Advice to Women
In May hit murgeþ when hit dawes
In dounes wiþ þis dueres plawes,
Ant lef is lyht on lynde;
Blosmes bredeþ on þe bowes,
Al þis wylde wyhtes wowes,
So wel Ych under-fynde.
Y not non so freoli flour
Ase ledies þat beþ bryht in bour,
Wiþ love who mihte hem bynde.
So worly wymmen are by west;
One of hem Ich herie best
From Irlond in to Ynde.
Wymmen were þe beste þing,
þat shup oure hege hevene Kyng —
Gef feole false nere;
Heo beoþ to rad upon huere red
To love þer me hem lastes bed,
When heo shule fenge fere.
Lut in londe are to leve,
þah me hem trewe trouþe geve,
For tricherie to gere.
When trichour haþ is trouþe yplyht,
Byswyken he haþ þat suete wyht,
þah he hire oþes swere.
Wymmon, war þe wiþ þe swyke
þat feir ant freoly ys to fyke:
Ys fare is o to founde.
So wyde in world ys huere won,
In uch a toune untrewe is on
From Leycestre to Lounde.
Of treuþe nis þe trichour noht,
Bote he habbe is wille ywroht
At stevenyng umbe stounde.
Ah, feyre levedis, be onwar!
To late comeþ þe geyn-char,
When love ou haþ ybounde.
Wymmen bueþ so feyr on hewe,
Ne trow Y none þat nere trewe
Gef trichour hem ne tahte.
Ah, feyre þinges, freoly bore,
When me ou woweþ, beþ war bifore
Whuch is worldes ahte.
Al to late is send ageyn
When þe ledy liht byleyn
Ant lyveþ by þat he lahte;
Ah, wolde lylie-leor in lyn
Yhere levely lores myn,
Wiþ selþe we weren sahte.
In dounes wiþ þis dueres plawes,
Ant lef is lyht on lynde;
Blosmes bredeþ on þe bowes,
Al þis wylde wyhtes wowes,
So wel Ych under-fynde.
Y not non so freoli flour
Ase ledies þat beþ bryht in bour,
Wiþ love who mihte hem bynde.
So worly wymmen are by west;
One of hem Ich herie best
From Irlond in to Ynde.
Wymmen were þe beste þing,
þat shup oure hege hevene Kyng —
Gef feole false nere;
Heo beoþ to rad upon huere red
To love þer me hem lastes bed,
When heo shule fenge fere.
Lut in londe are to leve,
þah me hem trewe trouþe geve,
For tricherie to gere.
When trichour haþ is trouþe yplyht,
Byswyken he haþ þat suete wyht,
þah he hire oþes swere.
Wymmon, war þe wiþ þe swyke
þat feir ant freoly ys to fyke:
Ys fare is o to founde.
So wyde in world ys huere won,
In uch a toune untrewe is on
From Leycestre to Lounde.
Of treuþe nis þe trichour noht,
Bote he habbe is wille ywroht
At stevenyng umbe stounde.
Ah, feyre levedis, be onwar!
To late comeþ þe geyn-char,
When love ou haþ ybounde.
Wymmen bueþ so feyr on hewe,
Ne trow Y none þat nere trewe
Gef trichour hem ne tahte.
Ah, feyre þinges, freoly bore,
When me ou woweþ, beþ war bifore
Whuch is worldes ahte.
Al to late is send ageyn
When þe ledy liht byleyn
Ant lyveþ by þat he lahte;
Ah, wolde lylie-leor in lyn
Yhere levely lores myn,
Wiþ selþe we weren sahte.
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