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XXXIII. Of alle the spyces that I knowe, Blyssid be the qwete flour.
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XXXIII. Of alle the spyces that I knowe,
Blyssid be the qwete flour.

Qwete is bothe semely and sote,
Of alle spyces that is bote,

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The vertu spryngit out of the rote,
so blyssid be the qw[e]te flour.
The secunde vers I sey beforn,
Qwete is kyng of every corn;
Jhesu hym self for us was born,
so blyssid, etc.
The thredde vers, with Godes grace,
Qw[e]te is good in every place,
In qwete is porteyidid Godes face,
so, etc.
The forte vers, withoute stryf,
Of qwete is mad the bred of lyf,
Us to receyvyn in clene lyf,
so, etc.
The fyfte vers, withoute skorn,
Qwete is a spyce, a wol good on,
King that is of every corn,
so, etc.
The sexte vers, I xal ȝou seye,
Jhesu Cryst that sit on heye
He let us never for hunger deye,
so blyssid be the qwete flour.