He wrong hys hondes and wepyd sore;
Mekyll mon he made þer,
Syȝeng full pytewysly.
"A Ihesu, heuen-kyng,
Off nouȝht þou madyst all thyng;
Line 110
Y thanke þe of thy sonde.
The myrth þat I was won to make
Yn þis tyme for þi sake.
Y fede both fre and bond,
And all þat euer com in þi name,
Line 115
They wantyd noþer wylde ne tame,
That was in any lond,
Off rych metys and drynkes gode
That longes for any manus fode,
Off cost I wold not wonde."
Line 120
Als he stode in mournyng so,
And hys wyfe com hym to,
Yn armys sche hym hente.
Sche kyssed hym with glad chere,
And seyd: "My trew wedyd fere,
Line 125
Y herd wele what ȝe ment.
Ȝe se wele, sir, it helpys nouȝht,
To take sorow in ȝour thouȝht;
Ther-for I rede ȝe stynte.
[Let youre sorowe A-waye gon
Line 130
And thanke God of hys lone
Of all þat he hath sent.] [Verses 130-132 are supplied from the Edinburgh MS.]
