The merthe of alle this londe

The merthe of alle this londe
Maketh the gode husbonde,
With eringe of his plowe.
Iblessed be Cristés sonde,
That hath us sent in honde
Merthe and joye enowe.

The plowe gothe mony a gate,
Bothe erly and eke late,
In winter in the clay,
Aboute barly and whete,
That makethe men to swete.
God spede the plowe all day!

Browne Morel and Gore
Drawen the plowe full sore
All in the morweninge;
Rewarde hem therefore
With a shefe or more
Alle in the eveninge.

Whan men biginne to sowe,
Full well here corne they knowe
In the mounthe of May.
However Janiver blowe
Wether hie or lowe,
God spede the plowe alle way!

Whan men biginnethe to wede
The thistle fro the sede
In somer whan they may,
God lete hem well to spede;
And longe gode life to lede,
Alle that for plowe men pray.