I knowlege my synne, I demyd amys;
O blyssyd babe, grawnt me sum grace!
Of ȝow, mayde, also here in this place,
I aske mercy, knelynge on kne;
Moste holy mayde, grawnt me solace,
Sum wurde of comforte sey now to me.
Maria. As Goddys aungel to ȝow dede telle, My chylde is medecyn ffor every sor; Towche his clothis be my cowncelle,— ȝowre hand ful sone he wyl restor.
Hic Salomee tangit fimbriam Christi, dicens,
Salomee. A! now blyssyd be this chylde evermore—
The sone of God forsothe he is!
Hath helyd myn hand, that was forlore
Thorwe ffals beleve and demynge amys.
In every place I xal telle this,
Of a clene mayde that God is born:
And in oure lyknes God now clad is,
Mankend to save that was forlorn.
His modyr a mayde as sche was beforne,
Natt fowle pollutyd, as other women be;
But fayr and fresche, as rose on thorn,
Lely wyte clene with pure virginyté.
Of this blyssyd babe my leve now do I take,
And also of ȝow, hyȝ modyr of blysse!
Of this grett meracle more knowlege to make,
I xal go telle it in iche place i-wys.
Maria. ffarewel, good dame, and God ȝour wey wysse,
In all ȝour jurnay God be ȝourspede;
And of his hyȝ mercy that Lord so ȝow blysse,
That ȝe nevyr offende more in word, thought, nor dede.
ȝelomy. And I also do take my leve here,
Of alle this blyssyd good company;
