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Deus
Ego sum alpha et oo,
primus et nomssimus,
I, God, greateste in degree,
In whom begininge non maye be,
That I am pearles of postie
Nowe appeartlye shalbe proved.
In my godheade are persons three,
Maye non in faye from other fley,
Yet soveraigne mighte, that is in me,
Maie justlye be meved.
It is full yore since I beheighte
To make a reckoninge of the righte;
Nowe to that dome I will me dighte,
That I dead shall dewlye dreade.
Therfore my angelles fayer and brighte,
Loke that you awake ech worldlye wighte,
That I maie see all in my sighte,
That I bloode for can bleede.
Shewe you my crosse appeartlye here,
Crowne of thorne, spunge, and speare,
And nayles to them that wanted never,
To come to this anoye.
And what weede for them I weare,
Uppon my bodye nowe I beare,
The moste stowteste this sighte shall steare
That standes by streete or stye.

Primus Angellus
Lorde, that madeste through thy mighte
Heaven and eirth, daie and nighte,
Without distance we be dighte
Your byddinge for to done;
And for to awake ich worldlye wighte
I shalbe readie, and that in heighte,
That the shall shewe them in thy sighte,
Thou shal se, Lorde, full sone.

Secundus Angellus
Take we our beames and faste bloe,
All mankinde shall them knowe,
Good accompte that nowe can showe
Sone it shalbe seene;
That have done well in ther levinge,
The shall have joye without endinge,
That well have done without mendinge,
Shall ever have sorowe and teene.

Tunc angeli tubas accipient et jlabunt, et omnes mortui de sepulcris surgent, quorum dicat primus papa alvatus,

Papa salvatus.
A! Lorde, mercye nowe aske we,
That dyed for us on roode tree;
It is three hundred yeaires and three
Since I was putte in grave:
Nowe through thy mighte and thy postie
Thy beames blaste hath raysed me
In fleshe and bloode, as I nowe see,
My judgmente for to have.
While that I lived in fleshe and bloode,
Thy greate godheade, that is so good,
Ne knewe I never, but ever was woode
Worshippes for to wyn;
The wyttes, Lorde, thou sente to me,
I spente to come to greate degree,
The higheste office under thee
In eirth thou putteste me in.
Thou graunteste me, Lorde, through thy grace
Petteres power and his place,
Yet was I blente: alas! alas!
I did not thy assente,
But my fleshlye will that wicked was,
The which raysed nowe thou haste,
I-furthred, Lorde, before thy face,
Shall take his judgmente.
When I in eirth was at my will,
This worlde me blente lowde and still,
But thy commaundmente to fulfill
I was full necligente;
But purged it is with paines ylle
In Purgotorye, that sore can grill,
Yette thy grace I hope to come tille,
After my greate tormente.
And yett, Lorde, I muste dreed thee,
For my greate synnes, when I thee see,
For thou arte moste in magistie,
For mercye nowe I calle.
The paines that I have longe in be,
As harde as hell as hope as lee,
Againe to goe never suffer me,
For oughte that maye befalle.
Imperator SALVATUS.
A! Lorde and soveraigne Savyour,
That livinge put me to honoure,
And made me kinge and emperowre,
Heigheste of keith and kynn:
My fleshe that fallne was as the flower
Thou haste restored in this stowre,
And with paines ofgreate langoure
Cleansed me of my synne.
In Purgatorye my soule hath bene
A thousande yeaires in woe and teene;
Nowe is no woe uppon me seene,
For purged I am of payne.
Though I to synne were beayne and bonne,
And coveted riches and renowne,
Yet at the laste contrision
Hath made me one of thyne.
As harde paines I dare well saye,
In Purgotarye nighte and daie,
As are in hell, save by on waie,
That onste shall have an ende.
Worshipped be thou, righte justice,
That me hase made in fleshe to rise,
Nowe wotte I well those that have bene wise
Shall come into thy welth.
G-raunte me, Lorde, amonghte moe,
That purged am of synne and woe,
On thy righte hande that I maye goe
To that everlastinge health.
Rex salvatus.
A! lorde of lordes, and kinge of kinges,
And informer of all thinges,
Thy power, Lorde, spreades and springes,
As southlve ther is seene.
After balle boote thou bringes,
And after teene tyde tydinges,
To all that ever thy name mynes,
And boxsome to thee bene.
While I was lorde of lande and leade,
In purple and in riche weede,
Me thoughte to thee I hade no need,
So wronge the worlde me wiled;
Though thou for me thy blood can sheed,
Yet in my harte more can I heede
My fleshe to further and to feede,
But the soule was ever begiled.
My fowle bodye through synne blente,
That rotten was and also rente,
Through thy mighte, Lorde omnipotente,
Raysed and wholle it is.
My sowle that is in ballens brente,
To my bodye thou haste nowe sente,
To take before thee judgmente
Of that I have donne amisse.
But, Lorde, although I were synfull aye,
Contricion yet at my laste daie,
And almes deedes that did aye,
Hath holpen me from hell.
But well I wotte that elke waie
That Abraham wente wende I maie,
For I am purged to thy paye,
To thee ever more to dwell.
Regina salvata.
Pearles prince of moste postie,
That after longere lendeth lee,
That nowe in bodye hase raysed me,
From fier to reste and roe:
My fleshe that as flower can flye,
And power was through thy pittie,
Togeither hase broughte us nowe I see,
The sowle, the bodye too;
While I in eairth riche can goe,
In softe sandalles and silke also,
Velvette also that wrought me woe,
And all suche other weedes.
Nether prayed I ney faste,
Save almes deedes, yf anye paste,
And greate repentance at the laste
Hath gotten me to thy grace;
That saved I hope fullye to be,
For purged synnes that were in me,
Thy laste dome maie I not fleye,
To come before thy face.
All that mighte excite lecherye,
Pearles and precious perrye,
Againste thy byddinge used I,
And other wicked deedes.
After Purgotarye paines,
From me thy lordeshipes thou ne laynes,
To warne thy dome me ne gaynes,
Though I were never so greate;
Seith I have suffred woe and teene,
In Purgotorye longe to bene,
Let never my synne be on me seene,
But, Lorde, thou it forgette.

