Þe ioy þat men hase sene es lyckend tyl þe haye, Þat now es fayre and grene, and now wytes awaye. Swylk es þis worlde, I wene, and bees till Domesdaye, 35 All in trauel and tene, fle þat na man it maye. If þou luf in all þi thoght, and hate þe fylth of syn, And gyf Hym þi sawle þat it boght, þat He þe dwell within, Als Crist þi sawle hase soght, and þerof walde noght blyn, Sa þou sal to blys be broght, and heuen won within. 40 Þe kynd of luf es þis, þar it es trayst and trew, To stand styll in stabylnes, and chaunge it for na new. Þe lyfe þat lufe myght fynd, or euer in hert it knew, Fra kare it tornes þat kyend, and lendes in myrth and glew. For now, lufe þow, I rede, Cryste, as I þe tell, 45 And with aungels take þi stede: þat ioy loke þou noght sell! In erth þow hate, I rede, all þat þi lufe may fell, For luf es stalworth as þe dede, luf es hard as hell. Luf es a lyght byrthen; lufe gladdes ȝong and alde; Lufe es withowten pyne, as lofers hase me talde; 50 Lufe es a gastly wyne, þat makes men bygge and balde; Of lufe sal he na thyng tyne þat hit in hert will halde. Lufe es þe swettest thyng þat man in erth hase tane; Lufe es Goddes derlyng; lufe byndes blode and bane. In lufe be owre lykyng, I ne wate na better wane, 55 For me and my lufyng lufe makes bath be ane. Bot fleschly lufe sal fare as dose þe flowre in May, And lastand be na mare þan ane houre of a day, And sythen syghe ful sare þar lust, þar pryde, þar play, When þai er casten in kare til pyne þat lastes ay. 60 When þair bodys lyse in syn, þair sawls mai qwake and drede, For vp sal ryse al men, and answer for þair dede. If þai be fonden in syn, als now þair lyfe þai lede, Þai sal sytt hel within, and myrknes hafe to mede. Riche men þair hend sal wryng, and wicked werkes sal by 65 In flawme of fyre, bath knyght and keyng, with sorow schamfully. If þou wil lufe, þan may þou syng til Cryst in melody; Þe lufe of Hym ouercoms al thyng, þarto þou traiste trewly. <I> sygh and sob, bath day and nyght, for ane sa fayre of hew! Þar es na thyng my hert mai light, bot lufe þat es ay new. 70 Wha sa had Hym in his syght, or in his hert Hym knew, His mournyng turned til ioy ful bryght, his sang intil glew. In myrth he lyfes, nyght and day, þat lufes þat swete chylde; It es Iesu, forsoth I say, of al mekest and mylde. Wreth fra hym walde al away, þof he wer neuer sa wylde, 75 He þat in hert lufed Hym þat day, fra euel He wil hym schylde.