Sen he has all my brether tane, He will naught let me live alane; Of force I man his next prey be:-- Timor Mortis conturbat me. Since for the Death remeid is none, Best is that we for Death dispone, After our death that live may we:-- Timor Mortis conturbat me. heill] health. bruckle] brittle, feeble. slee] sly. dansand] dancing. sicker] sure. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes. mellie] mellay. sowkand] sucking. campion] champion. stour] fight. piscence] puissance. straik] stroke. supplee] save. makaris] poets. the lave] the leave, the rest. padyanis] pageants. anteris] adventures. schour] shower. endite] inditing. fallowis] fellows. wichtis] wights, persons. man] must. dispone] make disposition. Anonymous. 15th Cent. 22. May in the Green-Wood IN somer when the shawes be sheyne, And leves be large and long, Hit is full merry in feyre foreste To here the foulys song. To se the dere draw to the dale And leve the hilles hee, And shadow him in the leves grene Under the green-wode tree. Hit befell on Whitsontide Early in a May mornyng, The Sonne up faire can shyne, And the briddis mery can syng. 'This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne, 'Be Hym that dyed on tre; A more mery man than I am one Lyves not in Christiante. 'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,' Litulle Johne can say, 'And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme In a mornynge of May.' sheyne] bright. Anonymous. 15th Cent. 23. Carol I SING of a maiden That is makeles; King of all kings To her son she ches. He came al so still There his mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the grass. He came al so still To his mother's bour, As dew in April That falleth on the flour. He came al so still There his mother lay, As dew in April That falleth on the spray. Mother and maiden Was never none but she; Well may such a lady Goddes mother be. makeles] matchless. ches] chose. Anonymous. 15th Cent. (?) 24. Quia Amore Langueo IN a valley of this restles mind I sought in mountain and in mead, Trusting a true love for to find. Upon an hill then took I heed; A voice I heard (and near I yede) In great dolour complaining tho: See, dear soul, how my sides bleed Quia amore langueo. Upon this hill I found a tree, Under a tree a man sitting; From head to foot wounded was he; His hearte blood I saw bleeding: A seemly man to be a king, A gracious face to look unto. I asked why he had paining; [He said,] Quia amore langueo. I am true love that false was never; My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus. Because we would in no wise dissever I left my kingdom glorious. I purveyed her a palace full precious; She fled, I followed, I loved her so That I suffered this pain piteous Quia amore langueo.