ffrom develys sefne he mad me qwyght?
There kan no tounge my joye expres,
Now I have seyn my Lorde on lyve;
To my bretheryn I wyl me dresse,
And telle to hem a non ryght belyve:
With opyn speche I xal me shryve,
And telle to hem, with wurdys pleyn
How that Cryst ffrom deth to lyve,
To endles blys is resyn ageyn.
Bretheryn, al blyth ȝe be,