Part 12 (1/2)

_Abraham._ Thy meekness, child, makes me afray;[79]

My song may be ”Well away!”

_Isaac._ O, dear father, do away Your making so mickle moan!

Now truly, father, this talking Doth but make long tarrying.

I pray you come and make ending And let me hence gone!

_Abraham._ Come hither, my child, that art so sweet: Thou must be bound now, hand and feet.

[_Binding Isaac._

_Isaac._ Ah, father! we must no more meet By aught that I can see, But do with me just as you will, I must obey, and that is skill, G.o.d's commandment to fulfil, For needs so must it be.

Upon the purpose that have set you, Forsooth, father, I will not let you, But evermore unto you bow, While that I may.

Father, greet well my brethren young, And pray my mother for her blessing, I come no more under her wing: Farewell for ever and aye!

But, father, I cry you mercy, Of that I have trespa.s.sed to thee, Forgiven, father, that it may be Until doom's day.

_Abraham._ My dear son, let be thy moans; My child, thou grievedst me but once.

Blessed be thou body and bones, And I forgive thee here.

Lo, my dear son, here shalt thou lie; Unto my work now must I hie, I had as lief myself to die As thou, my darling dear.

_Isaac._ Father, if you be to me kind, About my head a kercher[80] bind, And let me lightly out of your mind, And soon that I were sped.

_Abraham._ Farewell, my sweet son of grace!

_Isaac._ I pray you, father, turn down my face A little while, while you have s.p.a.ce, For I am full sore adread.

_Abraham._ To do this deed I am sorry.

_Isaac._ Yea, Lord, to thee I call and cry: On my soul may thou have mercy, Heartily I thee pray.

_Abraham._ Lord, I would fain work thy will.

This young innocent that lies so still Full loth were I him to kill By any manner of way.

_Isaac._ My dear father, I you pray, Let me take my clothes away, For shedding blood on them to-day, At my last ending.

_Abraham._ Heart! if thou would'st break in three, Thou shalt never master me, I will no longer let[81] for thee, My G.o.d I may not grieve.

_Isaac._ Ah, mercy, father! why tarry you so?

Smite off my head, and let me go!

I pray you, rid me of my woe; For now I take my leave.

_Abraham._ Ah, son! my heart will break in three To hear thee speak such words to me.

Jesus, on me thou have pit That I have most in mind!

_Isaac._ Now, father, I see that I shall die, Almighty G.o.d in majest, My soul I offer unto thee: Lord, to it be kind.