Myself begynnyng nevyr dyd take,
And endeles I am thorw myn own myth,
Now wole I begynne my werke to make,—
ffyrst I make hevyn with sterrys of lyth
In myrth and joy evermore to wake,
In hevyn I bylde angelle fful bryth,
My servauntes to be, and for my sake,
With merth and melody worchepe my myth;
I belde them in my blysse.
Aungelle in hevyn evyrmore xal be,
In lythful clere bryth as ble,
With myrthe and song to worchip me,
Of joys thei may not mys.
Hic cantent angeli in cælolo]. "Tibi omnes angeli, tibi
cœli et universæ potestates, Tibi cherubyn et seraphyn incessabili voce proclamant,—Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus! Dominus Deus Sabaoth."
Lucifer. To whos wurchipe synge ȝe this songe,
To wurchip God or reverens me?
But ȝe me wurchipe [ge]e do me wronge,
ffor I am the wurthyest that evyr may be.
Angeli boni. We wurchipe God of myth most stronge,
Whiche hath fformyd bothe us and the,
We may nevyr wurchyp hym to longe,
ffor he is most worthy of magesté.
On knes to God we ffalle.
Oure lorde God wurchyp we,
And in no wyse honowre we the,
A gretter lord may nevyr non be,
Than he that made us alle.
Lucifer. A worthyer lorde forsothe am I,
And worthyer than he evyr wyl I be,
In evydens that I am more wurthy,
I wyl go syttyn in Goddes se.
