Thenne demed I to that damyselle:
'Ne worthe no wraththe unto my Lorde,
If rapely I rave, spoxnande ln spelle;
My herte was al wyth mysse remorde,
As wallande water gos out of welle.
I do me ay in hys myserecorde.
Rebuke me never wyth woxdes felle,
Thagh I forloyne, my dere endorde,
Bot kythes me kyndely your coumforde,
Pytosly thenkande upon thysse:
Of care and me ye made acorde,
That er was grounde of alle my blysse.'
'My blysse, my bale, ye han ben bothe,
I said, 'I will His judgement bear,
I would not quarrel with my Lord.
Rashly I stumbled, in despair,
My heart its load of grief outpoured.
As from a well of water fair
His mercy will be my reward.
Rebuke me not, my dear, forbear !
Though my offence must be abhorred;
But let your comfort be restored,
For pity never comes amiss:
I learned from you of grief s discord
Who once was root of all my bliss.
My bliss, my sorrow you have been,
Then said I to that damsel, 'Let my Lord not be wrathful if rashly I rave, stumbling in speech. My heart was all with grief oppressed, like water welling from a spring. I submit myself ever to His mercy. Do not rebuke me with harsh words, though I offend, my dear one, but kindly show me your comfort, compassionately bearing [this] in mind, [that] you who were always the foundation of all my happiness made sorrow familiar to me.'
'My bliss, my sorrow, you have been both, but much the greater was my grief. Since you were removed from all danger I never knew where my pearl had gone. Now I see it, my sorrow is assuaged. When we were separated we were as one; God forbid that we should now be at variance. We meet so seldom by stock or stone [i.e., anywhere). Though you speak graciously, I am but dust and lack [good) manners. But the mercy of Christ and Mary and John, these are the foundation of all my happiness.