Blithe y-blessed of Crist that bayeth me mi bone, With gyngyvre ant sedewale ant the gylofre. He is Medierne of miht, mercie of mede, Trewe ase Tegen in tour, ase Wyrwein in wede, Cud ase Cradoc in court carf the brede, VI. [Fol. 63, vo.] BYTUENE Mershe ant Averil when spray biginneth to springe, The lutel foul hath hire wyl on hyre lud to synge ; icham in hire baundoun. An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent, From alle wymmen mi love is lent On heu hire her is fayr y-noh, hire browe broune, hire езе blake; With lossum chere he on me loh; with middel smal ant wel y-make; Bote he me wolle to hire take, ant feye fallen a-doun. An hendy hap, etc. Nihtes when y wende ant wake, for-thi myn wonges waxeth won; Levedi, al for thine sake longinge is y-lent me on. In world nis non so wyter-mon That al hire bounté telle con ; Hire swyre is whittore then the swon, ant feyrest may in toune. An hendy, etc. Icham for wowyng al for-wake, wery so water in wore; Lest eny reve me my make, ychabbe y-3yrned zore. Betere is tholien whyle sore, Then mournen evermore. Geynest under gore, herkne to my roune. An hendi, etc. VII. [Fol. 63, vo.] WITH longyng y am lad, that semly forte se; levedi, thou rewe me, To routhe thou havest me rad; Be bote of that y bad, My lyf is long on the. Levedy, of alle londe broht icham in wo, Have resting on honde, Ant sent thou me thi sonde, sone, er thou me slo; my reste is with the ro: Thah men to me han onde, To love nuly noht wonde, ne lete for non of tho. Levedi, with al my miht to menske when y may; Lylie-whyt hue is, Hire rode so rose on rys, that reveth me mi rest. Wymmon war ant wys, Of prude hue bereth the pris, burde on of the best; this wommon woneth by west, Brihtest under bys, Hevene y tolde al his That o nyht were hire gest. VIII. [Fol. 66, ro.] WEPING haveth myn wonges wet, for wikked werk ant wone of wyt; Unblithe y be til y ha bet, bruches broken ase bok byt. Of levedis love that y ha let, that lemeth al with luefly lyt, Ofte in song y have hem set, that is unsemly ther hit syt; Hit syt ant semeth noht, ther hit ys seid in song, That y have of hem wroht, y-wis hit is al wrong. Al wrong y wrohte for a wyf, that made us wo in world ful wyde; Heo rafte us alle richesse ryf, that durthe us nout in reynes ryde. A stythye stunte hire sturne stryf, that ys in heovene hert in hyde; In hire lyht on ledeth lyf, ant shon thourh hire semly syde; Thourh hyre side he shon, ase sonne doth thourh the glas; Wommon nes wicked now, seththe he y-bore was. Wycked nis non that y wot, that durste for werk hire wonges wete; Alle heo lyven from last of lot, ant are al hende ase hake in chete. For-thi on molde y waxe mot, that y sawes have seid un-sete; My fykel fleishe, mi falsly blod, on feld hem feole y falle to fete. |