Out of this world wightly thou wan, thou didst win, or make
    Lifting up thyself alone; [thy way, powerfully.
  For mightily thou rose and ran
    Straight unto thy Father on throne. 
  Now dare man make no more moan—­
    For man it is thou wroughtest thus,
  And God with man is made at one;
    So be my comfort, Christ Jesus.

  Jesu, my sovereign Saviour,
    Almighty God, there ben no mo:  there are no more—­thou
  Christ, thou be my governor; [art all in all.(?)
    Thy faith let me not fallen fro. from
  Jesu, my joy and my succour,
    In my body and soul also,
  God, thou be my strongest food, the rhyme fails here. 
    And wisse thou me when me is woe. think on me.
  Lord, thou makest friend of foe,
    Let me not live in languor thus,
  But see my sorrow, and say now “Ho,”
    And be my comfort, Christ Jesus.

Of fourteen stanzas called Richard de Castre’s Prayer to Jesus, I choose five from the latter half, where the prayer passes from his own spiritual necessities, very tenderly embodied, to those of others.  It does our hearts good to see the clouded sun of prayer for oneself break forth in the gladness of blessed entreaty for all men, for them that make Him angry, for saints in trouble, for the country torn by war, for the whole body of Christ and its unity.  After the stanza—­

  Jesus, for the deadly tears
    That thou sheddest for my guilt,
  Hear and speed my prayers
    And spare me that I be not spilt;

the best that is in the suppliant shines out thus

  Jesu, for them I thee beseech
    That wrathen thee in any wise;
  Withhold from them thy hand of wreche, vengeance.
    And let them live in thy service.

  Jesu, most comfort for to see
    Of thy saintis every one,
  Comfort them that careful be,
    And help them that be woe-begone.

  Jesu, keep them that be good,
    And amend them that have grieved thee;
  And send them fruits of earthly food,
    As each man needeth in his degree.

  Jesu, that art, withouten lees, lies.
    Almighty God in trinity,
  Cease these wars, and send us peace,
    With lasting love and charity.

  Jesu, that art the ghostly stone spiritual.
    Of all holy church in middle-erde, the world.
  Bring thy folds and flocks in one,
    And rule them rightly with one herd.

We now approach the second revival of literature, preceded in England by the arrival of the art of printing; after which we find ourselves walking in a morning twilight, knowing something of the authors as well as of their work.

I have little more to offer from this century.  There are a few religious poems by John Skelton, who was tutor to Henry VIII.  But such poetry, though he was a clergyman, was not much in Skelton’s manner of mind.  We have far better of a similar sort already.