 | Chateau d'amour |  |
338
Of the sorowe of our lady
What sorowe hopes thou then hade his modur Mary,When thing that has no reson for him was so sary!
Certes, lady, Symond swerd past thurghout thi hert,
And the paynes of thi sone wer in the ful smert,
That thi hert hade neuer lasted on non-kyn wyse,
Hade thou noȝt trewed stedfastly that he suld vprise.
Lady, what nede was the for to make sorowe,
For thi sone dyed synful man to borowe?
Thou wote that he sal ryse agayn thurgh his awen myȝt
And with a body ful of ioye apertely to thi siȝt.
Thou wote the fend is venquist and wetes it noȝt,
Til thi sone out of helle haue al his chosen broȝt.
[For] he dyed til he rose that [men] myȝt him se,
Alle the trewth of hali kerk was stedfast in the.
Alle his awen disciples of him thai wer dredand,
Bot the faith in thi hert ay it was lastand.
Dere lady, succour vs of dedly synnyng
For the ioye that thou hade of his vprising!
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