Veritas. Lord, I am thi dowtere, Trewthe,
Thou wilt se I be not lore,
Thyn unkynde creatures to save were rewthe,
The offens of man hath grevyd the sore.
Whan Adam had synnyd, thou seydest yore,
That he xulde deye and go to helle,
And now to blysse hym to restore,
Twey contraryes mow not togedyr dwelle.
Thy trewthe, Lord, xal leste withowtyn ende,
I may in no wyse ffro the go,