O lord of myght! thou knowyst the trowthe, That I have evyr had dred of the; On every power wryght evyr I have rowthe, And ȝove hem almes for love of the. Bothe wyff and wedowe that askyght for the, And frendles chylderyn that haddyn grett nede, I dude them cure and alle for the, And toke no rewarde of them nor mede. Now as a wrecche ffor fals beleve, That I shewyd in temptynge this mayde, My hand is ded and doth me greve! Alas! that evyr I here assyde. _Angelus._ Woman, thi sorwe to have delayde, Wurchep that childe that ther is born: Towche the clothis ther he is layde, ffor he xal save alle that is lorn! _Salomee._ O gloryous chylde, and kynge of blysse! I aske ȝow mercy for my trespace; I knowlege my synne, I demyd amys; O blyssyd babe, grawnt me sum grace! Of ȝow, mayde, also here in this place, I aske mercy, knelynge on kne; Moste holy mayde, grawnt me solace, Sum wurde of comforte sey now to me. _Maria._ As Goddys aungel to ȝow dede telle, My chylde is medecyn ffor every sor; Towche his clothis be my cowncelle,— ȝowre hand ful sone he wyl restor. _Hic Salomee tangit fimbriam Christi, dicens_, _Salomee._ A! now blyssyd be this chylde evermore— The sone of God forsothe he is! Hath helyd myn hand, that was forlore Thorwe ffals beleve and demynge amys. In every place I xal telle this, Of a clene mayde that God is born: And in oure lyknes God now clad is, Mankend to save that was forlorn. His modyr a mayde as sche was beforne, Natt fowle pollutyd, as other women be; But fayr and fresche, as rose on thorn, Lely wyte clene with pure virginyté. Of this blyssyd babe my leve now do I take, And also of ȝow, hyȝ modyr of blysse! Of this grett meracle more knowlege to make, I xal go telle it in iche place i-wys. _Maria._ ffarewel, good dame, and God ȝour wey wysse, In all ȝour jurnay God be ȝourspede; And of his hyȝ mercy that Lord so ȝow blysse, That ȝe nevyr offende more in word, thought, nor dede. _ȝelomy._ And I also do take my leve here, Of alle this blyssyd good company; Praynge ȝour grace, bothe fere and nere; On us to spede ȝour endles mercy. _Joseph._ The blyssyng of that Lord that is most myghty, Mote sprede on ȝow in every place, Of alle ȝour enmyes to have the victory, God that best may grawnt ȝow his grace! _Amen._ XVI. THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS. _Angelus ad pastores dicit_, “Gloria in excelsis Deo.”