[The Tale of the Miner, and how his Wife's Offerings for his Soul fed him while he was buried alive in a Mine.]
Þyr was a man beȝunde þe see,
A mynour, woned yn a cyte,—
Mynurs, þey make yn hyllys holes,
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As yn þe west cuntre men seke coles.—
Þys mynur soȝte stones vndyr þe molde,
Þat men make of, syluer and golde;
he wroȝt on a day, and holed yn þe hyl;
A perylous chauncë to [vnto.] hym fyl;
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For, a grete party of þat yche myne
Fyl dowun yn þe hole, and closed hym ynne.
hys felaus alle, þat were hym hende,
Þat he were dede, weyl soþely wende;
Þey ȝede and toke hem alle to rede, [folio 71b]
And tolde hys wyfe þat he was dede.
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Þys womman pleyned here husbonde sore—
wulde God þat many swyche [swyche many.] wommen wore!—
She hylpe hys soule yn allë þyng,
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In almës dede, and yn offryng;
She offred for hym to þe auter,
Ful of wynë, a pecher,
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And a feyrë lofe with-alle,
Euery day as for a pryncypalle;
Alle þat twelue moneþ stabëly,
But o day þat passed forby.
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Fewe swyche wymmen now we fynde,
Þat to here husbondes are so kynde!
But þys wyfe, at alle here myȝt,
Ded for hym boþe day and nyȝt.
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Fyl hyt at þe twelue moneþ ende,
Hys felaws to þe mounteyne gun wende,
And comë to þe same stede efte,
