There was one, Octavian, Octavian of Rome Emperor, As books old doth specify, Of all the wide world truly He was lord and governor. The Jews, that time, lack'd a king, They lack'd a king to guide them well, The Emperor of power and might, Chose one Herod against all right, In Israel. This Herod, then, was King of Jews Was King of Jews, and he no Jew, Forsooth he was a Paynim born, Wherefore on faith it may be sworn He reigned King untrue. By prophecy, one Isai, One Isai, at least, did tell A child should come, wondrous news, That should be born true King of Jews In Israel. This Herod knew one born should be, One born should be of true lineage, That should be right heritor; For he but by the Emperor Was made by usurpage. Wherefore of thought this King Herod, This King Herod in great fear fell, For all the days most in his mirth, Ever he feared Christ his birth In Israel. The time came it pleased God, It pleased God so to come to pass, For man's soul indeed His blessed Son was born with speed, As His will was. Tidings came to King Herod, To King Herod, and did him tell, That one born forsooth is he, Which lord and king of all shall be In Israel. Herod then raged, as he were wode (mad), As he were wode of this tyding, And sent for all his scribes sure, Yet would he not trust the Scripture, Nor of their counselling. This, then, was the conclusion, The conclusion of his counsel, To send unto his knights anon To slay the children every one In Israel. This cruel king this tyranny, This tyranny did put in ure (practice), Between a day and years two, All men-children he did slew, Of Christ for to be sure. Yet Herod missed his cruel prey, His cruel prey, as was God's will; Joseph with Mary then did flee With Christ to Egypt, gone was she From Israel. All the while these tyrants, These tyrants would not convert, But innocents young That lay sucking, They thrust to the heart. This Herod sought the children young, The children young, with courage fell. But in doing this vengeance His own son was slain by chance In Israel. Alas! I think the mothers were woe, The mothers were woe, it was great skill, What motherly pain To see them slain, In cradles lying still! But God Himself hath them elect, Hath them elect in heaven to dwell, For they were bathed in their blood, For their Baptism forsooth it stood In Israel.