(2)
¶ Wiþ soulis briȝt in god ȝe glade
As shynyng angels out of synne,
In worschip of hym þat ȝow made,
To knowe ȝoure seluen now bygynne.
Line 12
To stryue wiþ god we may not wynne;
Boþe body and soule he can bete.
Ihesus is broþer of oure kynne;
ffor-þy wiþ god of [pes] ȝe trete.
Line 16
(3)
¶ Ofte han we treted wiþ god o trewe,
And sayde no more synne we wolde;
And euery ȝeere we breke it newe,
Thre dayes no trewes wiþ hym nele holde;
Line 20
Synne to bay many a folde
On soules helle houndes slete.
Er ȝe come þere, ȝonge and olde,
Wiþ god of pes y rede ȝe trete.
Line 24
(4)
¶ Trete while ȝe haue ȝoure hele,
ffor sodeyn deþ stomblen as blynde.
Þe grettere lordschipe of worldis wele,
Þe more in þraldom hit doþ hem bynde.
Line 28
Man, þenke þy lyf is but a wynde;
When þat is blowen, þou art forȝete;
Holde couenaunt to god, and be kynde.
ffor-þy, wiþ god of pes ȝe trete.
Line 32
(5)
¶ Ȝe mot hit shewe, wiþ herte sorwe,
To a prest, and weel ȝow shryue;
Noȝt turne aȝen þerto to-morwe,
But þenke be good al thy lyue.
Line 36
Wiþ goddis sonde looke ȝe not stryue,
Ne derne mornyng counterfete.
Rekne wysely all þy wittes fyue,
Wiþ god of pes when ȝe do trete.
Line 40
