His veynes to-bursten wiþ þi breid.
Mi fruit stont nou in a strong stryf;
Line 30
Blod from hed is hayled;
Line 31
ffouled is my fayre fruit,
Þat neuer dude tripet ne truit.
Wiþ þeues þat loueden ryot and ruit,
Whi schal my sone be nayled?
Line 35
(4)
Þoruȝ Iugement þou art en-Ioynet
Line 36
To bere fooles ful of sinne.
Mi sone from þe schulde beon ensoynet,
And neuere his blod vppon þe rinne;
But nou is truþe wiþ tresun teynet,
Line 40
Wiþ þeoues to honge fer in fenne;
Wiþ feole nayles his limes ben feynet;
A careful Moder men mai me kenne;
In Bales I am bounde.
Line 44
Þat fruit was of a Mayden born,
On a þeoues tre is al to-torn.
A Broche þorw-out his brest [is] born,
His holi herte haþ wounde.
Line 48
(5)
Tre! þou art loked bi þe lawe,
Line 49
Þeoues, traitours, on þe to dye; [[? deye]]
But now is trouþe wiþ tresun drawe,
And vertu falleþ in vices weye;
But loue and treuþe in soþfast sawe
Line 53
On a treo traytours hem teye;
Vertu is wiþ vices slawe.
Of alle vertues my sone is keye,
Vertu swettore þen spices;
Line 57
In fot and hond bereþ blodi prikke,
His hed is ful of þornes þikke;
Þe goode hongeþ a-mong þe wikke;
Vertu dyeþ wiþ vices.
Line 61
(6)
Tre vnkynde, þou schalt be kud;
Line 62
Mi sone step-Moder, I þe calle.
