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Worldes blis ne last no throwe,
Hit wit ant wend a wey a non;
The lengur that hich hit i knowe
The lasse hic finde pris ther on,
For al hit is imeynd wyd kare,
Mid sorewe ant wid uuel fare.
Ant at the laste pouere ant bare
Hit let mon, wen hit ginnet a gon.
Al the blisse this here ant there
Bi louketh at hende wop ant mon.

Al shal gon that her mon howet,
Al hit shal wenden to nout.
The mon that her no god ne sowet,
Wen other repen he worth bikert.
Thenc, mon, for thi wil thu hauest mykte,
That thu thine gultus here arikte.
Ant wrche god bi day an nikte,
Ar then thu be of lisse ilakt.
Thu nost wanne Crist ure Drikte,
The asket that he hauet bitakt.

Al the blisse of thisse liue
Thu shalt, mon, henden in wep -
Of huse ant home ant child ant wyue.
Seli mon tak there of kep!
For thu shalt al bileuen here
The eykte were of louerd thu were.
Wen thu list, mon, up on bere
Ant slepest a swythe druye slep,
Ne shaltu haben wit the no fere,
Butte thine werkus on an hep.

Mon, wi seestu loue ant herte
On worldes blisse that nout ne last?
Wy tholestu that te so ofte smerte
For loue that is so unstedefast?
Thu likest huni of thorn iwis,
That seest thi loue on worldesblis
For ful of bitternis hit is.
Sore thu mikt ben of gast,
That despendes here heikte amis,
Wer-thurh ben in to helle itakt.

Thenc, mon, war of Crist the wroukte
Ant do wey prude ant fulthe mod.
Thenc wou dere he the bokte
On rode mit his swete blod,
Him self he gaf for the in pis,
To buge the blis yf thu be wis.
Bi thenc, the mon, ant up aris of slovthe,
An gin to worche god
Wil time to worchen is.
For elles thu art witles ant wod.

Alday thu mikt undurstonde
Ant ti mirour bi for the sen,
Wat isto don an to wonden,
Ant wat to holden ant to flen.
For alday thu sigst wid thin egven,
Wou this world went ant wou men deiegt.
That wite wel, that thu shalt dreigen
Det, al so an other det.
Ne helput nout ther non to ligen,
Ne may no mon bu det ageyn.

Ne wort ne god ther unforgulde,
Ne non uuel ne worth unboukt.
Wanne thu list, mon, undur molde
Thu shalt hauen astu hauest wrokt.
Bi thenc the wel for thi, hic rede,
Ant clanse the of thine misdede.
That he the helpe at thine nede,
That so dure hus haued iboukt,
Ant to heuene blisse lede,
That euere lest ant failet nout.

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