XIV. [Fol. 71, vo.] IN May hit murgeth when hit dawes, In dounes with this dueres plawes, ant lef is lyht on lynde; Blosmes bredeth on the bowes, so wel ych under-fynde. Y not non so freoli flour, Ase ledies that beth bryht in boure, Fom Irlond in to Ynde. Wymmen were the beste thing, That shup oure heze hevene kyng, 3ef feole false nere; Heo beoth to rad upon huere red, To love ther me hem lastes bed, when heo shule fenge fere; Lut in londe are to leve, Thah me hem trewe trouthe zeve, for tricherie to zere; When trichour hath is trouthe y-plyht, By-swyken he hath that suete wyht, thah he hire othes swere. Wymmon, war the with the swyke, ys fare is o to founde; So wyde in world ys huere won, Wymmen bueth so feyr on hewe, Al to late is send azeyn, ant lyveth by that he lahte; with selthe we weren sahte. XV. [Fol. 72, ro.] HEZE loverd, thou here my bone, asoyle me of sunne. Fol ich wes in folies fayn, In luthere lastes y am layn, that maketh myn thryftes thunne; That semly sawes wes woned to-seyn, Nou is marred al my meyn, a-way is al my wunne. Un-wunne haveth myn wonges wet, Ne that maketh me routhes rede; semy nout ther y am set, Ther me calleth me fulle flet, ant waynoun wayte glede. Whil ich wes in wille wolde, y holde with the heste; Nou y may no fynger folde, Lutel loved ant lasse y-tolde, y-leved with the leste. A goute me hath y-greythed so, y not whet bote is beste; Thar er wes wilde ase the ro, Nou y swyke, y mei nout so, hit siweth me so faste. Faste y wes on horse heh, ant werede worly wede; Nou is faren al my feh, With serewe that ich hit ever seh, a staf is nou my stede. When y se steden stythe in stalle, Ant y go haltinde in the halle, myn huerte gynneth to helde; That er wes wildest in with walle, Nou is under fote y-falle, ant mey no fynger felde. Ther ich wes luef, icham ful loht, myn gomenes waxeth gelde; That feyre founden me mete ant cloht, Hue wrieth a-wey as hue were wroht, such is evel ant elde. Evel ant elde, ant other wo, foleweth me so faste, Me thunketh myn herte breketh a tuo; Suete God, whi shal hit swo? hou mai hit lengore laste? Whil mi lif wes luther ant lees, with me he wonede a while; Prude wes my plowe fere, Lecherie my lavendere, with hem is gabbe ant gyle. Coveytise myn keyes bere, Umbe-while y am to whene, when y shal murthes meten; Monne mest y am to mene; Lord, that hast me lyf to-lene, such lotes lef me leten ! Such lyf ich have lad fol 3ore, bowen ichulle to bete; Syker hit siweth me ful sore, Gabbes les ant luthere lore, sunnes bueth un-sete. E |