ar thay dight.
In payn has thou no pere
That is withoutten plight.
Swete son, say me thi thoght
What wonders has thou wroght
To be in payn thus broght,
Thi blissed blode to blende.
A, son, thynk on my wo.
Whi will thou fare me fro?
On mold is no man mo
That may my myrthes amende.
Comly lady, good and couth,
Fayn wold I comforth thee.
Me mynnys my master with mowth
Told unto his menyee
That he shuld thole full mekill payn
And dy apon a tre,
And to the lyfe ryse up agayn;
Apon the thryd day shuld it be
Full right.
Forthi, my lady swete,
Stynt a while of grete.
Oure bale then will he bete
As he befor has hight.
Mi sorow it is so sad
No solace may me safe.
Mowrnyng makys me mad;
None hope of help I hafe.
I am redles and rad
For ferd that I mon rafe;
Noght may make me glad
To I be in my grafe.
To deth my dere is dryffen.
His robe is all to-ryffen
That of me was hym gyffen,
And shapen with my sydys.
Thise Jues and he has stryffen
That all the bale he bydys.
Alas, my lam so mylde,
Whi will thou fare me fro?
Emang thise wulfes wylde
That wyrke on thee this wo,
For shame who may thee shelde?
For freyndys has thou fo.
Alas, my comly childe,
Whi will thou fare me fro?
Madyns, make youre mone,
And wepe ye wyfes everichon
With me, most wrich in wone,
The childe that borne was best.
My harte is styf as stone
That for no bayll will brest.
A, lady, well wote I
Thi hart is full of care
When thou thus openly
Sees thi childe thus fare.
Luf gars hym rathly —
Hymself will he not spare —
Us all fro baill to by,
Of blis that ar full bare
For syn.
My lefe lady, forthy
Of mowrnyng loke thou blyn.
“Alas” may ever be my sang
Whyls I may lyf in leyd.
Me thynk now that I lyf to lang
To se my barne thus blede.
Jues wyrke with hym all wrang;
Wherfor do thay this dede?
Lo, so hy thay have hym hang;
Thay let for no drede.
Whi so?
His fo-men is he emang;
No freynde he has bot fo.
My frely foode now farys me fro.
What shall worth on me?
Thou art warpyd all in wo
And spred here on a tre
Full hee.
I mowrne, and so may mo
That sees this payn on thee.
Dere lady, well were me
If that I myght comforth thee,
For the sorow that I see
Sherys myn harte in sondere
When that I se my master hang
With bytter paynes and strang;
Was never wight with wrang
Wroght so mekill wonder.
Alas, dede, thou dwellys to lang;
Whi art thou hid fro me?
Who kend thee to my childe to gang?
All blak thou makys his ble,
Now witterly thou wyrkys wrang.
The more I will wyte thee,
Bot if thou will my harte stang
That I myght with hym dee
And byde.
Sore syghyng is my sang,
For thyrlyd is his hyde.
A, dede, what has thou done?
With thee will I moytt sone,
Sen I had childer none bot oone,
Best under son or moyn;
Freyndys I had full foyn,
That gars me grete and grone
Full sore.
Good Lord, graunte me my boyn
And let me lyf no more.
Gabriell, that good,
Som tyme thou can me grete,
And then I understud
Thi wordys that were so swete,
Bot now thay meng my moode;
For grace thou can me hete
To bere, all of my blode,
A childe oure baill shuld bete
With right;
Now hyngys he here on rude.
Where is that thou me hight?
All that thou of blys
Hight me in that stede
From myrth is faren omys
And yit I trow thi red.
Thi councell now of this:
My lyfe how shall I lede
When fro me gone is
He that was my hede,
In hy?
My dede now comen it is;
My dere son, have mercy.
My moder mylde, thou chaunge thi chere.
Sease of thi sorow and sighyng sere;
It syttys unto my hart full sore.
The sorow is sharp I suffre here,
Bot doyll thou drees, my moder dere,
Me marters mekill more.
Thus will my Fader I fare
To lowse mankynde of bandys;
His Son will he not spare
To lowse that bon was are
Full fast in feyndys handys.
The fyrst cause, moder, of my commyng
Was for mankynde myscarying;
To salf thare sore I soght.
Therfor, moder, make none mowrnyng,
Sen mankynde thrugh my dyyng
May thus to blis be broght.
Woman, wepe thou right noght;
Take ther John unto thi chylde.
Mankynde must nedys be boght
And thou kest, cosyn, in thi thoght;
John, lo, ther thi moder mylde.
