Þat fruit was· of a Mayden born,
On a þeoues tre· is al to torn; [folio 316]
A Broche· þorw-out his brest bo[r]n
His holi herte· haþ wounde:
Line 56
V.
Tre þou art loked· bi þe lawe
Þeoues· traitours· on þe to d[e]ye,
But now is trouþe· wiþ tresun drawe,
And vertu· falleþ in vices weye;
Line 60
But loue· and treuþe·, in soþfast sawe,
On a treo· traytours· hem teye,
Vertu is· wiþ vices slawe:
Of alle vertues· my sone is keye,
Line 64
Vertu· swettore þen spices;
In fot· and· hond· bereþ blodi prikke,
His hed is ful of þornes· þikke,
Þe goode hongeþ· a-mong þe wikke,
Line 68
Vertu dyeþ wiþ vices·:
VI.
Tre vnkynde; þou schalt be kud,
Mi sone step-Moder· I· þe calle:
Mi fruit was born· wiþ beestes on bed,
Line 72
And be my flesch· my flour gan falle,
Wiþ my brestes· my brid I· fed;
Cros· þou ȝeuest him· Eysel· and Galle!
Mi white Rose· Red is spred,
Line 76
Þat fostred was in· a fodderes stalle;
Feet· and fayre hondes;
Þat nou ben croised· I· custe hem ofte,
I· lulled hem· I· leid hem softe:
Line 80
Cros þou holdest hem· hiȝe on lofte
Bounden· in bledyng bondes·!
