[Sidenote: And now that he sees her in bliss, she takes little heed of his sorrow. He desires to know what life she leads.] In blysse I se þe blyþely blent & I a man al mornyf mate, Ȝe take þ{er}-on ful lyttel tente, Þaȝ I hente ofte harmeȝ hate. 388 Bot now I am here i{n} yo{ur} p{re}sente, I wolde bysech wythouten debate, Ȝe wolde me say i{n} sobre asente, What lyf ȝe lede, erly & late, 392 For I am ful fayn þat yo{ur} astate Is worþen to worschyp & wele I wysse, Of alle my Ioy þe hyȝe gate Hit is i{n} grou{n}de of alle my blysse.” 396 [Headnote: SHE DESCRIBES HER MODE OF LIFE.] [Sidenote: [Fol. 44b.]] [Sidenote: The maiden tells him that he may walk and abide with her, now that he is humble. All are meek that dwell in the abode of bliss.] “Now blysse burne mot þe bytyde;” Þen sayde þat lufsou{m} of lyth & lere, “& welcu{m} here to walk & byde, For now þy speche is to me dere; 400 Maysterful mod & hyȝe pryde I hete þe arn heterly hated here; My lorde ne loueȝ not forto chyde, For meke arn alle þ{a}t woneȝ hy{m} nere, 404 & when i{n} hys place þ{o}u schal apere, Be dep deuote i{n} hol mekenesse; My lorde þe lamb, loueȝ ay such chere, Þat is þe grou{n}de of alle my blysse. 408 [Sidenote: All lead a blissful life. She reminds her father that she was very young when she died. Now she is crowned a queen in heaven.] A blysful lyf þ{o}u says I lede, Þou woldeȝ knaw þ{er}-of þe stage; Þow wost wel when þy perle con schede, I watȝ ful ȝong & tender of age, 412 Bot my lorde þe lombe, þurȝ hys god-hede, He toke my self to hys maryage, Corou{n}de me quene i{n} blysse to brede, I{n} lengh{e} of dayeȝ þat eu{er} schal wage, 416 & sesed i{n} alle hys herytage Hys lef is, I am holy hysse; Hys prese, hys prys & hys parage, Is rote & grou{n}de of alle my blysse.” 420 [Headnote: MARY IS THE EMPRESS OF HEAVEN.] VIII. [Sidenote: The father of the maiden does not fully understand her. Mary, he says, is the queen of heaven. No one is able to remove the crown from her.] “Blysful,” q{uod} I, “may þys be trwe, Dyspleseȝ not if I speke erro{ur}; Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe, Þ{a}t al þys worlde schal do hono{ur}? 424 We leuen on marye þat grace of grewe, Þat ber a barne of vyrgyn flo{ur}, Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remwe, Bot ho hir passed i{n} su{m} fauo{ur}? 428 Now for synglerty o hyr douso{ur}, We calle hyr fenyx of arraby, Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor, Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.” 432