Spring-tide

Lenten ys come with love to toune,

With blosmen & with briddes roune,

That al this blisse bryngeth;

Dayes eyes in this dales,

Notes suete of nyhtegales;

Uch foul song singeth.

The threstelcoc him threteth oo;

Away is huere wynter wo,

When woderove springeth.

This foules singeth ferly fele,

Ant wlyteth on huere wynter wele,

That al the wode ryngeth.

The rose rayleth hire rode;

The leves on the lyhte wode

Waxen al with wille.

The mone mandeth hire bleo;

The lilie is lossom to seo,

The fenyl & the fille.

Wowes this wilde drakes;

Miles murgeth huere makes,

Ase strem that striketh stille.

Mody meneth, so doth mo;

Ichot ycham on of tho,

For love that likes ille.

The mone mandeth hire lyht,

So doth the semly sonne bryht,

When briddes singeth breme;

Deawes donketh the dounes,

Deores with huere derne rounes

Domes forte deme;

Wormes woweth under cloude,

Wymmen waxeth wounder proude,

So wel hit wol hem seme,

Yef me shal wonte wille of on,

This wunne weole y wole forgon

Ant wyht in wode be fleme.