human
I ran aboute in youthe, And yaf me naught to lerne, And evere siththe have I be beggere For my foule sleuthe. _Heu michi! quia sterilem vitam duxi juvenilem._
gpt
Repentedestow noght? quod Repentaunce; {104} And right with that he swowned, Til _Vigilate_ the veille Fette water at hise eighen, And flatte it on his face, And faste on hym cryde, And seide,
human
Ware thee, for Wanhope Wolde thee bi-traye, 'I am sory for my synnes' Seye to thiselve, 3380 And beet thiself on the brest, And bidde hym of grace; For is ne gilt here so gret That his goodnesse nys moore.