XIII

Thenne þis bolde Baltaȝar biþenkkes hym ones,
To vouche on a vayment of his vayne g[l]orie;
Hit is not innoghe to þe nice al noȝty þink vse,
Bot if alle þe worlde wyt his wykked dedes.
Baltaȝar þurȝ babiloyn his banne gart crye,
& þurȝ þe cuntre of caldee his callyng con spryng,
Þat alle þe grete vpon grounde schulde geder hem samen
& assemble at a set day at þe saudans fest.
Such a mangerie to make þe man watȝ auised,
Þat vche a kythyn kyng schuld com þider;
Vche duk wyth his duthe & oþer dere lordes,
Schulde com to his court to kyþe hym for lege,
& to reche hym reuerens & his reuel herkken;
To loke on his lemanes & ladis hem calle,
To rose hym in his rialty rych men soȝtten,
& mony a baroun ful bolde, to babyloyn þe noble.
Þer bowed toward babiloyn burnes so mony,
Kynges, Cayseres ful kene, to þe court wonnen,
Mony ludisch lordes þat ladies broȝten,
Þat to neuen þe noumbre to much nye were.
For þe bourȝ watȝ so brod & so bigge alce,
Stalled in þe fayrest stud þe sterreȝ an-vnder,
Prudly on a plat playn, plek alþer-fayrest,
Vmbe-sweyed on vch a syde with seuen grete wateres,
With a wonder wroȝt walle wruxeled ful hiȝe,
With koynt carneles aboue, coruen ful clene,
Troched toures bitwene twenty spere lenþe,
& þiker þrowen vmbe þour-with ouer-þwert palle.
Þe place, þat plyed þe pursaunt wyth-inne,
Watȝ longe & ful large & euer ilych sware,
& vch a syde vpon soyle helde seuen myle,
& þe saudans sete sette in þe myddes;
Þat watȝ a palayce of pryde passande alle oþer,
Boþe of werk & of wunder & walle al aboute;
Heȝe houses with-inne þe halle to hit med,
So brod bilde in a bay, þat blonkkes myȝt renne.
When þe terme of þe tyde watȝ to vsched of þe feste,
Dere droȝen þer-to & vpon des metten,
& baltaȝar vpon bench was busked to sete,
Stepe stayred stones of his stoute throne.
Þenne watȝ alle þe halle flor hiled with knyȝtes,
& barounes at þe side-bordes bounet ay-where,
For non watȝ dressed vpon dece bot þe dere seluen,
& his clere concubynes in cloþes ful bryȝt.
When alle segges were þer set, þen seruyse bygynnes,
Sturnen trumpen strake steuen in halle,
Aywhere by þe wowes wrasten krakkes,
& brode baneres þer-bi blusnande of gold;
Burnes berande þe bredes vpon brode skeles,
Þat were of sylueren syȝt & seerved þer-wyth,
Lyfte logges þer-ouer & on lofte coruen,
Pared out of paper & poynted of golde,
Broþe baboynes abof, besttes an-vnder,
Foles in foler flakerande bi-twene,
& al in asure & ynde enaumayld ryche,
& al on blonkken bak bere hit on honde.
& ay þe nakeryn noyse, notes of pipes,
Tymbres & tabornes, tulket among,
Symbales & soneteȝ sware þe noyse,
& bougounȝ busch batered so þikke;
So watȝ serued fele syþe þe sale alle aboute,
With solace at þe sere course, bifore þe self lorde,
Þer þe lede & alle his loue lenged at þe table.
So faste þay weȝed to him wyne, hit warmed his hert
& breyþed vppe in to his brayn & blemyst his mynde,
& al waykned his wyt, & wel neȝe he foles,
For he wayteȝ onwyde, his wenches he byholdes,
& his bolde baronage, aboute bi þe woȝes;
Þenne a dotage ful depe drof to his hert,
& a caytif counsayl he caȝt bi hym seluen.
Maynly his marschal þe mayster vpon calles,
& comaundes hym cofly coferes to lance,
& fech forþe vessel þat his fader broȝt
Nabugo-de-noȝar, noble in his strenþe,
Conquerd with his knyȝtes & of kyrk rafte
In iude, in ierusalem in gentyle wyse:
“Bryng hem now to my borde, of beuerage hem fylles,
Let þise ladyes of hem lape, I luf hem in hert;
Þat schal I cortaysly kyþe & þay schin knawe sone,
Þer is no bounté in burne lyk baltaȝar þewes.”