Blo and blody thus am I bett,
Swongen with swepys and all to-swett,
Mankynde, for thi mysdede.
For my luf, lust when wold thou lett
And thi harte sadly sett
Sen I thus for thee have blede?
Sich lyf, forsothe, I led
That unethes may I more;
This suffre I for thi nede
To marke thee, man, thi mede.
Now thryst I wonder sore.
Noght bot hold thi peasse.
Thou shall have drynke within a resse;
Myself shal be thy knave.
Have here the draght that I thee hete,
And I shall warand it is not swete
On all the good I have.
So, syr, say now all youre will,
For if ye couth have holden you styll
Ye had not had this brade.
Thou wold allgaytt be kyng of Jues,
Bot by this I trow thou rues
All that thou has sayde.
He has hym rused of great prophecyes
That he shuld make us tempyl-les
And gar it cleyn downe fall;
And yit he sayde he shuld it rase
As well as it was within thre dayes.
He lyes that wote we all;
And for his lyes in great dispyte
We will departe his clothyng tyte,
Bot he can more of arte.
Yee, as ever myght I thryfe,
Soyn will we this mantyll ryfe
And ich man take his parte.
How wold thou we share this clothe?
Nay, forsothe, that were I lothe,
Then were it allgate spylt.
Bot assent thou to my saw:
Lett us all cutt draw,
And then is none begylt.
How so befallys, now wyll I draw.
This is myn by comon law;
Say not theragayn.
Now sen it may no better be
Chevich thee with it for me;
Me thynk thou art ful fayn.
How, felowse, se ye not yond skraw?
It is writen yonder within a thraw
Now sen that we drew cut.
Ther is no man that is on lyfe
Bot it were Pilate, as myght I thrife,
That durst it ther have putt.
Go we fast and let us loke
What is wretyn on yond boke,
And what it may bemeyn.
A, the more I loke theron,
A, the more I thynke I fon.
All is not worth a beyn.
Yis, forsothe, me thynk I se
Theron writen langage thre:
Ebrew and Latyn
And Grew, me thynk, writen theron,
For it is hard for to expowne.
Thou red, by Appolyn.
Yee, as I am a trew knyght,
I am the best Latyn wright
Of this company.
I will go withoutten delay
And tell you what it is to say.
Behald, syrs, witterly:
Yonder is wretyn “Jesu of Nazareyn
He is kyng of Jues,” I weyn.
A, that is writen wrang.
He callys hym so, bot he is none.
Go we to Pilate and make oure mone;
Have done, and dwell not lang.
Pilate, yonder is a fals tabyll;
Theron is wryten noght bot fabyll.
Of Jues he is not kyng;
He callys hym so, bot he not is.
It is falsly writen, iwys;
This is a wrangwys thyng.
Boys, I say, what mell ye you?
As it is writen shall it be now,
I say certane:
Quod scriptum scripsi; 2
That same wrote I.
What gadlyng gruches theragane?
Sen that he is man of law,
He must nedys have his will.
I trow he had not writen that saw
Without som propre skyll.
Yee, let it hyng above his hede;
It shall not save hym fro the dede,
Noght that he can write.
Now ylla-hale was he borne.
Ma fay, I tell his lyfe is lorne.
He shal be slayn as tyte.
If thou be Crist, as men thee call,
Com downe emangys us all
And thole not thies myssaes.
Yee, and help thiself that we may se,
And we shall all trow in thee
Whatsoever thou says.
He cals hymself God of myght,
Bot I wold se hym be so wight
To do sich a dede.
He rasyd Lazare out of his delfe,
Bot he cannot help hymself
Now in his greatt nede.
Hely, hely, lamazabatany!
My God, my God, wherfor and why
Has thou forsakyn me?
How, here ye not as well as I
How he can now on Hely cry
Apon his wyse?
Yee, ther is none Hely in this countré
Shall delyver hym from this meneye
On no kyns wyse.
I warand you now at the last
That he shall soyn yelde the gast,
For brestyn is his gall.
Now is my passyon broght tyll ende.
Fader of heven, into thyn hende
I betake my saull.
Let one pryk hym with a spere,
And if that it do hym no dere
Then is his lyfe nere past.
This blynde knyght may best do that.
Gar me not do bot I wote what.
Not bot put up fast.
A, Lord what may this be?
Ere was I blynde, now may I se.
Godys Son, here me, Jesu:
For this trespas on me thou rew;
For Lord, othere men me gart
That I thee stroke unto the hart.
I se thou hyngys here on hy
And dyse to fulfyll the prophecy.
