THREE MIDDLE ENGLISH RELIGIOUS LYRICS 



37 



Sygh & sob, bath day & nyght, for ane sa fajTe 



of hew. 

 Par es na thyng my hert mai light, bot lufe, tat es 70 



ay new. 

 Wha sa had hym in his syght, or in his hert hym 



knew, 

 His mourn yng turned til ioy ful bryght, his sang in 



til glew. 



I si^e, y sobbe, bote day & nyjt, 



For oon tat is so fair of hue; 230 



Pere is no ting myn herte may lijt 



But his loue tat is so true. 

 Who so hadde him in his sijte, 



Or in his herte him knewe, 

 His moomynge schulde turne into ioie brijt, 



His longjTige into glewe. 



In myrth he lyfes, nyght & day, tat lufes tat swete 



chylde: 

 It es Ihesu, forsoth I say, of aU mekest & mylde. 

 Wreth fra hym walde al a-way, tof he wer neuer sa 



wylde : 

 He tat in hert lufed hym, tat day fra euel he wil hym 



schylde. 



In mirte lyuet he nyjt & day 

 Pat loue tat sweete childe; 



Wra te wolde from him awey, 

 Were he neuere so wielde. 



It is ihesu, forsote to say, 

 Of alle meekist & myelde; 



He tat in herte him louet tat day, 



From yuel he wole him schielde. 



Of Ihesu mast lyst me speke, tat al my bale may 



bete. 

 Me thynk my hert may al to-breke, when I thynk on 



tat swete. 

 In lufe lacyd he hase my thoght, tat I sal neuer for- 



gete: 

 Ful'dere me thynk he hase me boght, with blodi 80 



hende & fete. 



Of ihesu tanne moost list me speke, 



Pat may of al my bale be bote; 

 Me tinket myn herte wole al to-breke 



Whanne y tinke on tat soote. 

 In loue lau3t he hat my toujt, 



Pat y schal neuere for-lete; 230 



Ful dere me tinket he hat me boujt, 



Wit bloodi heed, hondis, & feete. 



For luf my hert es browne to brest, when I tat 



faire behalde. 

 Lufe es fair Pare it es fest, tat neuer will be calde. 

 Lufe ve reues te nyght rest, in grace it makes us 



balde; 

 Of al warkes luf es te best, als haly men me talde. 



For loue myn herte wole to-berste 



Whanne y tat fair loue biholde; 

 Loue is ful fair Pere it is fest, 



Pat neuere wole be coolde 

 Loue us reuet te nyjtis rest; 



In grace it makit us boolde; 

 Of alle wekis loue is te beeste, 



As holi men me hat tolde. 



Na wonder gyf I syghand be & sithen in sorow be 



sette: 

 Ihesu was nay led upon e tre, & al blody for-bette; 

 To thynk on hym es grete pyte, how tenderly he 



grette— 

 Pis hase he sufferde, man, for te, if tat tou syn wyll 



lette. 



No wondir if y sijhande be, 



And siten in woo al bi-sett; 

 Ihesu was nailid upon te tree; 



t3he, al bloody for-beet. 

 To tinke on him is greet pitee, 



To se how tenderli he gret; 

 Pis hat he suffride, man, for tee, 



If tat tou wolt ti synnes leett. 



Pare es na tonge in erth may tell of lufe te swet- 



nesse; 

 Pat stedfaslly in lufe kan dwell, his ioy es endlesse. 90 

 God schylde tat he sulde til hell tat lufes & langand 



es, 

 Or euer his enmys sulde hym qwell, or make his luf 



be lesse ! 



Pere is no lijf in erte may telle 



Of tis loue te swetnes: 270 



Pat stidefastU in loue can dwelle, 



His ioie is euere eendelees. 

 God schielde tat he schulde to helle, 



Pat of loue longinge kan not ceesse, 

 Or euere hise cnemyes schulde him qwelle, 



Or tat he so his loue schulde lese. 



