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IV.

[Ihesu, that diede one the rude for þe lufe of me]

Ihesu, that diede one the rude for þe lufe of me,
And boghte me with thi precious blode: thow hafe mercy of me;
Whatt me lettes of any thyng for to luffe the,
Be it me lefe be it me lathe, do it awaye fra me.
Ihesu, of whayme all trewe luffe sprynges,
That for my lufe tholede payne,
Till lusty lufe of erthely thynges
Thow thole me neuer turne agayne.
In thi luffe be my likynge,
And there-to make me glade & fayne,
And for thy lufe to make mournynge,
That for my lufe walde be slayne.
[_]

(Follow prose pieces bearing R. Rolle's name.)


Amen Amen Amen Amen pur charite.