Þenne towched to þe tresour þis tale watȝ sone,
& he with keyes vn-closes kystes ful mony;
Mony burþen ful bryȝt watȝ broȝt in-to halle,
& couered mony a cupborde with cloþes ful quite.
Þe iueles out of ierusalem with gemmes ful bryȝt,
Bi þe syde of þe sale were semely arayed;
Þe aþel auter of brasse watȝ hade in-to place;
Þe gay coroun of golde gered on lofte,
Þat hade ben blessed bifore wyth bischopes hondes
& wyth besten blod busily anoynted,
In þe solempne sacrefyce þat goud sauor hade,
Bifore þe lorde of þe lyfte in louyng hym seluen,
Now is sette for to serue satanas þe blake,
Bifore þe bolde baltaȝar wyth bost & wyth pryde.
Houen vpon þis auter watȝ aþel vessel,
Þat wyth so curious a crafte coruen watȝ wyly;
Salamon sete him s[eue]n ȝere & a syþe more,
With alle þe syence þat hym sende þe souerayn lorde,
For to compas & kest to haf hem clene wroȝt;
For þer wer bassynes ful bryȝt of brende golde clere,
En-aumaylde with aȝer & eweres of sute;
Couered cowpes foul clene, as casteles arayed,
Enbaned vnder batelment with bantelles quoynt,
& fyled out of fygures of ferlyle schappes.
Þe coperounes of þe canacles þat on þe cuppe reres,
Wer fetysely formed out in fylyoles longe,
Pinacles pyȝt þer apert þat profert bitwene,
& al boiled abof with braunches & leues,
Pyes & papeiayes purtrayed with-inne,
As þay prudly hade piked of pomgarnades;
For alle þe blomes of þe boȝes wer blyknande perles
& alle þe fruyt in þo formes of flaumbeande gemmes,
Ande safyres, & sardiners, & semely topace,
Alabaunderynes, & amaraunȝ & amaffised stones,
Casydoynes, & crysolytes, & clere rubies,
Penitotes, & pynkardines, ay perles bitwene,
So trayled & tryfled a trauerce wer alle,
Bi vche bekyrande þe bolde, þe brurdes al vmbe;
Þe gobelotes of golde grauen aboute,
& fyoles fretted with flores & fleeȝ of golde,
Vpon þat avter watȝ al aliche dresset.
Þe candelstik bi a cost watȝ cayred þider sone,
[V]pon þe pyleres apyked þat praysed hit mony,
Vpon hit baseȝ of brasse þat ber vp þe werkes,
Þe boȝes bryȝt þer abof, brayden of golde,
Braunches bredande þer-on, & bryddes þer seten
Of mony kyndes, of fele-kyn hues,
As þay with wynge vpon wynde hade waged her fyþeres,
In-mong þe leues of þe lampes wer grayþed;
& oþer louelych lyȝt þat lemed ful fayre,
As mony morteres of wax merkked with-oute,
With mony a borlych best al of brende golde.
Hit watȝ not wonte in þat wone to wast no serges,
Bot in temple of þe trauþe trwly to stonde;
Bifore þe sancta, sanctorum soþefast dryȝtyn,
Expouned his speche spiritually to special prophetes.
Leue þou wel þat þe lorde þat þe lyfte ȝemes
Displesed much, at þat play in þat plyt stronge,
Þat his ineles so gent wyth iaueles wer fouled,
Þat presyous in his presens wer proued sum whyle.
Soberly in his sacrafyce summe wer anoynted,
Þurȝ þe somones of him selfe þat syttes so hyȝe;
Now a boster on benche bibbes þerof
Tyl he be dronkken as þe deuel, & dotes þer he syttes;
So þe worcher of þis worlde wlates þer-wyth,
Þat in þe poynt of her play he poruayes a mynde;
Bot er harme hem he wolde in haste of his yre,
He wayned hem a warnyng þat wonder hem þoȝt.
Nov is alle þis guere geten glotounes to serue;
Stad in a ryche stal & stared ful bryȝtȝ,
Baltaȝar in a brayd bede vus þer-of.
“Weȝe wyn in þis won, wassayl!” he cryes.
Swyfte swaynes ful swyþe swepen þer-tylle,
Kyppe kowpes in honde kyngeȝ to serue,
In bryȝt bolleȝ, ful bayn birlen þise oþer,
& vche mon for his mayster machches alone.
