"So God that gynnyng hadde nevere, But tho hym good thoughte, Sente forth his sone, As for servaunt that tyme, To ocupie hym here, 11200 Til issue were spronge, That is, children of charité, And holi chirche the moder; Patriarkes and prophetes And apostles were the children, And Crist and cristendom, And cristene holy chirche, In menynge that man moste On o God bileve. And there hym likede and lovede, 11210 In thre persones hym shewede, And that it may be so and sooth, Manhode it sheweth, Wedlok and widwehode, With virginité y-nempned, In tokenynge of the Trinité Was out of man taken. "Adam was oure aller fader, And Eve was of hymselve, {343} And the issue that thei hadde 11220 It was of hem bothe, And either is otheres joie In thre sondry persones, And in hevene and here Oon singuler name; And thus is mankynde and manhede Of matrimoyne y-spronge, And bitokneth the Trinité And trewe bileve. "Mighty is matrimoyne, 11230 That multiplieth the erthe, And bitokneth trewely, Telle if I dorste, Hym that first formed al, The fader of hevene. "The sone, if I it dorste seye, Resembleth wel the widewe. _Deus meus, Deus meus, ut quid dereliquisti me!_ = "That is, creatour weex creature 11240 To knowe what was bothe. As widewe withouten wedlok Was nevere yit y-seighe; Na-moore myghte God be man, But if he moder hadde. So widewe withouten wedlok May noght wel stande, Ne matrimoyne withouten muliere Is noght muche to preise. _Maledictus homo qui non reliquit 11250 semen in Israel! etc._ "Thus in thre persones Is perfitliche manhede; {344} That is man and his make And mulliere children. And is noght but gendre of a generacion Bifore Jhesu Crist in hevene; So is the fader forth with the sone, And fre wille of bothe. _Spiritus procedens a patre et filio, etc._ = Which is the Holy Goost of alle, 11262 And alle is but o God. "Thus in a somer I hym seigh As I sat in my porche. I roos up and reverenced hym, And right faire hym grette, Thre men to my sighte I made wel at ese, Wessh her feet and wiped hem, 11270 And afterward thei eten Calves flessh and cake-breed, And knewe what I thoughte! Ful trewe toknes bitwene us is, To telle whan me liketh.