That God wol have do, sey thou not nay,
Oure lord God wyl that it be so!
Joseph. Aȝens my God not do I may, Here wardeyn and kepere wyl I evyr be; But fayr maydon, I the pray, Kepe the clene, as I xal me; I am a man of age. Therfore, sere busshop, I wyl that ȝe wete, That in bedde we xul nevyr mete, ffor i-wys mayden suete An old man may not rage. Episcopus. This holyest virgyn xalt thou maryn now, ȝour rodde foreschyth fayrest, that man may se; The Holy Gost we se syttyht on a bow! Now ȝelde we alle preysyng to the trenyté.
Et hic cantent, "Benedicta sit beata Trinitas."
Joseph, wole ȝe have this maydon to ȝour wyff,
And here honour and kepe, as ȝe howe to do?
Joseph. Nay, sere, so mote I thryff, I have ryght no nede therto. Episcopus. Joseph, it is Goddys wyl it xuld be so! Sey aftyr me, as it is skyl. Joseph. Sere, and to performe his wyl I bow therto, ffor alle thynge owyght to ben at his wyl.
Episcopus, et idem Joseph.
Sey than aftyr me,—"Here I take the, Mary, to wyff,
To havyn to holdyn, as God his wyl with us wyl make;
And as long as bethwen us lestyght oure lyff,
To love ȝow as myselff, my trewthe I ȝow take."
Nunc ad Mariam sic dicens episcopus,
Mary, wole ȝe have this man,
And hym to kepyn as ȝour lyff?
Maria. In the tenderest wyse, fadyr, as I kan
And with alle my wyttys ffyff.
