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TextLenten ys come with loue
to toune,
With blosmen ant with briddes roune,
That al this blisse bryngeth.
Dayeseyes in this dales, |
TranslationSpring has arrived,
with love,
With flowers, and with birdsong,
Bringing all this joy.
Daisies in the valleys, |
| 5 |
Notes suete of nyhtegales,
Vch foul song singeth.
The threstelcoc him threteth oo;
Away is huere wynter wo
When woderoue springeth. |
The sweet notes of nightingales,
Every bird sings a song.
The thrush is constantly wrangling;
Their winter misery is gone
When the woodruff flowers. |
| 10 |
This foules singeth ferly fele
Ant wlyteth on huere [wynne] wele
That al the wode ryngeth.The rose rayleth hire rode;
The leues on the lyhte wode |
These birds sing in great numbers,
And chirp about their wealth of joys,
So that all the wood rings.The rose begins to blush;
The leaves in the light-green wood |
| 15 |
Waxen al with wille.
The mone mandeth hire bleo;
The lilie is lossom to seo,
The fenyle ant the fille.
Wowes this wilde drakes, |
All unfurl gladly.
The moon sends out its light;
The lily is lovely to see,
The fennel and the wild thyme.
The wild ducks are courting, |
| 20 |
Miles
murgeth huere makes
Ase strem that striketh stille.
Mody meneth, so doth mo;
Ichot Ycham on of tho
For loue that likes ille.
|
Animals cajole their mates
Like a quietly-flowing stream.
Many men of spirit complain;
I know that I'm one of them
Because I'm crossed in love.
|
| 25 |
The mone mandeth hire
lyht,
So doth the semly sonne bryht,
When briddes singeth breme.
Deawes donketh the dounes;
Deores with huere derne rounes, |
The moon sends out her light,
So does the bright, beautiful sun,
When birds sing gloriously.
Dews drench the hills;
Animals murmur secretly, |
| 30 |
Domes forte deme.
Wormes woweth vnder cloude;
Wymmen waxeth wounder proude,
So wel hit wol hem seme.
Yef me shal wonte wille of on, |
Passing their own judgements.
Worms make love underground;
Women put on amazing airs,
it suits them so well to do it.
If I don't have my will of one, |
| 35 |
This wunne weole Y wole forgon,
Ant wyht in wode be fleme.
|
I'll give up all this wealth of joys,
And flee straight to the woods. |
