Wycliffe(i)
17 And he turnede ayen to hym silf, and seide, Hou many hirid men in my fadir hous han plente of looues; and Y perische here thorouy hungir.
18 Y schal rise vp, and go to my fadir, and Y schal seie to hym, Fadir, Y haue synned in to heuene, and bifor thee;
19 and now Y am not worthi to be clepid thi sone, make me as oon of thin hirid men.
20 And he roos vp, and cam to his fadir. And whanne he was yit afer, his fadir saiy hym, and was stirrid bi mercy. And he ran, and fel on his necke, and kisside hym.