(12)
¶ Þus my soule, my body slees
Wiþ gret anguysche and turment.
She telles, Ihesu dyȝed for pes;
But fro his skole she is went;
Line 92
Bytwen vs werre doþ encres.
Here swerd is drawen, here bow is bent.
She sayþ but, 'fleschly lustes, sees!
We mon be dede, and boþe be shent.'
Line 96
(13)
¶ She acordid wiþ Ihesu, and me dede flyte,
And sayde y shulde be [folio 121a] maked tame,
And sayde my werkys me adyte,
And bryngen me in wikked fame.
Line 100
Ȝif worldly men me don smyte,
And don me boþe wrong and grame,
She loueþ that don me despyte,
And preyeþ for all þat don me shame.
Line 104
(14)
¶ Hyȝe fader, god of riȝtwisnes,
Haue mynde of my sorwe sore!
And it be founden Ihesu loued mysse,
To me my soule aȝen restore—
Line 108
A litil playnt nes noȝt þisse,
And alle þat y haue sayd ȝore—
Þat y and my soule be frendis and kisse,
And loue, as we dede here byfore.
Line 112
(15)
¶ For my soule, Ihesu suffred wo,
Bounden and beten wiþ skourges ynowe,
Crowned wiþ thorn, nayled also
On croos, tyl deþ dede hym bowe.
Line 116
Wiþ a spere, his herte let cleue a two,
Wyde open his loue myȝte out flowe,
So loþ hym was his loue forgo;
He is worþy be loued, þat so dede wowe.
Line 120
