Angels bryȝt, and deueles blake,
In helle and heuene, my lordschipes be.
Þere be no mo wayes to take;
Is loue or hate more profyt to þe?
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(21)
¶ Ȝif þy loue to þy flesch doþ bende,
To greue me þou dost bygynne.
Ȝif þou loue þe world þat wole make ende,
Of hym þou shalt more lese þan wynne.
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Ȝif þou be suget, and loue þe fende,
He wole þe hate, and ȝeue pyne for synne.
Loue me! y am god, þy frende,
And oure loues shal neuere twynne.
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(22)
¶ Wheþer trewe loue go or sende,
Hym thar not tary in his dede.
When mede haþ leue to stande byhynde,
Þanne trewe loue, his erande may spede.
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Þouȝ trewe loue haue lityl to spende,
Euere he fyndeþ a frend at nede,
Þat fro his foon wole hym fende.
Who so is loued, hym thar not drede."
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(23)
¶ God sayþ, "y haue mercyes to dele,
Þat wole amende, no more do mys.
My mercyes, þousandes mo ken fele
Þan þousandis worldis wikkidnes."
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His herte blod wrot oure hele,
And Ihesus body, þe parchemyn is;
Wiþ trewe loue he prented oure sele,
Þat is heritage of oure blis.
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(24)
¶ Þere is an herbe þat hatteþ 'trewe loue,'
And by name it haþ no pere,
Is lykned to Ihesus, y may proue:
His handes and feet, þe leves were;
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