Maria. A! wyth alle myn hol herte, brether, ye are welcom i-wys: I beseke you now to telle me of youre sodeyne metyng. Petrus. In dyveris contreys we prechid of youre sone and his blis, Diveris clowdys eche of us was sodeynely curyng; And in on were brouth before youre yate here i-wys, The cause why no man cowde telle of oure comyng. Maria. Now I thanke God of his mercy, an hy merakle is this; Now I wyl telle yow the cause of my sonys werkyng; I desyrid his bodily presence to se. Johannes. No wonder, Lady, thow so dede ye. Maria. Tho my sone Jhesu of his hye peté Sent to me an aungyl, and thus he sayd, That the thredde nyth I schuld assende to my sone in deité; Thanne to have youre presence, brether, hertly I prayed, And thus at my request God hath you sent me. Petrus. Wys gracyous Lady, we are ryth wel payed. Maria. Blissid brethere, I beseke you than tent me; Now wyl I rest me in this bed that for me is rayed; Wachith me besily wyth youre laumpys and lithtis. Paulus. We schal, Lady, redy alle thyng for you dith is. Maria. Now, sone, schul ye se what Godis myth is, My flech gynnyth feble be nature.
Hic erit decenter ornatus in lecto.
Petrus. Brether, eche of you a candele takyth nowe rithis,
And lith hem in haste, whil oure moder doth dure,
And bisyli let us wachyn in this virgyne sythis,
That when oure Lord comyth in his sponsed pure,
He may fynde us wakyng and redy wyth oure lithis,
ffor we knowe not the hour of his comyng now sure,
And yn clennesse alle loke ye be redy.
Maria. A! swete sone Jhesu, now mercy I cry,
Over alle synful thy mercy let sprede!
