It is not convenient a man to be Ther women gon in travalynge; Wherfore sum mydwyff ffayn wold I se, My wyff to helpe that is so ȝenge. _ȝelomy._ Why makyst thou man suche mornyng? Telle me sumdele of ȝour gret mone. _Joseph._ My wyf is now in gret longynge, Travelyng of chylde, and is alone: ffor Godys love that sytt in trone, As ȝe, mydwyvys, that kan ȝour good, Help my ȝonge spowse in hast anone,— I drede me sore of that fayr food. _Salome._ Be of good chere and of glad mood, We ij. mydwyvys with the wylle go; Ther was nevyr woman in suche plyght stood, But we were redy here help to do. My name is Salomee, alle men me knowe ffor a mydwyff of wurthy fame; Whan women travayl, grace doth growe, Ther as I come I had nevyr shame. _ȝelomye._ And I am ȝelomye, men knowe my name; We tweyn with the wyl go togedyr, And help thi wyff fro hurt and grame; Come forthe, Joseph, go we streythe thedyr. _Joseph._ I thank ȝow, damys, ȝe comforte my lyff, Streyte to my spowse walke we the way. In this pore logge lyght Mary my wyff; Hyre for to comforte, gode frendys, asay. _Salome._ We dare not entre this logge in fay, Ther is therin so gret bryghtnes,— Mone be nyght nor sunne be day Shone nevyr so clere in ther lyghtnesse. _ȝelomye._ Into this hous dare I not gon, The woundyrffulle lyght doth me affray. _Joseph._ Than wyl myself gon in alon, And chere my wyff, if that I may; Alle heyl, maydon and wyff, I say! How dost thou fare? telle me thi chere! The for to comforte in gesyne this day, Tweyn gode mydwyvis I have brought here. The for to helpe that art in harde bonde, ȝelomye and Salomee be come with me,— ffor dowte of drede withowte thei do stond, And dare not come in for lyght that they se. _Hic Maria subridendo dicat, Maria._ _Maria._ The myght of the Godhede in his magesté Wyl not be hyd now at this whyle; The chylde that is born wyl preve his modyr fre, A very clene mayde, and therfore I smyle. _Joseph._ Why do ȝe lawghe, wyff? ȝe be to blame; I pray ȝow, spowse, do no more so; In happ the mydwyvys wyl take it to grame, And at ȝour nede helpe wele non do. Iff ȝe have nede of mydwyvys, lo! Peraventure thei wyl gon hens: Therfor be sad and ȝe may so, And wynnyth alle the mydwyvis good diligens. _Maria._ Husbond, I pray ȝow dysplese ȝow nowth, Thow that I lawghe and gret joye have; Here is the chylde this werde hath wrought, Born now of me, that alle thynge xal save. _Joseph._ I aske ȝow grace, for I dyde rave! O gracyous childe, I aske mercy! As thou art Lord and I but knave, fforȝeve me now my gret foly!