encrese thi consolacion,
Oure enemyes quaken and dreden fulsore,
That peas is made ther was division,

Whiche to them is a gret confusion,
And to us ioy and felicite;
God hold them longe in every season:
That Anglond may reioise concord and unite.

Now is sorowe with shame fled in to Fraunce,
As a felon that hath forsworn this londe;
Love hath put out malicious governaunce,
In every place bothe fre and bonde;

In Yorke, in Somerset as I understonde,
In Warrewik also is love and charite,
In Sarisbury eke, and in Northumbrelande;
That every man may reioise concord and unite.

Egremown, and Clifford, with other forsaide,
Ben set in the same opynyon;
In every quarter love is thus laide,
Grace and wisdom hath thus the dominacion:

Awake Welthe, and walke in this region,
Rounde aboute in toun and cite,
And thanke them that brought hit to this concluson;
Reioise Anglond to concorde and unite.

At Poules in Londone, with gret renoun,
On oure Ladi day in Lente this peas was wrought;
The kinge, the quene, with lordes many oone,
To worship that virgine as thei ought,

Wenten a procession, and spariden right nought,
In sighte of alle the comynalte,
In token that love was in herte and thought;
Reiose Anglond in concorde and unite.

Ther was bytwyn them lovely contynaunce,
Whiche was gret ioy to alle that ther were,
That long tyme hadden be in variaunce;
As frendes for ever that had be in fere,

Thei wenten togeder, and made goud chere;
France and Britayn repente shul thei,
For the bargayn shul thei abye ful dere;
Reiose Anglond in concorde and unite.

Oure soveraigne lord kyng God kepe alwey,
The quene, and the archbisshope of Canterbury,
And the bisshop of Wynchestre chanceller of Anglond,
And other that han labured to this love day.

God preserve them we pray hertly,
And London for thei ful diligently,
Kepten the peas in trowbel and adversite,
To bryng in reste thei labured ful truly;
Reioise Anglond in concorde and unite.

Of thre thynges I praise the worshipful Cite;
The first, the true faithe that thei have to the kyng;
The seconde, of love to the comynalte;
The thrid, goud rule for evermore kepynge;

The whiche God maynteyn evermore durynge,
And save the Maier and alle the worthi Cite;
And that is amys God brynge to amendynge,
That Anglond may reioise to concord and unite.

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