Þer watȝ rynging, on ryȝt, of ryche metalles,
Quen renkkes in þat ryche rok rennen hit to cache,
Clatering of conacleȝ þat kesten þo burdes,
As sonet out of sau[t]eray songe als myry.
Þen þe dotel on dece drank þat he myȝt,
& þenne arn dressed dukeȝ & prynces,
Concubines & knyȝtes, bi cause of þat merthe;
As vchon hade hym in helde he haled of þe cuppe,
So long likked þise lordes þise lykores swete,
& gloryed on her falce goddes & her grace calles,
Þat were of stokkes & stones, stille euer more;
Neuer steuen hem astel, so stoken is hor tonge,
Alle þe goude golden goddes þe gauleȝ ȝet neuenen,
Belfagor & belyal & belssabub als,
Heyred hem as hyȝly as heuen wer þayres,
Bot hym þat alle goudes giues, þat god þay for-ȝeten,
For þer a ferly bifel þat fele folk seȝen;
Fyrst knew hit þe kyng & alle þe cort after,
In þe palays pryncipale vpon þe playn wowe,
In contrary of þe candelstik þat clerest hit schyned.
Þer apered a paume, with poyntel in fyngres
Þat watȝ grysly & gret, & grymly he wrytes,
Non oþer forme bot a fust faylande þe wryste,
Pared on þe parget, purtrayed lettres.
When þat bolde baltaȝar blusched to þat neue,
Such a dasande drede dusched to his hert,
Þat al falewed his face & fayled þe chere;
Þe stronge strok of þe stonde strayned his ioyntes,
His cnes cachches to close & cluchches his hommes,
& he with plat-tyng his paumes displayes his lers,
& romyes as a rad ryth þat roreȝ for drede,
Ay biholdand þe honde til hit hade al grauen,
& rasped on þe roȝ woȝe runisch saueȝ.
When hit þe scrypture hade scraped wyth a scrof penne,
As a coltour in clay cerues þo forȝes,
Þenne hit vanist verayly & voyded of syȝt,
Bot þe lettres bileued ful large vpon plaster.
Sone so þe kynge for his care carping myȝt wynne,
He bede his burnes boȝ to þat were bok lered,
To wayte þe wryt þat hit wolde & wyter hym to say,
“For al hit frayes my flesche þe fyngres so grymme.”
Scoleres skelten þeratte þe skyl forto fynde,
Bot þer watȝ neuer on so wyse couþe on worde rede,
Ne what ledisch lore ne langage nauþer
What tyþyng ne tale tokened þo draȝtes.
Þenne þe bolde baltaȝar bred ner wode.
& ede þe Ceté to seche segges þurȝ-out,
Þat wer wyse of wyche-crafte & warlaȝes oþer,
Þat con dele wyth demerlayk, & deuine lettres:
“Calle hem alle to my cort þo calde clerkkes,
Vn-folde hem alle þis ferly þat is bifallen here,
& calle wyth a hiȝe cry; ‘he þat þe kyng wysses,
In expounyng of speche þat spredes in þise lettres,
& make þe mater to malt my mynde wyth-inne,
Þat I may wyterly wyt what þat wryt menes,
He schal þe gered ful gaye in gounes of porpre,
& a coler of cler golde clos vmbe his þrote;
He schal be prymate & prynce of pure clergye,
& of my þreuenest lordeȝ þe þrydde he schal
& of my reme þe rychest to ryde wyth myseluen,
Out-taken bare two & þenne he þe þrydde.’”
Þis cry watȝ vp-caste, & þer comen mony
Clerkes out of caldye þat kennest wer knauen,
As þe sage sathrapas þat sorsory couþe;
Wycheȝ & walkyries wonnen to þat sale,
Deuinores of demorlaykes þat dremes cowþe rede,
Sorsers & exorsismus & fele such clerkes;
& alle þat loked on þat letter as lewed þay were,
As þay had loked in þe leþer of my lyft bote.
Þenne cryes þe kyng & kerues his wedes;
What! he corsed his clerkes & calde hem chorles,
To henge þe harlotes he heȝed ful ofte,
So watȝ þe wyȝe wytles, he wed wel ner.
Ho herde hym chyde to þe chambre þat watȝ þe chef quene;
When ho watȝ wytered bi wyȝes what watȝ þe cause,
Suche a chaungande chaunce in þe chef halle,
Þe lady to lauce þat los þat þe lorde hade,
Glydes doun by þe grece & gos to þe kyng;
Ho kneles on þe colde erþe & carpes to hym seluen,
Wordes of worchyp wyth a wys speche.
