University of Virginia Library

Þerl him wiþ-drouȝ wiþ þat:
At his hert gret sorwe sat,
Þat he his sone seye ligge ded.
Of him no worþ him non oþer red.
‘Sone,’ he seyd, ‘what schal y do,
Whenne ich þe haue þus forgo?
Who schal now weld after me
Mine londes, þat brod be?
A man icham swiþe in eld:
Dye ichil, bi godes scheld.’
Opon þat bodi he fel anon:
Reuþe þai hadden þer-of ichon,
Of his gret sorwe þat he made.
To his kniȝtes no þe les he sade,
For his sone he hadde aqueld,
And for he was a man so eld.
Fiftene ȝer weren agon
Þat he er in armes come.
‘Sir,’ seyd Gij þer anon,
‘Nim þi stede, & worþ þeron.
What wonder dede þe armes bere?
To ȝer more þou schust rest þe here.
Her ich ȝiue þe þi stede,
For þou ȝeue me þe mete at nede.
In chaumber þou schust ligge stille,
Oþer to chirche gon to bid godis wille.
Þi court ichil quite-cleym þe.
Ded ich wold raþer be,
Ar ich wold wiþ þe ete
At souper oþer at oþer mete.’