O holy Psalmys! O holy book! Swetter to say than any ony! Thou lernyst hem, love Lord, that on the look, And makyst hym desyre thyngys celestly. With these halwyd psalmys, Lord, I pray the specyaly, ffor alle the creatures qwyke and dede, That thou wylt shewe to hem thi mercy, And to me specyaly that do it rede. I have seyd sum of my sawtere, and here I am At this holy psalme in dede, “Benedixisti, Domine, terram tuam,” In this holy labore, Lord, me spede. _Joseph._ Mary, wyff and mayd most gracyous, Displese ȝow not, I pray ȝow, so long I have be. I have hyryd for us a lytyl praty hous, And ther in ryght hesely levyn wole we. Come forthe, Mary, and folwe me, To Naȝareth now wele we go, And alle the maydonys, bothe ffayr and fre, With my wyff comyth forthe also. Now lystenyth welle, wyff, what I telle the, I must gon owth hens fer the fro, I wylle go laboryn in fere countré, With trewthe to maynteyn oure housholde so. This ix. monthis thou seyst me nowth: Kepe the clene, my jentyl spowse, And alle thin maydenys in thin howse, That evyl langage I here not rowse, ffor hese love that alle hath wrought. _Maria._ I pray to God he spede ȝour way, And in sowle helthe he mote ȝow kepe, And sende ȝow helthe, bothe nyth and day, He shylde and save ȝow from al shenschepe. Now, Lord of grace, to the I pray, With morny mood on kne I krepe, Me save from synne, from tene and tray, With hert I murne, with eye I wepe. Lord God of peté, Whan I sytt in my conclave, Alle myn hert on the I have, Gracyous God, my maydenhed save, Evyr clene in chastyté. XI. THE SALUTATION AND CONCEPTION. _Contemplacio._ ffowre thowsand sex undryd foure ȝere I telle, Man ffor his offens and ffowle foly, Hath loyn ȝeres in the peynes of helle, And were wurthy to ly therin endlesly. But thanne xulde perysche ȝour grete mercy, Good Lord, have on man pyté, Have mende of the prayour seyd by Ysaie, Lete mercy meke thin hyest magesté. Wolde God thou woldyst breke thin hefne myghtye, And com down here into erthe; And levyn ȝeres thre and threttye, Thyn famyt ffolke with thi ffode to fede. To staunche thi thryste lete thi syde blede, ffor erst wole not be mad redempcion. Cum vysite us in this tyme of nede, Of thi careful creatures, Lord, have compassyon! A! woo to us wrecchis that wrecchis be, ffor God hath addyd ssorowe to sorwe; I prey the, Lorde, thi sowlys com se, How thei ly and sobbe, bothe eve and morewe. With thi blyssyd blood ffrom babys hem borwe, Thy careful creaturys cryenge in captyvyté, A! tary not, gracyous Lord, tyl it be to-morwe, The devyl hath dysceyved hem be his iniquité.