“Kene kyng,” quod þe quene, “kayser of vrþe,
Euer laste þy lyf in lenþe of dayes;
Why hatȝ þou rended þy robe for redles here-inne,
Þaȝ þose ledes ben lewed lettres to rede,
& hatȝ a haþel in þy holde, as I haf herde ofte,
Þat hatȝ þe gostes of god þat gyes alle soþes;
His sawle is ful of syence, saȝes to schawe,
To open vch a hide þyng of aunteres vn-cowþe;
Þat is he þat ful ofte hatȝ heuened þy fader
Of mony anger ful hote with his holy speche.
When nabugo-de-noȝar watȝ nyed in stoundes,
He de-vysed his dremes to þe dere trawþe,
He keuered hym with his counsayl of caytyf wyrdes;
Alle þat he spured hym in space he expowned clene,
Þurȝ þe sped of þe spyryt þat sprad hym with-inne,
Of þe godelest goddeȝ þat gaynes ay-where.
For his depe diuinité & his dere sawes,
Þy bolde fader baltaȝar bede by his name,
Þat now is demed danyel of derne coninges,
Þat caȝt watȝ in þe captyuidé in cuntre of iues;
Nabuȝardan hym nome & now is he here,
A prophete of þat prouince & pryce of þe worlde.
Sende in-to þe ceté to seche hym bylyue,
& wynne hym with þe worchyp to wayne þe bote,
& þaȝ þe mater be merk þat merked is ȝender,
He schal de-clar hit also, as hit on clay stande.”
Þat gode counseyl at þe quene watȝ cached as swyþe,
Þe burne byfore baltaȝar watȝ broȝt in a whyle,
When he com bifore þe kyng & clanly had halsed,
Baltaȝar vmbe-brayde hym & “leue sir,” he sayde,
“Hit is tolde me bi tulkes, þat þou trwe were
Profete of þat prouynce þat prayed my fader,
Ande þat þou hatȝ in þy hert holy connyng,
Of sapyence þi sawle ful soþes to schawe;
Goddes gost is þe geuen þat gyes alle þynges,
& þou vnhyles vch hidde þat heuen kyng myntes;
& here is a ferly byfallen, & I fayn wolde
Wyt þe wytte of þe wryt, þat on þe wowe clyues,
For alle calde clerkes han cowwardely fayled;
If þou with quayntyse conquere hit,
I quyte þe þy mede.
For if þou redes hit by ryȝt & hit to resoun brynges,
Fyrst telle me þe tyxte of þe tede lettres,
& syþen þe mater of þe mode, mene me þer-after,
& I schal halde þe þe hest þat I þe hyȝt haue;
Apyke þe in porpre cloþe, palle alþer-fynest,
& þe byȝe of bryȝt golde abowte þyn nekke,
& þe þryd þryuenest þat þrynges me after,
Þou schal be baroun vpon benche, bede I þe no lasse.”
Derfly þenne danyel deles þyse wordes:
“Ryche kyng of þis rengne rede þe oure lorde,
Hit is surely soth, þe souerayn of heuen
Fylsened euer þy fader & vpon folde cheryched,
Gart hym grattest to be of gouernores alle,
& alle þe worlde in his wylle welde as hym lykes.
Who-so wolde wel do, wel hym bityde,
& quos deth so he deȝyre he dreped als fast;
Who-so hym lyked to lyft, on lofte watȝ he sone,
& quo-so hym lyked to lay, watȝ loȝed bylyue.
So watȝ noted þe note of nabugo-de-noȝar,
Styfly stabled þe rengne bi þe stronge dryȝtyn,
For of þe hyȝest he hade a hope in his hert,
Þat vche pouer past out of [þ]at prynce euen;
& whyle þat watȝ cleȝt clos in his hert,
Þere watȝ no mon vpon molde of myȝt as hym seluen,
Til hit bitide on a tyme, towched hym pryde
For his lordeschyp so large, & his lyf ryche;
He hade so huge an insyȝt to his aune dedes,
Þat þe power of þe hyȝe prynce he purely forȝetes.
Þenne blynnes he not of blasfemyon to blame þe dryȝtyn,
His myȝt mete to goddes he made with his wordes:
“I am god of þe grounde, to gye as me lykes,
As he þat hyȝe is in heuen his aungeles þat weldes;
If he hatȝ formed þe folde & folk þer vpone,
I haf bigged babiloyne, burȝ alþer-rychest,
Stabled þer-inne vche a ston in strenkþe of myn armes,
Moȝt neuer myȝt bot myn make such anoþer.”
