me water in-to the cop of these mountayns, and I shal drinke
therof, my thurstes to stanche, and sey, these be comfortable
welles; in-to helth of goodnesse of my saviour am I holpen. And
yet I saye more, the house of joye to me is nat opened. How
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dare my sorouful goost than in any mater of gladnesse thinken to
trete? For ever sobbinges and complayntes be redy refrete in
his meditacions, as werbles in manifolde stoundes comming about
I not than. And therfore, what maner of joye coude [I] endyte?
But yet at dore shal I knocke, if the key of David wolde the locke