Lenten ys come with loue to toune,
Spring has arrived, with love,
|5|| Notes suete of nyhtegales, |
Vch foul song singeth.
The threstelcoc him threteth oo;
Away is huere wynter wo
When woderoue springeth.
| The sweet notes of nightingales, |
Every bird sings a song.
The thrush is constantly wrangling;
Their winter misery is gone
When the woodruff flowers.
|10|| This foules singeth ferly fele |
Ant wlyteth on huere [wynne] wele
That al the wode ryngeth.
| These birds sing in great numbers,|
And chirp about their wealth of joys,
So that all the wood rings.