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What betokenes this castil
This castil of solas and of socourIs hir blissed body that bar our saueour.
Hit was made for refuyt to all manes kynde;
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The roche whit and fair with his stablenes
Is the hert of hir in al halynes,
That sette hir to serue God withouten any drede
In souerayne clene meknes and clene maydenhede.
The grene colour bi the ground, that wil so wele last,
Is the treuth of our lady, that ay was stedefast.
The meyne colour in the myddest of this castil walle
Was stable hope to come to grace, that saue mankynd sall.
The rede colour abouen, brennand in the siȝt,
Was brennand loue of God and man, that gyues mykil liȝt.
No wonder [i]f this castil ware ful whit withinne,
For the hert of that may was neuer foulyd with synne.
The four toures gret and strong, that fair were to se,
Ware gastly strenght and sobernes, riȝt and sutilte;
Thes four vertues stekes out al maner of wykkednes
And kepes fast withynne al that is godnes.
The baillies, on ay withynne another in thre stage,
Are clene maydenhed and moderhed and trewe spousage;
Woman with thes thre, bot Seint Mary, was ther neuer non,
Bot whoso sal be sauf of synne, of thes he most haue on.
Seuen barbicans fair seuen vertues calle we,
That in our lady suffred no vice for to be,
For gret meknes in hir hert venquist ay al pride,
And hir gret charite enuy myȝt not abyde;
Hir discrete abstinens fordid al glotonye,
And hir clene maydenhed suffred no lecherie;
Wikkid couetyse in hir hert myȝt neuer dwelle,
For wilful pouert in hir hert keped the castil;
Pacience in hir hert euer was so prest
That synne of wrath therin myȝt neuer haue rest;
Ther was so mekil in hir hert of comfort gastly
That ther myȝt neuer synne of slewth dwelle therby.
The fair welle in the castil, that filles ay the dykes,
Is grace in Goddes moder, that synful man ay likes.
Thou that myster has of grace, go to this spring-welle:
Whoso help has of hir, sal neuer go to helle.
Make the dykes of meknes and of gode wille,
And four stremes of that grace sal the sone fille.
On streme euermore sal the clene wasch of synne that is past,
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The thirde sal stere the to do werkes of charite,
And the ferd sal ber the to blis that ay sal be.
This welle is euermore springand mercy and pite:
If thou haue no part therof, it is al lange on the.
The trone of yuor is the saule of our swete lady;
Seuen grees that lys therto are werkes of mercy;
The raynbowe that bendes ouer with his colours thre
Is the myȝt that couers hir of the haly trinite.
No wonder if this castel wer ful fair in siȝt,
When God, the sonne of riȝtwisnes, wald therin liȝt!
He come thurgh the cloise ȝate, and when he went, clois it was,
Riȝt as the briȝt sonne-beme comes and goos thurgh the glas.
Al that man nede has [is] in this ilk castell;
He that help has of hit has ynogh of wele.
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