A Sory beuerech it is & sore it is a-bouth
Nou in þis sarpe time þis brewing hat me brouth
fader, if it mowe ben don als i haue be-south,
Do awey þis beuerich, þat i ne drink et nouth.

& if it mowe no betre ben, for alle mannis gilth,
þat it ne muste nede þat my blod be spilth,
Suete fader, i am þi sone, þi wil be ful-filt!
I am her þin owen child, I wil don as þu wilt.