With murthes monie mote heo monge,

that brid so breme in boure;

With lossom eye, grete ant gode,
With browen blysfol under hode,
He that reste him on the rode

that leflich lyf honoure! Blou, etc.

Hire lure lumes liht,

Ase a launterne a nyht,

Hire bleo blykyeth so bryht,

so feyr heo is ant fyn;

A suetly suyre heo hath to holde,
With armes, shuldre, ase mon wolde,

Ant fyngres feyre forte folde;

God wolde hue were myn!

Middel heo hath menskful smal;
Hire loveliche chere as cristal;
Thezes, legges, fet, ant al,

y-wraht wes of the beste.

A lussum ledy lasteles

That sweting is ant ever wes;
A betere burde never nes

y-heryed with the heste.

Heo is dereworthe in day,
Graciouse, stout, ant gay,

Gentil, jolyf so the jay,

worhliche when heo waketh;

Maiden murgest of mouth,

Bi est, bi west, by north ant south;

Ther nis fiele ne crouth

that such murthes maketh.

Heo is coral of godnesse,

Heo is rubie of ryhtfulnesse,

Heo is cristal of clannesse, ant baner of bealté ;

Heo is lilie of largesse,

Heo is parvenke of prouesse, Heo is solsecle of suetnesse, ant ledy of lealté.

To love that leflich is in londe,
Y tolde him as ych understonde,
Hou this hende hath hent in honde
on huerte that myn wes;
Ant hire knyhtes me han so soht,
Sykyng, sorewyng, ant thoht,
Tho thre me han in bale broht,
azeyn the poer of pees.

To love y putte pleyntes mo,
Hou sykyng me hath siwed so,
Ant eke thoht me thrat to slo,

with maistry 3ef he myhte; Ant serewe sore in balful bende, That he wolde for this hende

Me lede to my lyves ende,

unlahfulliche in lyhte.

Hire love me lustnede uch word,
Ant beh him to me over bord,

Ant bed me hente that hord,

of myne huerte hele;

Ant bisecheth that swete ant swote, Er then thou falle ase fen of fote, That heo with the wolle of bote dereworthliche dele.

For hire love y carke ant care,
For hire love y droupne ant dare,
For hire love my blisse is bare,
ant al ich waxe won;

For hire love in slep y slake,
For hire love al nyht ich wake,
For hire love mournyng y make
more then eny mon.

XVII.

[Fol. 75, ro.]

MARIE, pur toun enfaunt, X

Qe est roi tot puissaunt,

e tot le mounde guye, Nus seiez de la mort garaunt,

Qe li maufé mescreaunt

nus ne eit en baylie!

Ma douce dame, en vus me fy; Car ta docour me hardy

de aver en vus fiaunce; Pur ce, dame, vus cri merci, Ne soffrez qe soi maubaily, pur ta seinte puissaunce.

Par la joie e le doucour,
Que vus aviez icel jour

quant le angle dit, "Marie, Virgine seiez sauntz nul retour, Si come te envoit ton creatour, mar serrez esbaye."

Pur la joie, uncore vus pri,
Qe aviez quant il nasqui

e virgine remeytes;
Vus noristes, je le vus dy,
Le fitz Dieu Jhesu, par qui

en joie vus en estes.

Uncore vus pri, pur cel confort Qe aviez, quant il de mort

releva en vie,

E enfern brusa, com ly fort,
E remena à soun deport
sa douce compagnie.

Marie, mere Jhesu Crist,
Pur la joie que il vus fist,

quant il en ciel mounta,

E la char qe de vus prist, A la destre son pere assist, hautement la corona.

Pur la joie, mere Marie,

Qu'il vus fist en ceste vie, file Joachyn;

Ore estes en sa compagnie,

Des aungles haltement servye,

e serrez sauntz fyn.

Pur celes joies qe je vus chaunt, De moi qe su repentant,

gloriouse mere,

Eyez merci, quar en mon vivant,

Serroi vostre lige serjaunt,

en ma povre manere.

Marie, mere Dée,

Pur la tue seinte pieté

e pur ta grant fraunchise, Escu me seiez vers le malfé Que par tey seye salvé,

e ma alme en ciel myse!