My chyld cryes for medycyn

As scourges hynge on all hys kynn


Hys herte of lyfe ys for drede

As I also laye on dethes bed


        To hym I make my herte steadfast

Both on erthe and in heuene vast


And on my ded beloved be my thoht anon

She was my smyle nyght and daye

The fayrest mayden that by my soule dyd laye


Now sinne on our flesshe hath richly fed

Sek and peynyng hangid so redde


Upon this aungelle my prayer ys lente

Bow I to thys lady bright,

Amen Trynyte for her heuene lyght


Dethes swete scent makes grate haste

Smell I encens, heuene erbe I taste


By me she kneeleth and calm is brought

O! By her grayce I suffer naught


Aungelle, if that you leste, be with my sone

After Gabriel from Paradyse for mi com


I se the mone and dethe I crayve.

Wyth meekness to the aungelle I praye


And wynne heuene blysse.



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