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XXXI.

[Fol. 80, vo.]

"My deth y love, my lyf ich hate, for a levedy shene, Heo is brith so daies liht, that is on me wel sene;

Al

y falewe so doth the lef in somer when hit is grene, 3ef mi thoht helpeth me noht, to wham shal y me mene,

Sorewe ant syke ant drery mod byndeth me so faste,
That y wene to walke wod, zef me lengore laste;
My serewe, my care, al with a word, he myhte a-wey caste,
Whet helpeth the, my suete lemmon, my lyf thus forte
gaste ?"

"Do wey, thou clerc, thou art a fol, with the bydde y noht chyde ;

Shalt thou never lyve that day, mi love that thou shalt

byde;

zef thou in my boure art take, shame the may bi-tyde, The is bettere on fote gon, then wycked hors to ryde."

66

Wey-la-wei! whi seist thou so? thou rewe on me, thy

man;

Thou art ever in my thoht, in londe wher ich am;

zef y deze for thi love, hit is the mykel sham;

Thou lete me lyve, ant be thy luef, ant thou my suete lemman."

"Be stille, thou fol, y calle the ritht, cost thou never

blynne ;

Thou art wayted day ant nyht with fader ant al my kynne; Be thou in mi bour y-take, lete they for no synne,

Me to holde ant the to slon, the deth so thou maht wynne."

"Suete ledy, thou wend thi mod, sorewe thou wolt me

kythe;

Ich am al so sory mon, so ich was whylen blythe;
In a wyndou ther we stod, we custe us fyfty sythe;
Feir biheste maketh mony mon al is serewes mythe."

66

Wey-la-wey! whi seist thou so? mi serewe thou makest newe;

Y lovede a clerk al par amours, of love he wes ful trewe, He nes nout blythe never a day, bote he me sone seze, Ich lovede him betere then my lyf, whet bote is hit to leze ?"

"Whil y wes a clerc in scole, wel muchel Ꭹ

lore,

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Ych have tholed for thy love woundes fele sore;
Fer from [hom] ant eke from men under the wode gore;
Suete ledy, thou rewe of me, nou may y no more."

"Thou semest wel to ben a clerc, for thou spekest so stille;

Shalt thou never for mi love woundes thole grylle; Fader, moder, ant al my kun, ne shal me holde so stille, nam thyn ant thou art myn, to don al thi wille."

That

y

XXXII.

[Fol. 80, vo.]

WHEN the nyhtegale singes, the wodes waxen grene, Lef ant gras ant blosme springes in Averyl, y wene, Ant love is to myn herte gon with one spere so kene, Nyht ant day my blod hit drynkes, myn herte deth me

tene.

Ich have loved al this 3er, that y may love namore,
Ich have siked moni syk, lemmon, for thin ore;
Me nis love never the ner, ant that me reweth sore.
Suete lemmon, thench on me, ich have loved the zore.

Suete lemmon, y preye the of love one speche,
Whil y lyve in world so wyde other nulle y seche;
With thy love, my suete leof, mi blis thou mihtes eche,
A suete cos of thy mouth mihte be my leche.

Suete lemmon, y preze the of a love bene;

zef thou me lovest, ase men says, lemmon, as y wene, Ant zef hit thi wille be, thou loke that hit be sene, So muchel y thenke upon the, that al y waxe grene.

Bituene Lyncolne ant Lyndeseye, Norhamptoun ant
Lounde,

Ne wot y non so fayr a may as y go fore y-bounde;
Suete lemmon, y preze the thou lovie me a stounde,
Y wole mone my song on wham that hit ys on y-long.

XXXIII.

[Fol. 81, ro.]

BLESSED be thou, levedy, ful of heovene blisse,
Suete flur of parays, moder of mildenesse,
Preyze Jhesu thy sone, that he me rede ant wysse,
my wey forte gon, that he me never misse.

So

Of the, suete levedy, my song y wile byginne,
Thy deore suete sones love thou lere me to wynne;
Ofte y syke ant serewe among, may y never blynne,
Levedi, for thi milde mod, thou shilde me from synne.

Myne thohtes, levedy, maketh me ful wan,

To the Ꭹ
crie ant calle, thou here me for thi man;
Help me, hevene quene, for thyn ever ycham,
Wisse me to thi deore sone, the weies y ne can.

Levedy, seinte Marie, for thi milde mod,
Soffre never that y be so wilde ne so wod,
That ich her for-leose the that art so god,
That Jhesu me to-bohte with is to suete blod.

Bryhte ant shene, sterre cler, lyht thou me ant lere, In this false fykel world my selve so to bere,

y

That
ner at myn endyng have the feond to fere;
Jesu, mid thi suete blod thou bohtest me so dere.

Levedi, seinte Marie, so fair ant so briht,

Al myn help is on the bi day ant by nyht,
Levedi fre, thou shilde me so wel as thou myht,
That y never for-leose heveriche lyht.

Levedy, seinte Marie, so fayr ant so hende,
Preye Jhesu Crist thi sone, that he me grace sende,
So to queme him ant the, er ich henne wende,
That he me bringe to the blis that is withouten ende.

Ofte y crie merci, of mylse thou art welle,

Alle buen false that bueth mad bothe of fleyshe ant felle; Levedi suete, thou us shild from the pine of helle, Bring us to the joie that no tonge hit may of telle.

Jhesu Crist, Godes sone, fader ant holy gost,
Help us at oure nede, as thou hit al wel wost;
Bring us to thin riche ther is joie most,
Let us never hit misse for non worldes bost!

XXXIV.

[Fol. 81 vo.]

ASE y me rod this ender day,
By grene wode to seche play,
Mid herte y thohte al on a may,
suetest of alle thinge;
Kythe, ant ichou telle may

al of that suete thinge.

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