Maria. No more I do, glorious aungyl in kynde; Also I beseke my sone I se not the fende, What tyme outh of this word I schal passe hens; His horible lok wold fere me so hende, Ther is nothyng I dowte but his dredfull presens. Angelus. What nedith it to fere you, empres so hende? Syn be the fruth of youre body was convycte his vyolens, That horible serpent dare not nyhyn youre kende, And yowre blosme schal make hym recistens, That he schal not pretende. Desyre ye outh ellys now rythis? Maria. Nouth, but blessyd be my God in his myhtys! Angelus. To yow I recomaunde me than, most excellent in sithis, And wyth this agayn to God I assende.
Hic ascendit angelus.
Maria. Now, Lord, thy swete holy name wyth lovnesse I blysse,
Of qwyche hefne and erthe eche tyme pshalmodyeth;
That it lykyth youre mercy me to you to wysse,
My sympil sowle in serteyn youre name magnefyeth.
Now, holy maydenys, the servauntis of God as I gysse,
I schal passe from this world as the aungyl sertefyeth;
Therfore to my sympil habitacyon, I telle you now this,
I purpose me to go, besekyng yow replyeth,
And assedually wachith me be dayes and nythis.
Prima virgo. We schal, gracyous Lady, wyth alle oure mythis,
Schul ye from us passe, swete sonne of socoure,
That are oure sengler solas radyant in youre lythis,
Youre peynful absence schal make me doloure.
Virgo Secunda. Moste excellent princes in alle vertu that is dith,
Alle hefne and erthe, Lady, you doth honure;
We schal wachyn and wake, as oure dewe and ryth,
Into the tyme ye passe to that hye toure.