Tunc venient damnati.

Papa damnatus.
Alas! alas! alas! alas!
Nowe am I worse then ever I was,
My bodye the sowle againe hase,
That longe hase bene in hell;
Togeither the bo, nowe is no grace,
Fyled to be beffore thy face,
And after my death heare in this place
In paine ever more to dwell.
Nowe booties is to aske mercye,
For livinge higheste in eairth was I,
And cuninge chosen in cleargye,
And covetousnes did me care;
Also silver and symoneye
Made me pope unworthye,
That bornes me nowe full witterlye,
For of blesse I am full bare.
Also why spende I wronge my witte,
In covetousnes my harte to knitte?
Harde and hotte nowe feele I it,
Hell hooldes me righte heare;
My bodye burnes everye bitte,
Of sorowe muste I never be shutte,
Me to save from hell pitte
Nowe helpes no praier.
Of all the soules in Christiantie,
That dampned were while I had degree,
Nowe geve accompte behoveth me,
Through my lawes forlorne.
Also dampned muste I be,
Accompte befalles, or elles to fleye,
Make me deafe, I counger thee,
As I hade never bene borne.
Imperator dampnatus.
Alas! nowe s tor red I am in this stowre;
Alas! nowe fallne is my flower;
Alas! for synne nowe cease souccoure;
No silver maye me save.
Alas! that ever I was emperowre;
Alas! that ever I hade towne or tower;
Alas! hardlye I bye myne honouer,
Helle paines for it I have.
Alas! in worlde why was I ware?
Alas! that ever mother me bare!
Alas! theire is noe joye cheare,
Skape maie I not this chaunce.
Alas! doe evill who is that dare?
To threpe no more us ney dare,
For to paine we ordayned are,
Ever without deliverance.
Nowe is manslaughter upon me seene,
Nowe towe covetousnes makes mv cares keene,
Nowe wronge worckinge withouten wene,
That I in worlde have wroughte.
Nowe traytores tornes doe me teene,
And false domes al bedene,
In glotanye I have bene in,
That shall nowe deare be boughte.
Nowe knowe I what I did with wronge,
And eke my lither livinge longe,
Falsehoode to hell makes me to fonge,
In fier ever fowle to fare.
My missbegotten moneye ever I mixen amonge,
Nowe is in yelled to helle yonge.
Why were I not deade as is the dounge?
For deale I drope and dare.
Rex damnatus.
Alas! unlikinge is my lotte;
My weale is gone, of woe I wotte,
My synne is seene I was in sette,
Of sorowe nowe maie I singe;
To hell paine, that is so hotte,
For my mysdeedes wende I motte,
Alas! that I hade bene sheepe or gotte,
When I was crowned kinge.
When I was in my magestie,
Soveraigne of shire and of cittie,
Never did I good in noe degree,
Through me was anye grace.
Of poore hade I never pittie,
Sore ney sicke woulde I never see,
Nowe have I longoure and the have lee,
Alas! alas! alas!
Wronge ever I wroughte to ech wighte,
For pynchinge poore in paine I pighte,
Religion I reaved againste the righte,
That keenlye nowe I knowe.
Lecherye I helde it lighte,
In covetousnes my harte was clighte,
One good deed in Grodes sighte
Nowe have I not to shewe.
Regina damnata.
Alas! alas! nowe am I lorne!
Alas! with teene nowe am I tome!
Alas! that I was woman borne,