Go we hence and leyfe hym here,
For I shall be his borghe to yere
He felys no more payn,
For Hely ne for none othere man.
All the good that ever he wan
Gettys not his lyfe agayn.
Alas, alas and walaway
That ever shuld I abyde this day
To se my master dede,
Thus wykydly as he is shent
With so bytter tornamente
Thrugh fals Jues red.
Nychodeme, I wold we yede
To Syr Pilate, if we myght spede,
His body for to crave.
I will fownde with all my myght
For my servyce to aske that knyght
His body for to grave.
Joseph, I will weynde with thee,
For to do that is in me
For that body to pray.
For oure good will and oure travale
I hope that it mon us avayll
Hereafterward som day.
Syr Pylate, God thee save!
Graunte me that I crave,
If that it be thi will.
Welcom, Joseph, myght thou be.
Whatso thou askys, I graunte it thee,
So that it be skyll.
For my long servyce, I thee pray,
Graunte me the body, say me not nay,
Of Jesu dede on rud.
I graunte well, if he ded be,
Good leyfe shall thou have of me;
Do with hym what thou thynk gud.
Gramercy, syr, of youre good grace
That ye have graunte me in this place.
Go we oure way.
Nychodeme, com me furth with,
For I myself shall be the smyth,
The nales out for to dray.
Joseph, I am redy here,
To go with thee with full good chere
To help thee at my myght.
Pull furth the nales on aythere syde,
And I shall hald hym up this tyde.
A, Lord, so thou is dight.
Help now, felow, with all thi myght,
That he were wonden and well dight,
And lay hym on this bere.
Bere we hym furth unto the kyrke,
To the tombe that I gard wyrk
Sen full many a yere.
It shall be so, withoutten nay.
He that dyed on Gud Fryday,
And crownyd was with thorne,
Save you all that now here be,
That Lord that thus wold dee
And rose on Pasche morne.
Explicit crucifixio Christi. 3
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Peace; every creature; (t-note)
chatter nor yell
death is ordained
sword
devil’s
Scoundrels and fools all together
gallows; made; (t-note)
robbers keen
annoy
ordain soon
before; seen
soon
beat
(t-note)
back
much
Jewry; I am named; (see note)
Bow
destroyed
restrain; tongues
pay attention
(see note)
listen; happen
false impostor
false cunning; (t-note)
regarded
Among
heal sorrows
before very long; know
own misery
escape; hands
wondrous
dare
lie
(t-note)
high
fie, we count for nothing
each; consider
attempt
heart; throb
Cease; very
recite
pretends; could do
whenever
advise; plan
what we need
securely
noble advice
band
cord; trust
(see note)
hammer; nails
fasten
cross; quickly
doubtless
certainly
idolatry
deceive
to us given
at once; seen
deal
Mount Calvary; (t-note)
see; (t-note)
play
proud; look; (see note)
trick
opportunity
yourself
prove
befits the defender
joust; tournament; (see note)
destroyed
bear
[do] otherwise
believe
grimace
that seat; (see note)
earn thanks
saddle
(see note)
promise; suffer a lance; (see note)
Unless; left; (see note)
see
put on horseback
manner
over there on that side
wield a lance
come here
mount; horse without delay; (see note)
ready
bound to; (t-note)
way
Tie; (see note)
bore-hole
are mad
each; (see note)
another half
fasten it securely
each
drive; there
need; doubt; (t-note)
break
thrive
fasten
ready
remain; well
truth; happiness
His nurse never went about it better
hands
limbs
(see note)
pulled
unlearned man nor clerk
there
go to the bore-hole; (see note)
I might hurry
much misery
break; [fol. 86r]
dexterity
hands; (see note)
advise; weather; (see note)
all at once together
stop; noise
each sinew; (see note)
game; (see note)
all the same
much; seen
blessing
pull with a jerk
Seeks
One
earlier
trick
Since
thrive
half a foot
think; dote
move it not at all
work
again while
some kind of contrivance; (see note)
(t-note)
tug
might
there
at once
drive; (see note)
bore-hole
[fol. 86v]
marshal
fasten; (t-note)
horse
part
skill
soon; (t-note)
deceive
Until
hold with; hands
mortise
timber
leans
governs; (see note)
evenly among
secure
let go; hands
at the sun; (see note)
beware; (see note)
secure
Shake; (see note)
luck
people; (see note)
pleasantly
Lift; high
saw
Buffeted; beaten
dolefully mistreated
world; creature
sore
strength; determination; (see note)
see
comfort
buy
