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Lenten ys come with love to toun{.e},With blosmen and with bridd{.e}s roun{.e}, That al this bliss{.e} bryngeth;Dayes-ey{.e}s in this dal{.e}s;Not{.e}s suete of nyht{.e}gal{.e}s; Uch foul song singeth.The threstelcoc him threteth oo;Away is huer{.e} wynter woo, When woderov{.e} springeth.This foul{.e}s singeth ferly fel{.e},And wlyteth on huere wynter wel{.e}, That al the wod{.e} ryngeth.

The ros{.e} rayleth hir{.e} rode;The lev{.e}s on the lyht{.e} wod{.e} Waxen al with will{.e}.The mon{.e} mandeth hir{.e} bleo;The lili{.e} is lossom to seo, The fenyl and the fill{.e}.Wow{.e}s this wild{.e} drak{.e}s;Mil{.e}s murgeth huer{.e} mak{.e}s; Ase strem that striketh still{.e},Mody meneth, so doth mo;Ichot ycham on of tho, For love that lik{.e}s ill{.e}.

The mon{.e} mandeth hir{.e} lyht,So doth the semly sonn{.e} bryht, When bridd{.e}s singeth brem{.e}.Deaw{.e}s donketh the doun{.e}s;Deor{.e}s with huere dern{.e} roun{.e}s, Dom{.e}s fort{.e} dem{.e};Worm{.e}s woweth under cloud{.e};Wymmen waxeth wounder proud{.e}, So wel hit wol hem sem{.e}.Yef me shal wont{.e} wille of on,This wunn{.e} weole y wole forgon, Ant wyht in wode be flem{.e}.

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