The fourth sorowe.
NOwe wofull woman Iesu be thy spede
Harde is to knowe what lyfe thou wilt lede
All this nyght, when I to me mynde call
With no more rest than a stone in a wall
Now wyll thou consyder thy great coste
And howe thow hast a good husbande loste
I meane thy bedfelowe, for he is gone
Thus is a newe payne for to lye a lone
Now muse thou must, where thou wast wo n t to plai
Yet for all this as sone as any day
Thou must a rys and ouer se thy hous
With come here, go there, as busy as a mous
Bring this fetche that, care this thens
Walke hyther, renne thyther, be not long thens
Go for hym, fetche her and desyre them
To go wyth me to the masse of Requiem
Lo thus these women can not be out of care
But what then yet wyl they nothyng spare
To be quyte of thys charges, and what than?
God haue mercy on hys soule good man
I am well a payde that I haue brought to passe
Thus far forth, now let vs go to masse
Beshorow me, yf I woulde take suche payne
On condicion to haue hym a gayne
Whan for thys, for that, one thyng and other
Fye on it Fye, I swere by godds mother
Ye wyll not beleue what is the exspens
For this xl shyllynges and for that xl. pens
Here a noble, and there well nyghe a pounde
There goeth a grote, and there a shyllyng rounde
The prestes and clarkes, for the knyll and pyt.
And other thynges, that I am wery of it
Here is great sorow but what remedy
Go we to church I pray you hartely
I thinke this sorow wyl euer last
Mayde lay meate to fyre for our breke fast
A gaynste we come home, wel wel maystresse
Ye shal se me do al my busines
To masse now is the widow on her way.
Deuoutly for her husband to pray
There doth she syt, god wat how sore mournynge
Tyl that the tyme come of the offring
Than for her husbande cannot fro her mynde
The most fayrest peny that she can fynde
She taketh and in to the quere
Sayng softly that al the prestes may here
Lokyng on the peny with wofull eye
Full loth am I to depart fro the
I can not blame her yf she were loth to parte
Wyth that she loueth wel with all her harte
Thus with her loue, sorowe, and kyndnesse
The wydowe bydeth the residewe of the masse.
NOwe wofull woman Iesu be thy spede
Harde is to knowe what lyfe thou wilt lede
All this nyght, when I to me mynde call
With no more rest than a stone in a wall
Now wyll thou consyder thy great coste
And howe thow hast a good husbande loste
I meane thy bedfelowe, for he is gone
Thus is a newe payne for to lye a lone
Now muse thou must, where thou wast wo n t to plai
Yet for all this as sone as any day
Thou must a rys and ouer se thy hous
With come here, go there, as busy as a mous
Bring this fetche that, care this thens
Walke hyther, renne thyther, be not long thens
Go for hym, fetche her and desyre them
To go wyth me to the masse of Requiem
Lo thus these women can not be out of care
But what then yet wyl they nothyng spare
To be quyte of thys charges, and what than?
God haue mercy on hys soule good man
I am well a payde that I haue brought to passe
Thus far forth, now let vs go to masse
Beshorow me, yf I woulde take suche payne
On condicion to haue hym a gayne
Whan for thys, for that, one thyng and other
Fye on it Fye, I swere by godds mother
Ye wyll not beleue what is the exspens
For this xl shyllynges and for that xl. pens
Here a noble, and there well nyghe a pounde
There goeth a grote, and there a shyllyng rounde
The prestes and clarkes, for the knyll and pyt.
And other thynges, that I am wery of it
Here is great sorow but what remedy
Go we to church I pray you hartely
I thinke this sorow wyl euer last
Mayde lay meate to fyre for our breke fast
A gaynste we come home, wel wel maystresse
Ye shal se me do al my busines
To masse now is the widow on her way.
Deuoutly for her husband to pray
There doth she syt, god wat how sore mournynge
Tyl that the tyme come of the offring
Than for her husbande cannot fro her mynde
The most fayrest peny that she can fynde
She taketh and in to the quere
Sayng softly that al the prestes may here
Lokyng on the peny with wofull eye
Full loth am I to depart fro the
I can not blame her yf she were loth to parte
Wyth that she loueth wel with all her harte
Thus with her loue, sorowe, and kyndnesse
The wydowe bydeth the residewe of the masse.