No thyng ys to man so dere

He felle dede doun colde as ony stone.

There ys no solas undyr hevene Of al that a man may nevene That shuld a man so mochë glew As a gode womman that loveth trew.

Als thai haf wryten and sayd Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd, In symple speche as I couthe, That is lightest in mannes mouthe. I mad noght for no disours, Ne for no seggers, no harpours,

And thy traveyle shalt thou sone ende, For to thy long home sone shalt thou wende.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.