(53)
¶ "Mercy was þin aduoket cheef [page 210]
Þat y for þee took fleisch & blood;
Loue madë þee to me so leef,
Þat y for þee was rent on roode;
Line 464
I suffride deeþ to chaunge þi greef,
And vnto helle þan doun y ȝoode;
Y brouȝte þee to blis from repreef:
Þus haue y be, man, þi freend ful good.
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(54)
¶ "I bicame poore, þee riche to make;
To make þee whiȝt, y was made reed;
Mi sorewe, my sijknesse, made þin to slake,
Myn hungir book þi blisful breed.
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I boond my silf, þi boondis y brake;
To gete þee lijf, y suffride þe deede;
What schulde y more do for þi sake?
To hele þi foot, hurt was myn heed.
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(55)
¶ "What woldist þou, man, þat y schuld do?
My mercy to þee is ful redy
Yf þou wolt dispose þee þerto;
Such loue tó þee, man, haue y,
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I hiȝte þee myrþe and ioiës moo, [page 211]
But þou art þin owne moost enemy;
for ouȝt þat y þee bidde, þou wolt so;
Man! make amendis or þou die."
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(56)
(Man's Seventh Answer.)
"LOrd, whanne y þinke on þi pouert, [Man.]
And how wilful þou were, & fayn,
To suffre for me woundis smert;—
To slee my synnës þou were slayn,—
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Hardir than iren is myn hert,
Which haþ no pitee of þi payn!
Euere þe kyndir to me þou art,
Þe more vnkyndir am y agayn.
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