ABSTRACT
For sorowe a swoune he overthrewe, That no man wist in hym no life. And whan he woke, he said: Ah, wife, My joye, my lust, and my desyre, My weith, and my recoverire, Why shall I live, and thou shalt die? Ha, thou fortune, I the defie, Now hast thou do to me thy werst. Ah herte, why ne wilt thou berst, That forth with hir I mighte passe? My peynes were well the lasse. In such wepynge and suche erie His dead wife, which laie hym bie, A thousande sithes he hir kiste. Was never man that sawe ne wiste A sorowe to his sorowe liche, Was ever amonge upon the liche. He fill swounynge, as he that thought His owne deth, whiche he sought Unto the goddes all above, With many a pitous worde of love: But suche wordes as tho were Herde never no mannes eare But onely thilke, whiche he saide.1 The maister shipman came and praide With other such, as ben therin, And saine, that he maie nothinge winne Ageyne the deth, but thei hym rede He be well ware, and take hede: The sea by weie of his nature Receive maie no creature, Within hym selfe as for to holde, The whiche is dede. Forthy thei wolde, As thei counceilen all about The dead bodie casten out.
