A! swete wyff, what xal we do? Wher xal we logge this nyght? Onto the ffadyr of heffne pray we so, Us to kepe ffrom every wykkyd whyt. _Cives._ Good man, o word I wyl the sey, If thou wylt do by the counsel of me; ȝondyr is an hous of haras that stant be the wey, Amonge the bestys herboryd may ȝe be. _Maria._ Now the fadyr of hefne he mut ȝow ȝelde! His sone in my wombe forsothe he is; He kepe the and thi good be fryth and ffelde! Go we hens, husbond, for now tyme it is. But herk now, good husbond, a newe relacyon, Whiche in myself I know ryght welle; Cryst in me hath take incarnacion, Sone wele be borne, the trowthe I fele. In this pore logge my chawmere I take, Here for to abyde the blyssyd byrthe Of hym that alle this werd dude make,— Betwyn myn sydes I fele he styrthe. _Joseph._ God be thin help, spowse, it swemyth me sore, Thus febyly loggyd and in so pore degré, Goddys sone amonge bestys ffor to be bore; His woundyr werkys ffulfyllyd must be! In an hous that is desolat, withowty any walle, ffyer nor wood non here is. _Maria._ Joseph, myn husbond, abydyn here I xal, ffor here wyl be born the kynges sone of blys! _Joseph._ Now, jentyll wyff, be of good myrthe, And if ȝe wyl owght have, telle me what ȝe thynk; I xal not spare for schep nor derthe,— Now telle me ȝour lust of mete and drynk. _Maria._ ffor mete and drynk lust I ryght nowth, Allemyghty God my fode xal be! Now that I am in chawmere brought, I hope ryght welle my chylde to se. Therfore husbond, of ȝour honesté, Avoyd ȝow hens out of this place; And I alone, with humylité, Here xal abyde Goddys hyȝ grace. _Joseph._ Alleredy, wyff, ȝow for to plese I wyl go hens out of ȝour way; And seke sum mydwyvys ȝow for to ese, Whan that ȝe travayle of childe this day. ffarewelle, trewe wyff, and also clene may, God be ȝour comforte in Trinyté! _Maria._ To God in hevyn for ȝow I pray, He ȝow preserve wherso ȝe be! _Hic dum Joseph est absens parit Maria filium unigenitum._ _Joseph._ Now God, of whom comythe the alle releffe, And as alle grace in the is grownde, So save my wyff from hurt and greffe, Tyl I sum mydwyvys for here have fownde! Travelynge women in care be bownde, With grete throwys whan thei do grone; God, helpe my wyff that sche not swownde! I am ful sory sche is alone.