thou suffre thy moder and thy father wepe so moche for the, and thou sawest it well without takyng pyte on us. I supposed to have herd some tydynges of the, and now I se the lye deed, whiche sholdest be my solace in myne age, alas what solace may I haue that se my right dere son deed, me were better dye than lyve. Whan the moder of Alexis sawe and herd this, she came rennynge lyke a lyonesse and cryed, Alas! alas! drawing her heere in grete sorrowe, scratchyng her pappes with her nayles sayenge. These pappes haue gyven the souke, and whan she myght not come to the corps for the foyson of people yt was come thyder, she cried and said. Make rome and waye to me sorrowful moder yt I may se my desyre and my dere son that I have engendered and nourisshed. And as soon as she came to the body of her sone, she fell downe on it pyteously and kyssed it, sayenge thus. Alas for sorowe my dere son, ye lyght of myn age, why hast thou made us suffre so moche sorow, thou sawest thy fader, and me thy sorrowefull moder so ofte wepe for the, and woldest neuer make to us semblaunt of sone[1]. O all ye yt haue ye hert of a moder, wepe ye with me upon my dere sone, whome I haue had in my hous vij. yere as a
- ↑ That is—Shew that thou wert our son.
