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GOOD COUNSAIL. Fly fro the presse, and dwell with sothfastnesse, Suffise unto thy good though it be small, For horde hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse, uncertainty Prease hath envy, and wele is blent over all, wealth, blind Savour no more than thee behové shall, desire, benefit Rede well thy selfe that other folk canst rede, And trouth thee shall deliver, it is no drede. Peine thee not ech crooked to redresse, In trust of her that tourneth as a ball;
fortune Great rest standèth in little businesse, Beware also to spurne againe a nall, Strive not as doth a crocké with a wall, earthen pitcher Demé thy selfe that demest others' dede,
judge And trouth thee shall deliver, it is no drede. That thee is sent receive in buxomnesse,
humility The wrastling of this world asketh a fall, Here is no home, here is but wildernesse, Forth, pilgrime! forth, beast, out of thy stall! Looke up on high, and thanké God of all ! Weivé thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lede, forsake, spiri And trouth thee shall deliver, it is no drede.
Ay alone as I went,
shady I was war of a lady gay, Come rydyng ouyr a fair le :
lonely la Zogh I suld sitt to domysday,
though With my tong to wrabbe and wry, Certenly all hyr aray, It beth neuyer discryuyd for me. Hyr palfra was dappyll gray, Sycke on say neuer none;
such, saw As the son in somers day, All abowte that lady schone. Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone ;
ivory A semly syght it was to se, Bryght with mony a precyous stone, And compasyd all with crapste ; Stones of oryens, gret plente, Her hair about her hede it hang, She rode ouer the farnyle,
lonely lea He sayd Yonder is Mary of Might, That bar the child that died for me. Certes bot I may speke with that lady bright, Myd my hert will breke in three; I schal me hye with all my might, Hyr to mete at Eldyn Tre. Thomas rathly up him rase,
quickly And ran ouer mountayn hye, If it be sothe the story says, He met her euyn at Eldyn Tre. Thomas knelyd down on his kne Undir nethe the grenewood spray, And sayd, Lovely lady, thou rue on me, pity Queen of Heaven as you may well be. Tak thy leue, Thomas, at son and mone, At gresse, and at euery tre, This twelmonth sall you with me gone Medyl erth you sall not se.
Alas, he seyd, ful wo is me,
might Undir nethe the derne lee,
delow ground It was as derke as at midnizt, And euyr in water unto the kne; Through the space of days thre, He herde but swowyng of a flode ;
dashing Thomas sayd, Ful wo is me, Now I spyll for fawte of fode;
saint, want To a garden she lede him tyte, There was fruyte in grete piente, Peyres and appless ther wer rype, The date and the damese, The figge and als fylbert tre ; The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste, The papigaye about gan fle, The throstylcock sang wald hafe no rest. He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand, As man for faute that was faynt; She sayd, Thomas, lat al stand, Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt. Sche seyd, Thomas, I thee hyzt,
haste To lay thy hede upon my kne, And thou shalt see fayrer syght, Than euyr sawe man in their kintre. Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way, That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn? Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay, Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne. suffered Sees thou, Thomas, yon secund way That lygges lawe undir the ryse ?
rising Streight is the way, sothly to say, To the joyes of paradyce. Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way, That lygges ouyr yon how ? Wide is the way, sothly to say, To the brynyng fyres of helle. Sees thou, Thomas, yone fair castell, That standes ouyr yone fair hill ? Of town and tower it beereth the belle.
In middell erth is none like theretill.
each With xxx kniztes feir and fre;
knights I shall say syttyng on the dese,
royal The grewhoundes had fylde thaim on the dere, deer The raches coupled, by my fay,