Levedy, flour of alle thing, Rosa sine spina, Thu bere Jhesu hevene king Gratia divina, Of alle thu berst the pris, Levedy, quene of paradys, Electa. Mayde milde, moder es Effecta. ANON. VI 1 A PLEA FOR PITY SWEIT rois1 of vertew and of gentilness, Delytsum2 lyllie of everie lustynes, Richest in bontie, and in bewtie cleir, And every vertew that to hevin is deir, Except onlie that ye ar mercyles. Into your garthe3 this day I did persew; Thair saw I flouris that fresche wer of dew, 4 5 Baythe * quhyte and reid most lusty wer to seyne, And halsum herbis upone stalkis grene; Yet leif nor flour fynd could I nane of rew. 1 Rose. 2 Delightsome. 5 White. 7 I doute that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne," Hes slane this gentil herbe, that I of mene; Quhois petewous deithe dois to my hart sic pane, That I would mak to plant his rute agane, So confortand his levis unto me bene. W. DUNBAR. VII BE MERRY, MAN BE merrie, man, and tak nat sair in mind Mak thee gude cheer of it that God thee sends, 9 VIII LIFE WHAT is this life but a straight way to deid, W. DUNBAR. IX TO MAYSTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY MIRRY Margaret, As mydsomer flowre; Or hawke of the towre: With solace and gladness, Moche mirthe and no madness, All good and no badness, So joyously, So maydenly, So womanly, Her demenyng In everythynge Swete pomaunder, Goode Cassaunder; Stedfast of thought, Wele made, wele wrought; Far may be sought, Erst that ye can fynde So corteise, so kynde, Or hawke of the towre. J. SKELTON. II X AVE WEEPE not my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art olde, there's grief enough for thee. Mother's wag, prettie boy, Last his sorrow, first his joy. Weepe not my wanton, smile upon my knee, The wanton smil'd, father wept, Mother cried, baby lept, More he crow'd, more we cried, |