A Shrove Song

Heard you not that knocking? 
Lent is at the door, 
She bears a maund with daffodils 
Binmming o'er. 
She wears a hood upon her head. 
Because her hair's so bright, ('tis said,) 
Who came to pray would stay to stare 
Did they but see her shining hair. 

She crieth not, "Repent, repent," 
But "Ere your human wealth be spent. 
Give gold," she says,"of charity. 
Silver of patient courtesy. 
Your sister's shivering in the storm 
While you sup richly and lie warm. 
Give her your hand and bring her in, 
The mire's more plain on her than sin.

Your brother in the market-place 
Lies, and the rain is on his face,
Your fires are huge, your house is great, 
On him doth but one angel wait." 
Rise up, forget your Fastern,
For folly's o'er: 
Heard you not that knocking? 
Lent is at the door.