Alas! mydwyvis, what have I seyd? I pray ȝow come to us more nere; ffor here I fynde my wyff a mayd, And in here arme a chylde hath here. Bothe mayd and modyr sche is in ffere, That God wole have may nevyr more fayle; Modyr on erthe was nevyr non cler, Withowth sche had in byrthe travayle. _ȝelomy._ In byrth travayle muste sche nedys have, Or ellys no chylde of here is born. _Joseph._ I pray ȝow, dame, and ȝe vowchesave, Com se the chylde my wyff beforn. _Salome._ Grete God be in this place! Swete systyr, how fare ȝe? _Maria._ I thank the fadyr of his hyȝ grace, His owyn son and my chylde here ȝe may se. _ȝelomye._ Alle heyl, Mary, and ryght good morn! Who was mydwyfe of this ffayr chylde? _Maria._ He that nothynge wyl have forlorne Sent me this babe, and I mayde mylde. _ȝelomye._ With honde lete me now towche and fele, Yf ȝe have nede of medycyne; I xal ȝow comforte and helpe ryght wele, As other women, yf ȝe have pyne. _Maria._ Of this fayr byrthe that here is myn, Peyne nere grevynge fele I ryght non! I am clene mayde and pure virgyn, Tast with ȝour hand ȝourself alon. _Hic palpat ȝelomye beatam virginem, dicens_, _ȝelomy._ O myghtfulle God, have mercy on me! A merveyle that nevyr was herd beforn! Here opynly I fele and se A fayr chylde of a maydon is borne, And nedyth no waschynge, as other don,— fful clene and pure forsothe is he; Withoutyn spott or ony polucyon, His modyr nott hurte of virgynité! Coom nere, gode systyr Salome, Beholde the brestys of this clene mayd, fful of fayr mylke how that thei be, And hyre chylde clene, as I fyrst sayd; As other ben nowth fowle arayd, But clene and pure, bothe modyr and chylde; Of this matyr I am dysmayd To se them bothe thus undefyled. _Salome._ It is not trewe; it may nevyr be That both be clene, I cannot beleve: A maydes milke never man dyde se, Ne woman here chylde withowte grett greve. I xal nevyr trowe it, but I it preve, With hand towchynge but I assay; In my conscience it may nevyr cleve, The sche hath chylde and is a may. _Maria._ ȝow for to putt clene out of dowth, Towche with ȝour hand and wele asay: Wysely ransake and trye the trewthe owth, Whethyr I be fowlyd, or a clene may. _Hic tangit Salomee Mariæ, et cum arescerit manus ejus ulverando, et, quasi flendo, dicit_, _Salomee._ Alas! alas! and weleawaye! ffor my grett dowth and fals beleve, Myne hand is ded and drye as claye! My fals untrost hath wrought myscheve! Alas! the tyme that I was born, Thus to offende aȝens Goddys myght! Myn handys power is now alle lorn, Styff as a stykke and may nowth plyght. ffor I dede tempte this mayde so bryght, And helde aȝens here pure clennes, In grett myscheff now am I pyght: Alas! alas! ffor my lewdnes.