Man! is þe laft no loue in store?
What is þe cause þou louest me nouȝt?
Telle me ȝif y myȝte don more.
What is byhynd, þat lakkeþ þe ouȝt?
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(3)
¶ For þy loue y meked me lowe,
And dyȝed on þe rode tre.
Answere, man, and be aknowe:
Shewe what þou suffred for me;
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For suche seed as þou dost sowe,
Þerof shal þyn heruest be,
In heuene or helle to repe and mowe.
As þou deserued, fong þy fee.
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(4)
¶ Man, to þe y make my mone:
I bouȝt þe fro pyne to blisse;
Melte þyn herte, as hard as stone;
Þouȝ it be late, amende þy mysse.
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In wraþþe, þouȝ þou be fro me gon,
Turne aȝayn, y wol þe kysse.
To make me frendis of my fon,
Þerfore y ȝaf my lyf for hysse.
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(5)
¶ Be war, and loue not worldis good
To gete wiþ wrong, and calle it thyn.
Man, haue it in þy mood,
Þou shalt rekene; for alle is myn.
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Why bouȝte y þe on the rood?
For þou shulde serue, and be myn hyne.
Make not myn argumentis wood,
To caste þe fro blisse to pyne.
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(6)
¶ Man, why turmentest þou me so?
Euere þy synnes don encresce,
And þy vices waxen moo,
And þy vertues wanen lesse.
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