°world’s joy/wealth

In the middis of my garden midst
Is a peryr set, pear tree
And it wele non per bern
But a per Jenet.

The fairest maide of this town
Preyed me
For to griffen her a grif °
Of mine pery tre.

Whan I hadde hem griffed them
Alle at her wille°,
The win and the ale
She dede in fille.

And I griffed her
Right up in her home,
And by that day twenty wowkes weeks
It was quick in her womb.

That day twelfve month,
That maide I met;
She seid it was a per Robert,
But non per Jonet!

Refrain:
Kyrie, so Kyrie,
Jankyn singit merye,
With Aleyson.

Jankyn began the offis on the Yol Day,
And yit me thinkit it dos me good, so merye gan he say,
"Kyrieleyson."

Jankyn red the Pistil ful fair and ful wel, Epistle
And yit me thinkit it dos me good, as evere have I sel
Kyrieleyson.

Jankyn at the Sanctus crakit a merye note,
And yit me thinkit it dos me good, I payed for his cote.
Kyrieleyson.

Jankyn crakit notes an hunderid on a knot ,
And yit he hackit° hem smaller than wortes° to the pot.
Kyrieleyson.

Jankyn at the Agnus berit the pax brede;
He twinkeled , but said nout, and on min fot he trede.
Kyrieleyson.

Benedicamos Domino, Crist fro shame me shilde;
Deo gracias, therto -- alas, I go with childe.
Kyrieleyson.

Love me fedde
And love me ledde
And love me lettet here.

Love me slow
And love me drow
And love me leide on bere.

Love is my pes,
For love I ches
Man to bygen dere.

Ne dred thee nouth,
I have thee south
Bothen day and nith.

To haven thee,
Well is me,
I have thee wonnen in fith.

But for my senne I wot it is sin know
That Godes sone suffret this:
Mercy, Lord, I have do mis;
Iwis° I wile no more.

Ayenis° my fadres wille I ches°
An appel with a rewful res;
Werfore min heritage I les,
And now thou wepest therfore.

An appel I tok off a tre --
God it hadde forboden me;
Wherfore I shulde dampned be,
Yef °thy weping ne wore°.

Lullay for wo, thou litel thing,
Thou litel barun°, thou litel king;
Mankinde is cause of thy murning,
That thou hast loved so yore°.

For man that thou hast ay loved so always
Yet shaltou suffren peines mo,
In heved°, in feet, in hondes to,
And yet wepen wel more.

That peine us make of senne fre,
That peine us bringe Jesu to thee,
That peine us helpe ay to fle
The wickede fendes lore. Amen.