[Poems from the Vernon MS]

II.

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Ihesu louerd, þi loue to wynne
Ȝif me grace to bi-gynne,
Loue me sende to fordo synne,
Þat al monkynde was bounden Inne.

Ar Godus sone in þe Maiden alyhte,
Aȝeyn þe deuel we nedde no mihte;
ffor we weren vndur his mihte,
Of good to don we loren þe sihte.

Þat tyme was sunne so ryf,
In Old, In ȝong, In Mon, In Wyf:
As sone as heo laften þe lyf,
To helle heo wenden wiþ-outen stryf.

Habraham, Ysaak, and seint Ion,
Dauid þe kyng, and Salamon,
Þidere heo wenden, euerichon,—
Heo nedden þo no beter won.

fforte Godus sone was don on Rode,
Þidere wente wikkede and goode,
Þe wikkede to pyne, wiþ dreri mode,
Þere to beo þe deueles foode;

Bote þulke soules swete
Þat here on lyue heore synnes leete,
In freo prisun þenne was heore sete,
To abyde þe biheste of þe prophete.

Prophetes weren I-woned to grede:
“Ow schal comen wiþ-oute drede
Þat flesch schal taken in Maydenhede
And us to Ioye of pyne lede.”

Whon God of heuene herde þis cry,
Of Monkynde he hedde mercy:
And ches a Mayde of gret ferly,
Clene in soule and in body.

To hire he sende a swete fere,
Þat him was swiþe leof and dere:
Gabriel, wiþ swete chere,
And hire gon grete on þis manere:

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