Watȝ not þis ilke worde wonnen of his mowþe one,
Er þenne þe souerayn saȝe souned in his eres,
“Now nabugo-de-noȝar innoȝe hatȝ spoken,
Now is alle þy pryncipalté past at ones,
& þou, remued fro monnes sunes, on mor most abide,
& in wasturne walk & wyth þe wylde dowelle,
As best, byte on þe bent of braken & erbes,
With wroþe wolfes to won & wyth wylde asses.”
In mydde þe poynt of his pryde de-parted he þere,
Fro þe soly of his solempneté, his solace he leues,
& carfully is out-kast to contré vnknawen,
Fer in-to a fyr fryth þere frekes neuer comen.
His hert heldet vnhole, he hoped non oþer
Bot a best þat he be, a bol oþer an oxe.
He fares forth on alle faure, fogge watȝ his mete,
& ete ay as a horce when erbes were fallen,
Þus he countes hym a kow, þat watȝ a kyng ryche,
Quyle seuen syþeȝ were ouer-seyed someres I trawe.
By þat, mony þik thyȝe þryȝt vmbe his lyre,
Þat alle watȝ dubbed & dyȝt in þe dew of heuen;
Faxe fyltered, & felt flosed hym vmbe,
Þat schad fro his schulderes to his schyre wykes,
& twenty-folde twynande hit to his tos raȝt
Þer mony clyuy as clyde hit clyȝt to-geder.
His berde I-brad alle his brest to þe bare vrþe,
His browes bresed as breres aboute his brode chekes;
Holȝe were his yȝen & vnder campe hores,
& al watȝ gray as þe glede, with ful grymme clawres
Þat were croked & kene as þe kyte paune;
Erne-hwed he watȝ & al ouer-brawden,
Til he wyst ful wel who wroȝt alle myȝtes,
& cowþe vche kyndam tokerue & keuer when hym lyked;
Þenne he wayned hym his wyt þat hade wo soffered,
Þat he com to knawlach & kenned hym seluen,
Þenne he laued þat lorde & leued in trawþe,
Hit watȝ non oþer þen he þat hade al in honde.
Þenne sone watȝ he sende agayn, his sete restored;
His barounes boȝed hym to, blyþe of his come,
Haȝerly in his aune hwe his heued watȝ couered,
& so ȝeply watȝ ȝarked & ȝolden his state.
Bot þou baltaȝar his barne & his bolde ayre,
Seȝ þese syngnes with syȝt & set hem at lyttel,
Bot ay hatȝ hofen þy hert agaynes þe hyȝe dryȝt[y]n,
With bobaunce & with blasfamye bost at hym kest,
& now his vessayles avyled in vanyté vnclene,
Þat in his hows hym to honour were heuened of fyrst;
Bifore þe barounȝ hatȝ hom broȝt, & byrled þerinne
Wale wyne to þy wenches in waryed stoundes;
Bifore þy borde hatȝ þou broȝt beuerage in þede,
Þat blyþely were fyrst blest with bischopes hondes,
Louande þeron lese goddeȝ, þat lyf haden neuer,
Made of stokkes & stoneȝ þat neuer styry moȝt.
& for þat froþande fylþe, þe fader of heuen
Hatȝ sende in-to þis sale þise syȝtes vncowþe,
Þe fyste with þe fyngeres þat flayed þi hert,
Þat rasped renyschly þe woȝe with þe roȝ penne.
Þise ar þe wordes here wryten with-oute werk more,
By vch fygure, as I fynde, as oure fader lykes.
“Mane, techal, phares, merked in þrynne,
Þat þretes þe of þyn vnþryfte vpon þre wyse;
Now expowne þe þis speche spedly I þenk.
Mane menes als much as, maynful gode
Hatȝ counted þy kyndam bi a clene noumbre,
& ful-fylled hit in fayth to þe fyrre ende.
To teche þe of techal, þat terme þus menes,
Þy wale rengne is walt in weȝtes to heng,
& is funde ful fewe of hit fayth dedes.
& phares folȝes for þose fawtes to frayst þe trawþe,
In phares fynde I forsoþe þise felle saȝes;
De-parted is þy pryncipalté, depryued þou worþes,
Þy rengne rafte is þe fro, & raȝt is þe perses,
Þe medes schal be maysteres here, & þou of menske schowued.”
