Queen of comfort, yit whan j me bithinke
þat j agilt haue boþë him and þee,
And þat my soule is wurthi for to sinke,
Allas, j, caityf, whider may I flee?
Line 19914
Who shal vn-to þi sone my menë bee?
Who but þi-self, þat art of pitee welle.
Þou hast more reuthe on oure aduersitee,
Þan in þis world miht any tungë telle.
Line 19918
Redressë me, mooder, and me chastise!
ffor certeynly, my faderes chástisinge,
Þat dar j nouht abiden in no wise;
Line 19921
So hidous is hys [[MS. it is: later hys in margin]] rihful rekenynge
Mooder, of whom oure merci gan to springe
Beth ye my juge, & eek my soulës leche;
ffor euere in you is pitee háboundinge
To eche, þat wole of pitee you biseeche.
Line 19926
Soth is, þat God ne granteth no pitee
With-outë þee; for God, of his goodnesse,
fforyiveth noon, but it like vn-to þee.
He hath þee maked, vicair & maistresse
Line 19930
Of al þe world, and eek gouérnowresse [folio 115a]
Of heuene; and he represseth his iustise
After þi wil; and þerfore, in witnesse,
He hath þee corowned in so rial wise.
Line 19934
Temple deuout, þer god hath his woninge,
ffro which þese misbileeued depriued [[pryued, John's and Laud MSS.]] been!
To you, my soulë penitent j bringe.
Resceyuë me! I can no ferþere fleen.
Line 19938
With thornës venymous, O heuene queen,
ffor which þe eerþe acursed was ful yore,
I am so [[om. MS.]] wounded, as ye may wel seen,
þat j am lost almost; it smert so sore.
Line 19942
Virgine, þat art so noble of apparaile,
And ledest us in-to þe hyë tour
