No More Learning

mes quant la grant assise
Sera, se n'y es assise
Pour moy mal y seray veu.
De bien n'ay nulle reprise.
Las m'en clain quant bien m'avise,
Souvent en doy dire heu! 60

Fuiant m'en viens a ta tente
Moy mucier pour la tormente
Qui ou monde me tempeste.
Pour mon pechie ne t'absente,

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Al have I been a beste in wille and dede, 45
Yit, lady, thou me clothe with thy grace.
Thyn enemy and myn--lady, tak hede,
Un-to my deth in poynt is me to chace.

Glorious mayde and moder, which that never
Were bitter, neither in erthe nor in see, 50
But ful of swetnesse and of mercy ever,
Help that my fader be not wroth with me!
Spek thou, for I ne dar not him y-see.
So have I doon in erthe, allas ther-whyle!
That certes, but-if thou my socour be, 55
To stink eterne he wol my gost exyle.

He vouched sauf, tel him, as was his wille,
Bicome a man, to have our alliaunce,
And with his precious blood he wroot the bille
Up-on the crois, as general acquitaunce, 60
To every penitent in ful creaunce;
And therfor, lady bright, thou for us praye.
Than shalt thou bothe stinte al his grevaunce,
And make our foo to failen of his praye.

>>
A moy garder met t'entente,
A mon besoing soiez preste.
Se lonc temps j'ay este beste
A ce, Vierge, je m'arreste
Que de ta grace me sente.
Si te fais aussi requeste 70
Que ta pitie nu me veste,
Car je n'ay nulle autre rente.
Glorieuse vierge mere
Qui a nul onques amere
Ne fus en terre ne en mer,
Ta douceur ores m'apere
Et ne sueffres que mon pere
De devant li me jecte puer.
Se devant li tout vuit j'apper,
Et par moy ne puis eschapper 80
Que ma faute ne compere.
Tu devant li pour moy te per
En li moustrant que, s'a li per
Ne sui, si est il mon frere.

Homme voult par sa plaisance
Devenir, pour aliance
Avoir a humain lignage.
Avec li crut des enfance
Pitie dont j'ai esperance
Avoir eu en mon usage. 90
Elle fu mise a forage
Quant au cuer lui vint mesage
Du cruel fer de la lance.
Ne puet estre, se sui sage,
Que je n'en aie avantage,
Se tu veus et abondance.


<<
I wot it wel, thou wolt ben our socour, 65
Thou art so ful of bountee, in certeyn.
For, whan a soule falleth in errour,
Thy pitee goth and haleth him ayeyn.
Than makest thou his pees with his sovereyn,
And bringest him out of the crooked strete. 70
Who-so thee loveth he shal not love in veyn,
That shal he finde, as he the lyf shal lete.

Kalenderes enlumined ben they
That in this world ben lighted with thy name,
And who-so goth to you the righte wey, 75
Him thar not drede in soule to be lame.
Now, queen of comfort, sith thou art that same
To whom I seche for my medicyne,
Lat not my foo no more my wounde entame,
Myn hele in-to thyn hand al I resigne. 80

Lady, thy sorwe can I not portreye
Under the cros, ne his grevous penaunce.
But, for your bothes peynes, I you preye,
Lat not our alder foo make his bobaunce,

>>
Ie ne truis par nulle voie
Ou mon salut si bien voie
Com, apres Dieu, en toy le voy;
Quar quant aucun se desvoie, 100
A ce que tost se ravoie,
De ta pitie li fais convoy.
Tu li fes lessier son desroy
Et li refaiz sa pais au roy,
Et remez en droite voie.