XVIII.

[Fol. 75, ro.]

SUETE Jhesu, king of blysse,

Myn huerte love, min huerte lisse,
Thou art suete myd y-wisse,

Wo is him that the shal misse!

Suete Jhesu, min huerte lyht,

Thou art day with-oute nyht,

Thou zeve me streinthe ant eke myht, Forte lovien the a-ryht.

Suete Jhesu, min huerte bote,
In myn huerte thou sete a rote
Of thi love, that is so swote,
Ant lene that hit springe mote.

Suete Jhesu, min huerte gleem,
Bryhtore then the sonne beem,
Y-bore thou were in Bedleheem,
Thou make me here thi suete dreem.

Suete Jhesu, thi love is suete,

Wo is him that the shall lete! Tharefore me shulden ofte the grete, With salte teres ant eze wepe.

Suete Jhesu, kyng of londe,

Thou make me fer understonde,

That min herte mote fonde,

Hou suete bueth thi love bonde.

Swete Jhesu, loverd myn,

My lyf, myn huerte, al is thin,
Undo myn herte ant liht ther-yn,
Ant wite me from fendes engyn.

Suete Jhesu, my soule fode,
Thin werkes bueth bo suete ant gode,
Thou bohtest me upon the rode,
For me thou sheddest thi blode.

Suete Jhesu, me reoweth sore,

Gultes that y

Tharefore y

ha wrotht 30re;

bidde thin mylse ant ore,

Merci, lord, ynul na more!

Suete Jhesu, loverd God,

Thou me bohtest with thi blod,

Out of thin huerte orn the flod,
Thi moder hit seh that the by stod.

Suete Jhesu, bryht ant shene,

Y preye

the thou here my bene,

Thourh ernding of the hevene quene,

That my bone be nou sene.

Suete Jhesu, berne best,

With ich hope habbe rest,

Whether y

be south other west,

The help of the be me nest!

Suete Jhesu, wel may him be,
That the may in blisse se!
After mi soule let aungles te,
For me ne gladieth gome ne gle.

Suete Jhesu, hevene kyng,
Feir ant best of alle thyng,
Thou bring me of this longyng,
Ant come to the at myn endyng.

Suete Jhesu, al folkes reed,
Graunte ous er we buen ded

The under-fonge in fourme of bred,

Ant seththe to heovene thou us led?

XIX.

[Fol. 75, vo.]

JESU CRIST, heovene kyng,

zef us alle god endyng,

that bone biddeth the;

At the biginnyng of mi song,
Jhesu, y the preye among,

in stude al wher Ꭹ
be;
For thou art kyng of alle,
To the y clepie ant calle,

thou have merci of me.

This ender day in o morewenyng,

With dreri herte ant gret mournyng,

on mi folie y thohte;

One that is so suete a thing,

That ber Jesse the hevene kyng,

merci y besohte;

Jhesu, for thi muchele myht,

Thou graunte us alle hevene lyht,

that us so duere bohtes;

For thi merci, Jhesu suete,

Thin hondy werk nult thou lete,

that thou wel zerne sohtest.

Wel ichot, ant soth hit ys,
That in this world nys no blys,

bote care, serewe, ant pyne; Tharefore ich rede we wurchen so, That we mowe come to

the joye withoute fyne!

XX.

[Fol. 75, vo.]

WYNTER Wakeneth al my care,

Nou this leves waxeth bare,

Ofte

y sike ant mourne sare,

When hit cometh in my thoht

Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.

Now hit is, ant now hit nys,

Also hit ner nere y-wys,

That moni mon seith soth hit ys,

Al goth bote Godes wille,

Alle we shule deye, thath us like ylle.

Al that gren me graueth grene,
Nou hit faleweth al by-dene;

Jhesu, help that hit be sene,

Ant shild us from helle,

For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.