¶ A! almiȝty god, mercy I craue,
Now lete my flesche my synnis abie!
Graciose crist! my soule þou haue,
For riȝt is nouȝt wiþout mercie." [page 72]
Line 120
Mercy seide, "ful weel þou woost,
As þou hast often herd sayen,
What man is founde þat was lost,
Wiþ him is crist plesid & fayn.
Line 124
¶ What nede had crist to suffre payne
But for to bie oure soulis to blis?
Telle me þi lijf heere al playn,
Þat mercy may passe riȝtwisnes."
Line 128
"My fyue wittis y haue mys spende
Þoruȝ pride, enuie, & leccherie:
To þe ten heestis y haue not tende
Þoruȝ slouþe, wraþþe, & glotenie.
Line 132
¶ In coueitise lyued haue y,
And neuere dide werkis of mercyes;
God! ȝeue me grace or þat y die!
Þi merci may passe riȝtwisnes."
Line 136
Merci ȝaf him penaunce stronge,
And seide "man, wolt þou þis take?
Þou muste suffre boþe riȝt and wrong
If þou þi synne wolt forsake
Line 140
¶ In good praiers þou muste wake,
And neuere [page 73] wilne to do a-mys;
And for þi sorewe þat þou doost make,
Merci schal passe riȝtwisnes."
Line 144
Þe synner took penaunce wiþ good entent,
And lefte al his wickid synne;
Whanne he hadde leeue, away he went
