Lenten is come

Lenten is come with love to toune,

With blosmen and with briddes roune,

That all this blisse bringeth.

Dayeseyes in this dales,

Notes swete of nightegales,

Uch fowl song singeth.

The threstelcok him threteth oo.

Away is huere winter wo

When woderofe springeth.

This fowles singeth ferly fele,

And wliteth on huere wynne wele,

That all the wode ringeth.

The rose raileth hire rode,

The leves on the lighte wode

Waxen all with wille.

The mone mandeth hire ble,

The lilye is lossom to se,

The fennel and the fille.

Wowes this wilde drakes,

Miles murgeth huere makes,

Ase strem that striketh stille.

Mody meneth, so doth mo;

Ichot ich am on of tho

For love that likes ille.

The mone mandeth hire light,

So doth the semly sonne bright,

When briddes singeth breme.

Deawes donketh the dounes,

Deores with huere derne rounes

Domes for to deme.

Wormes woweth under cloude,

Wimmen waxeth wounder proude,

So well it wol hem seme.

Yef me shall wonte wille of on,

This wunne wele I wole forgon,

And wiht in wode be fleme.