A! mercy, God, what menyth ȝon syte? A grene busche as fyre doth flame, And kepyth his colowre fayr and bryghte, ffresche and grene withowtyn blame. It fyguryth sumthynge of ryght gret fame, I kan not seyn what it may be, I wylle go nere, in Goddys name, And wysely loke this busche to se. _Deus._ Moyses, how! Moyses, Herke to me anon this stounde. _Moyses._ I am here, Lorde, withowtyn les, ȝowre gracyous wylle to do I am bounde. _Deus._ Thu take thi schon anon ful rownde Of thi fete in hast, lete se, fful holy is that place and grownde, Ther thou dost stonde, I sey to the. _Moyses._ Barfoot now I do me make, And pulle of my schon fro my fete: Now have I my schon of take, What is ȝour wylle, Lord? fayn wold I wete. _Deus._ Com nere, Moyses, with me to mete, These tabelleis I take the in thin honde, With my ffynger in hem is wrete Alle my lawys, thou undyrstonde. Loke that thou preche alle abowte, Hoo so wylle have frenshipp of me, To my lawys loke thei lowte, That thei be kept in alle degré. Go forthe and preche anon, let se, Loke thou not ses nyght nor day. _Moyses._ ȝour byddyng, Lord, alle wrought xal be, ȝour wylle to werk I walk my way. “Custodi precepta domini Dei tui.” _Deutronomini_ vj.ᵗᵒ The comaundment of thi Lord God, man, loke thou kepe, Where that thou walk, wake, or slepe, Every man take good hede, And to my techynge take good intent; For God hath sent me now indede, ȝow for to enforme his comaundment; ȝow to teche God hath me sent, His lawys of lyff that arn ful wyse; Them to lern be dyligent, ȝoure soulys may thei save at the last asyse. The preceptes that taught xal be, Be wretyn in these tablys tweyn: In the fyrst ben wretyn thre, That towche to God, this is serteyn. In the secund tabyl be wretyn ful pleyn, The tother vij. that towche mankende: Herk now welle, man, what I xal seyn, And prent thise lawys welle in thi mende. _Primum mandatum._ “Non habebis Deos alienos.” The fyrst comaundement of God, as I ȝow say, Of the fyrst tabyl forsothe is this, Thou xalt have, neythyr nyght nore day, Noon other God but the kyng of blysse. Undyrstonde wele what menyth this, Every man in his degré, And sett nevyr ȝour hert amys, Upon this werdlys vanyté. ffor if thou sett thi love so sore Upon ryches and werdly good, Thi wurdly rycches thou takyst evermore Evyn for thi God, as man ovyr wood; Amend the, man, and chaunge thi mood, Lese not thi sowle for werdlys welthe, Only hym love whiche bodyly ffood Doth ȝeve alle day, and gostly helthe. _Secundum mandatum._ “Non assumens nomen Dei tui in vanum.”