Who can not Wepe, com lerne of me. (THE VIRGIN'S SONG OVER HER DEAD SON.)
[MS. O. 9. 38, Trin. Coll. Cambridge. Written mostly as prose.]
Sodenly A-frayd, halfe wakynge, halfe slepyng,
and gretly dysmayd, A woman sate wepyng,
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With fauour in here face far passynge my reson;
And of here sore wepyng þis was þe encheson:
Here sone yn here lappe layd, sche seyd, sleyn by treson:
yf wepyng myȝt rype be, hit semyd then yn seson.
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Ihesus, so sche sobbed,
so here sone was bobbed
And of hys lyue robbed;
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Seynge thys wordys as y sey the,
"Who can not wepe, com lerne of me."
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y seyd y cowde not wepe, y was so hard hertyd.
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Sche answerd me schortly with wordys þat smartyd,
"Lo, nature schall meve þe; þow must be conuertyd,
thyn owne fadyr thys nyȝth ys dede:" thys schee twhertyd:
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"Ihesus, so my sone ys bobbed,
and of hys lyue robbed.
ffor soth then y sobbed
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