And ho so have the, he nedyth not care thanne; My sorwe is feryng I have do sum offens; Punchyth me, Lorde, and spare my blyssyd wyff Anne, That syttyth and sorwyth ful sore of myn absens! Ther is not may profyte but prayour to ȝour presens; With prayores prostrat byfore thi person I wepe; Have mende on oure avow, for ȝour meche magnyficens, And my lovyngest wyff Anne, Lord, for thi mercy kepe! _Anna._ A! mercy, Lord! mercy! mercy! mercy! We are synfolest; it shewyth that ȝe send us alle this sorwe: Why do ȝe thus to myn husbond, Lord? why, why, why? For my barynes he may amend this thiself and thou lyst to morwe, And it plese so thi mercy, the, my Lord, I take to borwe, I xal kepe myn avow qwyl I leve and leste, I fere me I have offendyd the; myn hert is ful of sorwe: Most mekely I pray thi pety, that this bale thou wyl breste. _Here the aungel descendith the hefne syngyng_, “_Exultet cœlum laudibus!_ _Resultet terra gaudiis!_ _Archangelorum gloria_ _Sacra canunt solemnia._” _Joachym._ Qwhat art thou, in Goddys name, that makyst me adrad? It is as lyth abowt me as al the werd were fere. _Angelus._ I am an aungel of God come to make the glad! God is plesyd with thin helmes, and hath herd thi prayere; He seyth thi shame, thi repreff, and thi terys cler: God is a vengere of synne, and not nature doth lothe! Whos wombe that he sparyth and makyth barreyn her, He doth to shewe his myth and his mercy bothe! Thu seest that Sara was nynty ȝer bareyn, Sche had a sun Ysaac, to whom God ȝaff his blyssynge; Rachel also had the same peyn, She had a son Joseph, that of Egypt was kynge. A strongere than Sampson nevyr was be wrytynge, Nor an holyere than Samuel, it is seyd thus; ȝett here moderes were bareyn bothe in the gynnynge; The concepcion of alle swyche, it is ful mervelyous. And in the lyke wyse Anne, that blyssyd wyff, Sche xal bere a childe xal hygthe Mary, Whiche xal be blyssyd in here body and have joys ffyff, And fful of the Holy Goost inspyred syngulyrly. Sche xal be offryd into the temple solemply, That of here non evyl ffame xuld sprynge thus, And as sche xal be bore of a barrany body, So of here xal be bore without nature Jhesus, That xal be savyour unto al mankende! In tokyn, whan thou come to Jherusalem, to the gyldyn gate, Thou xalt mete Anne thi wyff, have this in thi mende; I xal sey here the same here sorwys to rebate. _Joachym._ Of this incomparabyl comfort I xal nevyr forgete the date, My sorwe was nevyr so grett, but now my joy is more; I xal hom in hast, be it nevyr so late. A, Anne! blyssyd be that body of the xal be bore! Now farewel, myn shepherdys, governe ȝow now wysly.