This bitter balle to abyde!
I made my mone even and morne,
For feare to come Jesu beforne,
That crowned ffor me was with thorne,
And thruste into the syde.
Alas! that I was woman wroughte!
Alas! why God made me of naughte,
And with his precious bloode me boughte,
To worcke againste his will?
Of lecherye I never wroughte,
But ever to that syne I soughte,
That of that synne in deed and thoughte
Yet hade I never my fill.
Fie on pearles! fie on pride!
Fye on gowne! fye on guyde!
Fye on hewe! fye on hyde!
Thes harrowe me to hell.
Againste this chaunce I maie not chide,
This bitter balle I inuste abyde,
With woo and teene I suffer this tyde,
No livinge tonge maye tell.
I that so semlye was in sighte,
Wher is my bleye that was so brighte?
Wher is the barron, wher is the knighte,
For me to leadge the lawe?
Wher in worlde is anye wighte,
That for my fayernes nowe will feighte,
Or from this death I am to dighte
That dare me hense drawe.
JUSTICIARIUS DAMNATUS.
Alas! of sorowe nowe is my sawe!
Alas! for hell I stand in awe!
My fleshe as flowers that all to-flawe
Nowe tydes a fearlye fytte.
Alas! that ever I learned lawe,
For suffer I muste manye a harde thrawe,
For the devill me drawe
Righte even to his pitte.
Alas! while that I lived in lande,
Wronge to worke I would not wonde,
But false causes toke in hande,
And moche wooe did elles;
When I soughte silver or riches founde,
Of baron, burges, or of bande,
His matter to further ever I woulde founde,
Were it never so false.
Nowe is the devill readve, I see,
His matter to further againste me;
For the judge is of such poste,
That me will not avayle.
Harte and thoughte bouth knoweth he,
Though I woulde lye no boote to be;
Alas! this harde fitte to fleye,
Rufullye I muste fayle.
All my life I was ever bonne,
To troble poore in tower and towne,
Payer holye churches possession,
And sharplye them to shende;
To reve and robbe religion,
That was all my devocion;
Therfore me tydes damnacion
And payne without ende.
Marcator damnatus.
Alas! alas! nowe woes me,
My fowle bodye that rotten have be,
And soule togeither nowe I see,
All stinckes full of synne.
Alas! marchandise make me,
A purchasinge after land and see,
In hell payne evermore to be,
And balle that never shall blyn.
Alas! in worlde fervent was I,
To purchase landes falslye,
Poore men I did such anoye,
Made them ther landes to sell.
But when I dyed witterlye,
All that I hade my enemye,
Bouth bodye and soule dampned therby,
Ever to the paine of hell.
Yet mighte not false purchase suffice,
But ofte I dealed with marchandise.
For ther me thoughte wyninge woulde rise,
I used it manye a yeaire;
Ofte I sette upon false asise,
Rayvinge poore with layinge mise,
Falslye by God and by sante Hyse
A thousand tymes I swore.
Occure I used willfullye,
Wanne I never so moche theirby;
To holye churche never hyed I,
For me thought that was lorne.
Why made thou me, Lorde, of naughte, why?
To worcke in worlde so wrechedlye,
And nowe borne in the devilles bellye?
Alas! alas! that ever I was borne.

