_Secundus rex._ Balaam spake in prophecye, A sterre xulde ful lovelye Lythtyn upon mayd Marye, Comyn of Jacobys kynne. The childe is born, and lythe here by, Blomyd in a madenys body, A sterre hath strekyn upon the sky And ledde us fayr be fenne. _Tertius rex._ The sterre hath ledde us out of the Est, To seke a baroun born best; He xal be kynge of myghtes mest, As prophecy gynnyth spelle. We be kynges in wey wery; Syr kynge, ffor thi curtesy, Telle us to that childe so lovely, In what towne gynnyth he dwelle. _Herodes rex._ ȝe thre kynges rekenyd be rowe, Ley now downe ȝour wurdys lowe, Suche a carpynge is unknowe, Onrekenyd in my regne. I am a kynge of hyȝ degré, Ther xal non ben above me, I have florens and fryhthis fre, Parkys and powndes pleyne. But goth to fynde that ȝe seche, And yf ȝe knowe suche a leche, And ȝe hym fynde, I ȝow beseche, Comyth aȝen be me. And I xal be bothe blythe and do bowne, That alle worchep to hym be done, With reverens I xal seke hym sone, And honor hym on kne. And, therfore, kynges, I ȝow pray, Whan ȝe have don ȝour jurnay; Come aȝen this same way. The trewthe to me to telle. Come and telle me as ȝe spede, And I xal qwyte ryght wel ȝour mede, With gold and tresour and ryche wede, With furres ryche and wurth pelle. _Primus Rex._ Kynge have good day, I go my way, To seche Lord of myght,— He xal be ryght Oure leche. _Secundus Rex._ Kynge fful sterne, Be felde and ferne, I goo To sekyn a kynge,— He takyth wonynge In woo. _Tertius Rex._ If we hym finde, Oure kynge ful kynde, Be a may, ffrom kynge and qwen, We comyn aȝen, This day. _Transient._ _Herodes Rex._ A! fy, fy, on talys that I have ben tolde, Here beforn my cruel kne; How xulde a barn wax so bolde, Be bestys yf he born be? He is yong and I am olde, An hardy kyng of hye degré; This daye tho kyngges xal be kold, If they cum ageyne be me. My goddes I xalle upreyse! A derke devylle with falsnese, I saye, Shalle cast a myst in the kyngges eye, Be bankes and be dalys drey, That be derk thei xalle cum this weyes. _Primus Rex._ Go we to sek owr lorde and our lech, Yon stere wille us teche the weyis ful sone, To save us from myschyff God I here besech, Onto his joyn that we may rech,— I pray hem of this bone! _Tunc ibunt reges cum muneribus ad Jhesum et primus rex dicit_, Heyle be thou, kyng cold clade! Heylle, with maydynys mylk fade! Heylle, I cum to the with gold glade, As wese wrytyng here it record. Golde is the rycheste metalle, And to weryng most ryalle, Gold I gyff the in this halle, And know the for my Lorde.