In sorow and in bytternesse
Of myn oune soule, thus shall I say:
Now, good Ihesu, kynge of blysse,
Dampne me nat at domesday.
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And, good Ihesu, to the I pray,
Telle how thus thow demest me.
Nowe yeue me mercy, and say nat nay,
Wyth Parce michi, domine.
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(9)
Nunquid tibi bonum videtur si calumpnieris et oprimas me, opus manuum tuarum, et consilium impiorum adiuues?
Semeth hit good, lorde, vnto the,
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To thryste me doune, and me accuse?
I am thy werke, thow madest me:
Thyne oune handwerk thow nat refuse.
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Wythyn the close of cheryte,
Good god, thow me recluse,
And yef I gylte the in any degre,
With thy mercy thow me excuse,
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Ne late me neuer of maters muse
That fallen vnto dyshoneste.
Thys prayer thow nat recuse,
But Parce michi, domine.
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(10)
Nunquid oculi carnei tibi sunt aut sicut videt homo et tu vides?
Whether thyne eyen flesshly be,
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Or yef thow seest as seeth a man?
Nay, forsooth, but oonly we
Of outeward thynges beholdyng han;
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But inward thynges dost thow se,
That non other may se ne can;
Therfore, lorde, I pray to the,
Warne me when I am mystan,
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That I may flee fro foule sathan,
That ys aboute to perysshe me.
Lese nat thow ones wan,
But Parce michi, domine.
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