Finitis lamentacionibus mortuorum, descendet Jesus quasi in nube, si fieri poterit, quia secundum doctorum opiniones in aere prope terram judicabit filius Dei, stabunt angeli cum cruce, corona spinarum, lancea, et imtrumentis aliis, omnia demonstrates; dicat Jesus:

Jesus
You, good and evill, that here be blente,
Here you bene comen to your judgmente,
Yf you wiste wher-to it woulde apente,
And in what mannere;
But all myne, as I have mente,
Prophettes, patrickes, here presente,
Muste knowe my dome with good intente,
Therfore I am nowe heare.
But you shall heare and se exspres,
I doe to you all rightiousnes,
Luxome deedes more and lesse
I will rehearse nowe heare.
Of eirth through me made man thou was.
And put in place of great cleanes.
From which thou was through wickednes,
[A waye] thou wayved were?
When thou hade done this treaspas,
Yet wayted I which waye beste was,
Thee to recover in this cace,
To my companye.
Howe mighte I doe thee more grace,
Then that selfe kinde thou haste,
Take heare nowe is in this place,
As appeareth apeartlye?
After dyed on the roode tree,
And my blood shede, as thou maye see,
To prive the devill of his postie,
And wyn that was awaye.
The which blood behoulde ye,
Freshe houlden that I shall see,
For certayne poyntes that liketh me,
Of which I will nowe saye.
One cause was this certenlye,
That to my father almightie,
At my assencion offer mighte I
This blood, prayinge a bone,
That he of you should have mercye,
And more gracious be theirby,
When you hade synned horablye,
Not takinge vengence to sone.
Also I woulde, withouten were,
This blood should nowe be shewed here,
That the Jewes did in that manere
Mighte knowe appeartelye,
Howe unkindlye the them bare;
Behoulde on me and you maye lere,
Wheither I be God in full power,
Or eles man onlye.
Also my blood nowe shewed is,
That good therby maie have blesse,
That avoyded wickednes i-wisse,
And ever good worckes wroughte;
And evill also that did amisse,
Muste have greate sorowe in sight of this,
That loste that joye that was his,
That hym on rood tree boughte.
Yet for all this tormente
That suffred here while I was lente,
The more I spared in your intente,
I am not as I feele.
For my bodye is all to-rente
With outhes false alwaie fervente,
No lyme of me but it is rente,
From head righte to the heele;
Nowe that you shall appeartlye see,
Freshe blood blede for thee,
Good to joye and full greate lee,
Evill to damnacion,
Behoulde nowe all men on me
And se my blood freshe out flye,
That I blede on roode tree
For your salvacion.

Tunc emittet sanguinem de latere ejus, el dicit,

Howe durste you ever doe amisse,
When you unbethoughte you of this,
That I blede to bringe you to blesse,
And suffred moche woe?
Me you muste not whytte, i-wyse,
Though I doe nowe as righte is,
Therfore eichone recken his,
For rightiousnes moste goe.
Papa salvatus.
O Lorde! though I lived in synne,
In Purgatorye I have bene in,
Suffer my balle for to blyne,
And bringe me to this blesse.
Imperator salvatus.
Yea, Lorde, and I theirin have be
More then three hundred yeares and three,
Nowe I am cleane, forsake not me,
Although I did amisse.
Rex salvatus.
Lorde, receive me to thy grace,
That paine hath suffred in that place,
Although I fowle and wicked was,
Wayshen it is awaie.
Regina salvata.
And I, Lorde, to thee crye and call,
Thy owine christen and thy thrall,
That of my synnes are purged all,
Of thy joye I thee praye.

Jesus
Come neither to me, my darlinges deare,
That blessed in worlde allwayes were,
Take my realme all in feare,
That for you ordayned is;
For while I was in eirth heare
You gave me meate in good manere,
Therfore in heaven blesse cleare
You shall ever lenge, i-wisse.
In greate thurste you gave me drinke,
When I was nacked also clothinge,
And when me neded harberinge,
You harbered me in coulde;
And other deedes, to my likinge,
You did on eirtli ther livinge,
Therfore you shalbe quitte that thinge
In heaven an hundreth foulde.
Papa salvatus.
Lorde, on this can I not myne,
Eirth when I was dwellinge in,
Thee in mischeiffe or anye unwyn,
To shewe suche a will.
Imperator salvatus.
Noe, sickerlye, I coulde have no mynde,
That ever to thee I was so kinde,
For their I mighte thee never fynde
Such kindnes to fulfill.

