Peter Alphonse

“ The thrid is, ne sorowe thow nat of thynges lost.' This saide, the litel brid ascendid vpon the tree and with a sweete voice bigan to synge: 'Blessid be god that hath shit and closed the sight of thyn eyen and taken awey thi wisdam, forwhi if thow haddest sought in the plites of myn entrailes thow shuldest have founde a jacinct the weight of an vnce.' He heryng this bigan to wepe and to sorowe and to smyte his brest with his fist for he yave feith to the litel brid. ”

“ Ther was a place also Right delectable in whiche ther gadred grete multitude of briddis with dyvers melodic of dyuers and many swete songes executyng. [2] Vpon a day while he for werynes Restid in his orchard suche a bridde (f. 130) sat vpon the tre, whiche that he sye and herd his voice and deceivaibely toke hym in a snare. ”