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 ffor these langowrys may I susteyn, The swerd of sorwe hath so thyrlyd my meende; Alas! what may I do? alas! what may I seyn? These prongys myn herte asondyr thei do rende.

O ffadyr of hefne! wher ben al thi behestys That thou promysyst me, whan a modyr thou me made? Thi blyssyd sone I bare betwyx tweyn bestys, And now the bryth colour of his face doth fade.

O good fadyr! why woldyst that thin owyn dere sone xal sofre al this? And dede he nevyr aȝens thi precept, but evyr was obedyent; And to every creature most petyful, most jentyl, and benygn i-wys, And now for alle these kendnessys is now most shameful schent.

Why wolt thou, gracyous Fadyr, that it xal be so? May man not ellys be savyd be non other kende? ȝet, Lord Fadyr, than that xal comforte myn wo, Whan man is savyd be my chylde, and browth to a good ende.

Now, dere sone, syn thou hast evyr be so ful of mercy, That wylt not spare thiself for the love thou hast to man; On alle mankend now have thou pety, And also thynk on thi modyr, that hevy woman.