Jesus
Yes, for south, my frendes deare,
Such as poore and naked were,
You clade and feede them bouth in feare,
And harbered them also;
Suche as were also in great danger,
In harde prison one eirthe here,
You vissitted them in meeke manner,
All men in suche wooe.
Therfore, as I you ere toulde,
You shalbe quitte an hundred foulde,
In my blesse, be ye boulde,
Ever more you shalbe;
Ther nether hongare is nor could,
But all thinges as your selfes woulde,
Everlastinge joye to yonge and [olde],
That in eirthe pleased me;
Therfore, my angelles goe anon,
And twayne my chosen everye one
From them that hath bene my fonne,
And bringe them into blesse;
One my righte hande the shalbe sette,
For so full yore I them beheighte
When the did withouten lette
My byddinge not amisse.

Primus Angellus
Lorde, we shall never blyne,
Tell we have broughte them blesse within,
Thoes soules that be withouten synne
Full sone as you shall see.

Secundus Angellus
And I knowe them well and fyne,
Which bodyes lorde that bene thyne,
The shall have joye without pyne,
That never shall ended be.

Tunc angeli ibunt ac cantabunt euntes ac venientes, letamini in domino, salvator mundi, ac omnes salvati, omnes sequite; postea veniunt demones, quorum dicat primus demon:

Primus demon
A! rightious judge, and moste of mighte,
That their are sette to deme the righte,
Mercye thou was, nowe is gryghte,
To save thes men from paine;
Doe as thou haste yore beheighte,
Thoes that bene synfull in thy sighte,
To reecone ther deedes I am dighte,
To prove thes men for myne;
Judge this Pope myne in this place,
That worthy is for his treaspas,
And oughte to be thyne through grace,
Through synne comen myne.
[A] Christien man he was I wotte,
[Knewe] good from evill in eich case,
[But] my commaundmente done he has,
[And] ever forsacken thyn,
[Through] mercye he shoulde be thyn,
[But myne] through wickednes and synne,
Thyne through passion [that thou was in],
And myne through temptacion;
To me obediente he was aye,
And thy commaundmente putt awaie,
Thou rightious judge therfore I praie,
Deme hym to my prison.
This Emperower also that standeth by
I houlde hym myne full witterlye,
That helde hym ever in heresye,
And leeved not on thy lore;
Therfore I tell thee veramente,
Myne he is without judgmente,
Thou sayde when thou on eirth wente
That leeved not dampned were.
Qui non credit jam judicatus est.
This kinge and queene woulde never knowe
Poore men, them almes to shooe,
Therfore put them all from thoo
That stande before thy face:
And I shall leade them tell loe,
Wher fier shall burne though no man bloe;
I have them tyed upon a rooe,
The shall never passe that place.

Secundus demon
Naye, I will pute with hym this,
That sitteth as highe justice,
And yf I see he be rightious,
Sone I shall asaie,
And other he shall for south, i-wisse,
For sake of hym wrytten is,
Or thes men that hath done amisse,
Deme them to us to daye;
Thes wordes, God, thou saide exspres,
As Mathewe therof beare wittnes,
That righte as manes deedes was,
Held en he shoulde be;
And leste thou forgette, good man,
I shall myne thee upon,
For speake Latine well I can,
And that thou shall sone see.
Filius hominis venturus est in [gloria]
patris sui cum angelis mis [et]
reddit unicuiquam secundum [opus]
Therfore, rightious yf thou [be,]
Thes men are myne [as mote I thee,]
For on good deed heare [before thee]
Have the not to showe.
[ Yf there] be anye, saye on, lettes see;
[ Yf there] be non, deme them to me,
Or elles thou are false as we,
All men shalle well know.

Primus demon
Yea, this thou sayde veramente,
That when thou came to judgmente,
Thy angelles from thee should be sent,
To put the evill from thee good;
And put them into greate tormente,
Ther is reniinge, greminge, veramente,
Which wordes to clarkes here presente
I will rehearse nowe heare.
Sic erit in consummations seculi, exibunt angeli et separa-
bunt malos de medio justorum et mittent omnes in
caminum ignis ubi erit fletus et stridor dentium.
Therfore deliver thes men heine,
And as broke I my pane,
I shall make them to gryne,
Rufullye to crye.
This popelarde Pope here presente,
With covetousnes was ever fullye bente,
This Emperower also veramente
To all synne did inclyne,
This queene while shee was livinge here
Spared never synne in no manere,
And all that mighte by Mahounde so deare
Excitte her lechery e;
Shee used manes harte to sture,
And therto fullye ordeyned her;
Therfore shee hath loste her lure,
Heaven blesse righte as did I.

