Joye to God that sytt in hevyn, And pes to man on erthe grownde! A chylde is born benethe the levyn, Thurwe hym many ffolke xul be unbownde. Sacramentys ther xul be vij., Wonnyn thorowe that childys wounde; Therfore I synge a joyful stevene, The flowre of frenchep now is founde! God that wonyght on hyȝ, He is gloryed mannys gost to wynne, He hath sent salve to mannys synne, Pes is comyn to mannys kynne, Thorwe Goddys hiȝe wysdam I saye. _Primus Pastor._ Maunfras, Maunfras, felawe myn, I saw a grett lyght with bryght shyne, ȝit saw I nevyr so mervely a syne, Shapyn upon the skyes. It is bryghtere than the sunne bem, It comyth ryght over alle this rem, Evyn above Bedleem, I saw it brenne thryes! _Secundus Pastor._ Thu art my brother Boosras, I have beholdyn the same pas, I trowe it is tokenynge of gras, That shynynge shewyght beforn! Balaam spak in prophesye, A lyght xuld shyne upon the skye, Whan a chylde of a mayd Marye In Bedleem were i-born. _Tertius Pastor._ Thow I make lytyl noyse of this, I am an herde man that hattyht sayyng amyce, I herde spekyng of a chylde of blyce, Of Moyses in his lawe. Of a mayd a child xuld be borne, On a tre he xuld be torn, Delyver folkys that arn forlorn,— The chylde xulde be slawe. _Primus pastor._ Balaam spake in prophecie, Out of Jacob xuld shyne a skye, Many ffolke he xulde bye With his bryght blood. Be that bryght blod that he xulde blede, He xal us brynge fro the develys drede, As a duke most dowty in dede, Thorwe his dethe on rode. _Secundus Pastor._ Amos spak with mylde methe, A frute swettere than bawmys brethe, His dethe xulde slen owre sowlys dethe, And drawe us alle from helle. Therfore suche lyght goth beforn, In tokyn that the childe is born, Whiche xal save that is forlorn,— As prophetys gonne spelle. _Tertius pastor._ Danyel the prophete thus gan speke, Wyse God from woo us wreke, Thi bryght hevyn thou to-breke, And medele the with a mayde. This prophecye is now spad, Cryst in our kende is clad, Therfore mankend may be glad, As prophetes beforn han seyd. “Gloria in excelsis deo,” _Cantent._ _Primus Pastor._ Ey, ey! this was a wondyr note, That was now songyn above the sky! I have that voys, fful wele I wote, Thei songe _gle glo glory_. _Secundus Pastor._ Nay, so mot y the, so was it nowth, I have that songe fful wele I num, In my wytt weyl it is wrought:— It was _gle glo glas glum_. _Tertius Pastor._ The songe me thought it was glory; And aftyrwarde he seyd us to,— Ther is a chylde born xal be a prynce myghty, ffor to seke that chylde I rede we go. _Primus Pastor._ The prophecye of Boosdras is spedly sped; Now leyke we hens, as that lyght us lede: