S E X Y - J O M A

In a mornynge of May when medose suld sprynge Blomes and blossomes of bryght colours, Als I went by a well apon my playnge, Thurght a mery orchard, byddyng myn owres, The birdes on the boghes began for to syng, And bowes to burjun and belde to the boures; Was I war of a may that made mournyng, Syghand and sekand emange the fayre floures So swyte. Scho made mournyng enogh; Hyre wypyng dyd me wogh! To a derne I me drogh; Hir wyll wald I wyte. Stilly I stalked and stode in that stede, For I wald wyte of hir wyll and of hir wyld thoght: Scho kest of hir kerchyfes, hir kell of hir hede; 2 Wrange scho hir handes and wrothly scho wroght! Scho sayd: ''Myld Mary, right thou me red — Of al the well of this warld, iwys I wald noghte! 3 Send me som solace, or son be I ded, Som syght of that selcouthe that I hafe lang soghte With care." Than spake a turtyll on a tre, Wyth fayre nottes and fre: ''Bryght byrd for thi bewte, Whi sythes thou so sare?" ''Thow fayr foule, fayle noghte thi speche nor thi spell! Thy carpyng is comforth to herkyn and here; 4 All my wyll and my wytt wald I the tell, My wa and my wanderyng, wald thou com nere." Lufly he lyghted, wald he noghte dwell To comforth that comly and cover hir chere. Scho blyssed his body with buke and with bell, And lufed owr Lady had send hir that fere So free: ''When that I was sary, Besoght I owr Lady; Scho has sent me company; Blyssed mot scho bee! ''Fayr foule full of lufe, so myld and so mete, To move of a mater now may I begyn: A trewluf hafe I soght be way and be strete In many fayre orchardes thar floures ar in; So fayr as I hafe soght, fand I nane fete; Fele hafe I fonden of mare and of myn. Bryght bird of thi ble, my bale may thou bete, Wald thou me wysse wysely a trewluf to wyn With ryght. When I wen rathest For to fynd lufe beste, So fayntely it is feste, It fares al of flighte!" ''The wytt of a woman is wonder to here! Is al thi sary syghinge to seke a lufe trew? Al this syd may thou seke and never nan be nere Bot if thou had counsell of an that I knewe. If thou be sett to seke it, sall I the lere Whare it is spryngand and evermare newe, Withowt any fadynge, full fayr and full clere, Or castyng of colour, or chanuyng of hewe, So yare. Hardely dare I say Thare is no luf that lastes ay Withowtyn treson and tray Bot it begyn thare. ''Whar thou fyndes grewand a trewlufe grysse With four lefes is it sett ful lufly abowte. The fyrst lef may we lykyn to the Kyng of Blys That weldes this wyld world within and withowte. 5 He wroght heven with His hand and al paradyse And this mery medyllerth withowtyn any dowt. All the welth of this world hally is Hys, In wham us aw for to lefe, lufe Hym, and lowte Ful well. Hald this lefe in thi mynd To we may His felawes fynd — That trew luf and that kynd That never sall kelle. ''The second lefe of the lufe I lykyn to God Son, That to the fyrst lefe is felawe and fere; The third to the Holy Gost, togeder thay won, All halesom in a Godhede and Persons sere! Welder of water, of son, and of mon, Thase thre lefes ar of price withowtyn any pere, When that semly Syre is sett in Hys tron, Comly of colour and curtas of chere For grace. Al this world He began With wyndes and waters wan, And syne made He man Efter Hys awn face.