Almyghty God loke thou honoure,
Wiche that made bothe drye and wete,
Shynyng sunne and scharpe schoure.
Thu art my suete childe, and par amoure
fful wele in herte do I the love,
Loke that thin herte, in hevyn toure
Be sett to serve oure Lord God above.
In thi ȝonge lerne God to plese,
And God xal quyte the weyl thi mede:
Now, suete sone, of wordys these