grieved
nail
error
seek help
misdeed
savior
Drives
hands
nature; know; (see note)
Beasts; birds
beset with woe
shoulder
lament
innocent; slay
brothers
show
ought
rob; peace
disregard me this way
wickedness
shown
rewards
wickedness; (see note)
despise
Guiltless; punishment
misdeed; (t-note)
torn apart; cross
treasure; lose
buy; (see note)
sunken
no earthly
But
loath; gain
buy
hideously
friends; few
mistreated me cruelly
spit on; spitefully; (see note)
everywhere
throne; (see note)
guilt
favor
They know not; do
killed
a moment
body
Thinks; give
devil; ails him
delay
without fail
(see note)
break him
tear; limb
each joint
does
sorrow I suffer; (see note)
cower; tremble with fear
hangs; high
misery; broaden
complexion
a person; (see note)
child
(t-note)
securely; placed
wicked foes
babe
mournful
tongue
head
nothing on which to lean
flower; field
this place
Beaten as blue as lead
wield
Fasten
huge nails
wringing wet
torn; skin
either
Tears
remain
companion
sorrow
changed; countenance
peer
wrapped
child; offspring
delight; beloved son
black and blue
sin not perish; (t-note)
To suffer this pain for them; (t-note)
death ransom
spoke
Therefore; advise; cease
deliverance; buys full readily
misery; save
eyes
shone; sun
hue
their
become all faded
dim; made
sin; (t-note)
spoil
go from me; (see note)
earth; more
gentle; [fol. 88v]
Gladly
remember; [his] mouth; (see note)
company
suffer
die
Therefore
Cease; weeping
heal
promised
(see note); (t-note)
save
Mourning
have
perplexed; afraid
fear; rave
Until; grave
driven
torn apart; (see note)
given
fought
pain he suffers
lamb
go from me
wild wolves
shield
friends; few
fair
Maidens; lament
all wives
wretched anywhere
misery; break
know
Love compels him swiftly
from misery; buy; (t-note)
uncovered
dear; therefore
cease
song; [fol. 89r]
live among people
too long
Why
cease
foe
friend; few
child; (see note)
become of
wrapped
high
mourn; more
Tears (shears); asunder; (t-note)
cruel
creature; wrong
death; too long; (see note)
commanded; go
black; complexion
certainly
blame
Unless; pierce
die
remain
sighing; song
pierced
converse soon
(see note)
sun or moon
few
make me weep and groan
request
live
(see note)
greet
arouse my anger
promise
[who] our misery should relieve
[the] cross
promised
bliss
Promised; place
gone amiss
believe your counsel
head
death
Cease; manifold
sorrow; suffers
martyrs me much more
wills; [that] I go
release; bonds
bound; before; (see note)
fiends’
wrongdoing
heal their wound
(t-note)
(see note)
If you consider, kinsman
Blue
Beaten with blows; drenched
forsake lust
make steadfast
Since
scarcely may I [do] more; (t-note)
allot; reward
thirst
(see note)
in a hurry
servant
promise; (see note)
guarantee; sweet
goods
could
torment
by all means
regret
boasted; (t-note)
(see note); (t-note)
make; clean
raise
lies; (t-note)
divide; quickly
Unless; knows more trickery
Soon; mantle tear
each
divide; (see note)
completely destroyed
words
deceived
against that
since
Carry on
glad
that scroll; (see note)
moment
since
alive
dare
look
written; book
mean
there upon
am confused
bean; (see note)
truly
three
Hebrew and Latin
Greek
expound
read; Apollyon; (see note)
true
Latin craftsman; (see note)
(t-note)
truly
(see note)
think
incorrectly
complaint
long
false tablet
fable
certainly
wrongful
say
(see note)
fellow complains against that
Since
those words
reason
from death
No matter what
unlucky
[By] my faith; lost
quickly
(see note)
suffer; these afflictions
believe
(t-note)
brave
such
grave
(see note)
Elias
In his manner
[fol. 91r]
company
no way
soon yield; spirit
burst; gall-bladder
passion
hands
soul; (see note)
harm
(see note)
Nothing but thrust [your spear] upward
Before
hear
take pity on me
make
dies
leave
surety this year
goods; won; (t-note)
endure
destroyed
(see note)
Through false Jews’ advice
Nichodemus; go
hurry
demand
attempt
bury
go
whatever I can
request
labor
shall assist us
[fol. 91v]
As long as; reasonable
no
dead on the cross
leave
good
Thank you
draw
nails; either
treated
wrapped; well prepared; (see note)
bier
church; (see note)
prepared
Since
doubt
Good; (see note)
crowned
would die
Easter morning
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