Jesus
[Loe], you men that wicked have bene,
[What] Sathan saith you heare and seene,
[Righteous] dome maye you not fleyne,
[For grace] is put awaye,
[When ty]me of grace was indeweringe,
[To seeke it] you hade no likinge,
[Therefore] muste I for anye [thinge,]
[Doe right]eousnes to daie.
[And] thou, my sweete mother deere,
And all the saintes that ever were,
Prayed for you righte nowe here,
All it were to late;
No grace may goe through ther prayer,
Then righteousnes had no power,
Therefore goe to the fier in feare,
There gaines noe other grace.
When I was hongarye and thirsty bouth,
And naked was, you woulde not me cloth,
Also sicke and in greate woo,
You woulde not visite me,
Nor yet in prison to me come,
Nor of your meate to geve me some,
Nor me to your harbour nome,
Never yet in will were yee.
Papa damnatus.
When was thou naked or barberies,
Hongarye, thirsty, or in sickenes,
Eyther in anye prison was,
We sawe thee never a colde.
Imperator damnatus.
Had we thee hongarye or thirsty seene,
Naked, sicke, or in prison bene,
Harberles or in any teene,
Have harbered thee we woulde.

Jesus
Ney, when you saw the least of myne,
That one earth suffered pyne,
With your riches you woulde not them ryne,
Ney fulfill my desyre.
And seyth you woulde nothinge inclyne,
For to helpe my pore lyne,
To me your love it was not fyne,
Therefore goe to the fier.

Primus demon
A! sir judge, this goeth arighte,
By Mahounde moche of mighte,
You be myne eich wighte,
Ever to live in woo.
A dolefull death to you is dighte,
For such hyer I you beheighte,
When you served me day and nighte,
To be rewarded soe.
Goe we forth to hell in hye,
Without ende ther shall you lye,
For you have lost, righte as did I,
The blesse that lasteth ever;
Judged you be to my belly,
There endles sorowe is and nye,
One thinge I tell you truely,
Delivered bene you never.

Secundus demon
Nay, master, forgett not these theeffes two,
For by Mahounde the shall not goe,
There deedes, lorde, amonge moe,
Soone I can them spye.
This Justice, lorde, was ever thy foe,
Falshood to further he was ever throo;
Therefore deeme hym to sorrow and woo,
For he is full well worthy.
This Marchante also that standeth by here,
He is myne withouten were;
As ofte tymes he hym forsweare,
As seedes be in mv seacke:
And occoure also used hee,
That my powche is soe heavye,
I sweare by Mahounde soe free,
Tt well nigh breakes my necke.

Tunc Demones eooportabunt omnes, et venient quatuor Evangeli.

Matheas.
I, Mathew, of this beare wittnes,
For in my Gospell I wrote expresse,
This that my lorde of his goodnes
Hath rehearsed here;
And by me all were warned before,
To save ther soules for evermore,
That now through lykeinge the bene lore
And damned to fyer in fere.
Marke.
I, Marke, apeartely saye,
That warned the were by many waye,
There lyveinge howe the shoulde araye,
Heaven blisse to recover;
Soe that excuse them non maye,
That the bene worthy, in good faye,
To suffer the dome gyven to daye,
Damned to be for ever.
Luke.
And I, Luke, one earth lyveinge,
My lordes workes in every thinge
I wrote and taught through my cunninge,
That all men knowe mighte;
And therefore I saye for soth, i-wyss,
Excusation non there is,
Against my talkeinge the did amysse,
This dome it goeth righte.
Johannes.
And I, John the Evangelist,
Beare wittnesse of thinges that I wyst,
Which the mighte full well have trust,
And not have donne amysse;
And all that ever my lorde sayde here,
I wrote it in my manere;
Therefore excuse you, withouten were,
I maye not well, i-wysse.
Finis, Deo gracias!
Come, Lorde Jesus, come quickely.
To hym this booke belonges,
I wishe contynuall health,
In daily vertues for to flow,
With floudes of godly wealth.
Praye ever