Þe kyng comaunded anon to cleþe þat wyse,
In frokkes of fyn cloþ, as forward hit asked;
Þenne sone watȝ danyel dubbed in ful dere porpor
& a coler of cler golde kest vmbe his swyre.
Þen watȝ demed a de-cre bi þe duk seluen,
Bolde baltaȝa[r] bed þat hym bowe schulde
Þe comynes a lof calde þat to þe kyng longed,
As to þe prynce pryuyest preued þe þrydde,
Heȝest of alle oþer, saf onelych tweyne,
To boȝ after baltaȝar in borȝe & in felde.
Þys watȝ cryed & knawen in cort als fast,
& alle þe folk þer-of fayn þat folȝed hym tylle;
Bot how-so danyel watȝ dyȝt, þat day ouer-ȝede,
Nyȝt neȝed ryȝt now with nyes fol mony,
For daȝed neuer an oþer day þat ilk derk after,
Er dalt were þat ilk dome þat danyel deuysed,
Þe solace of þe solempneté in þat sale dured
Of þat farand fest, tyl fayled þe sunne;
Þenne blykned þe ble of þe bryȝt skwes,
Mourkenes þe mery weder, & þe myst dryues
Þorȝ þe lyst of þe lyfte, bi þe loȝ medoes;
Vche haþel to his home hyȝes ful fast,
Seten at her soper & songen þer-after,
Þen foundeȝ vch a felaȝschyp fyrre at forþ naȝtes.
Baltaȝar to his bedd with blysse watȝ caryed,
Reche þe rest as hym lyst, he ros neuer þer-after;
For his foes in þe felde in flokkes ful grete
Þat longe hade layted þat lede his londes to strye,
Now ar þay sodenly assembled at þe self tyme,
Of hem wyst no wyȝe þat in þat won dowelled.
Hit watȝ þe dere daryus þe duk of þise medes,
Þe prowde prynce of perce & porros of ynde,
With mony a legioun ful large, with ledes of armes,
Þat now hatȝ spyed a space to spoyle caldeeȝ.
Þay þrongen þeder in þe þester on þrawen hepes,
Asscaped ouer þe skyre watteres & scaþed þe walles,
Lyfte laddres ful longe & vpon lofte wonen,
Stelen stylly þe toun er any steuen rysed,
With-inne an oure of þe nyȝt an entré þay hade;
Ȝet afrayed þay no freke, fyrre þay passen,
& to þe palays pryncipal þay aproched ful stylle;
Þenne ran þay in on a res, on rowtes ful grete,
Blastes out of bryȝt brasse brestes so hyȝe,
Ascry scarred on þe scue þat scomfyted mony.
Segges slepande were slayne er þay slyppe myȝt,
Vche hous heyred watȝ, with-inne a honde-whyle;
Baltaȝar in his bed watȝ beten to deþe,
Þat boþe his blod & his brayn blende on þe cloþes;
The kyng in his cortyn watȝ kaȝt bi þe heles,
Feryed out bi þe fete & fowle dispysed;
Þat watȝ so doȝty þat day & drank of þe vessayl,
Now is a dogge al so dere þat in a dych lygges;
For þe mayster of þyse medes on þe morne ryses,
Dere daryous þat day dyȝt vpon trone,
Þat ceté seses ful sounde, & saȝtlyng makes
Wyth alle þe barounȝ þer-aboute, þat bowed hym after.
& þus watȝ þat londe lost for þe lordes synne,
& þe fylþe of þe freke þat defowled hade
Þe orne-mentes of goddeȝ hous þat holy were maked;
He watȝ corsed for his vn-clannes, & cached þer-inne,
Done doun of his dyngneté for dedeȝ vnfayre,
& of þyse worldes worchyp wrast out for euer,
& ȝet of lykynges on lofte letted, I trowe,
To loke on oure lofly lorde late bitydes.
Þus vpon þrynne wyses I haf yow þro schewed,
Þat vn-clannes to-cleues in corage dere
Of þat wynnelych lorde þat wonyes in heuen,
Entyses hym to be tene, telled vp his wrake;
Ande clannes is his comfort, & coyntyse he louyes,
& þose þat seme arn & swete schyn se his face.
Þat we gon gay in oure gere þat grace he vus sende,
Þat we may serue in his syȝt, þer solace neuer blynneȝ.
Amen.