The Works of William Herebert, OFM

Poem 6: Þou wommon boute uére; Fol. 206v-207r

Þou wommon boute uére
Þyn oune uader bére.
Gret wonder þys was:
Þat on wommon was móder
To uader and hyre broþer,
So neuer oþer nas.
Þou my suster and moder,
And þy sone my broþer;
Who shulde þœnne dréde?
Who hauet þe kyng to broder
And ek þe quéne to moder
Wel auhte uor to spéde.
Dame, suster and moder,
Say þy sone, my broþer,
Þat ys domes mon,
Þat uor þe þat hym bere
To me bœ debonere;
My robe he haueth opon.
Sœthþe he my robe tok,
Also ich finde in bok,
He ys to me ybounde.
And helpe he wole ich wot,
Vor loue þe chartre wrot,
Þe enke orn of hys wounde.
Ich take to wytnessinge
Þe spere and þe crounynge,
Þe nayles and þe rode,
Þat he þat ys so cunde
Þys euer haueth in munde,
Þat bouhte ous wyth hys blode.
[folio 207r]
When þou ȝeue hym my wede,
Dame, help at þe nœde.
Ich wot þou myth uol wel,
Þat uor no wreched gult
Ich bœ to helle ypult;
To þe ich make apél.
Nou, Dame, ich þe byseche,
At þylke day of wreche
Bœ by þy sones tróne,
When sunne shal bœn souht
In werk, in word, in þouht,
And spek vor me, þou one.
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