My name is knowyn, God and kynge, My werk for to make now wyl I wende, In myself restyth my reynenge, It hath no gynnyng ne non ende; And alle that evyr xal have beynge, It is closyd in my mende, Whan it is made at my lykynge, I may it save, I may it shende, After my plesawns. So gret of myth is my pousté, Alle thyng xal be wrowth be me, I am oo God in personys thre, Knyt in oo substawns. I am the trewe trenyté, Here walkyng in this wone; Thre personys myself I se, Lokyn in me God alone. I am the ffadyr of powsté, My Sone with me gynnyth gon, My Gost is grace in magesté, Weldyth welthe up in hevyn tron. O God thre I calle, I a fadyr of myth, My sone kepyth ryth, My gost hath lyth, And grace with alle. 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 cœlo._ “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 ȝe 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. Above sunne and mone and sterres on sky I am now set, as ȝe may se; Now wurchyp me ffor most mythty, And for ȝour lord honowre now me, Syttyng in my sete. _Angeli mali._ Goddys myth we forsake, And for more wurthy we the take, The to wurchep honowre we make, And ffalle down at thi ffete.