No. 44.
Son.
Oh, my father! help, I pray!
Death is near my soul to-day;
With your blessing let me be
Made a monk right speedily!
See the foe my life invade!
Haste, oh haste, to give me aid!
Bring me comfort and heart's ease,
Strengthen me in this disease!
Father.
Oh, my best-belovèd son,
What is this thou wouldst have done?
Weigh it well in heart and brain:
Do not leave me here in pain.
Son.
Father, this thy loving care
Makes me weep full sore, I swear;
For you will be childless when
I have joined those holy men.
Father.
Therefore make a little stay,
Put it off till the third day;
It may be your danger is
Not unto the death, I wis.