CXXI. Salue, regina glorie,
Mater misericordie.
1
O stronge Iudith so full of myght,
By thy vertu we be made fre,
For thou hast putte oure foo to flyght,
Mater misericordie.
2
O meke Hestere so fayre of face,
Kyng Assuere for loue of the
Hath take mankynd vnto his grace,
Mater misericordie.
3
O benigne meyde, modere and wyff,
Oure ioye is wonne only by the:
Sothly, thou art the gate of lyff,
Mater misericordie.
4
Whom alle this world, þatt ys so wyde,
Myght not receyue, he lyght in the
And became man to be our gyde,
Mater misericordie.
5
We be most fre, that were most þrall,
By thi mekenes, o lady fre,
Wherfore of right þus we þe call:
‘Mater misericordie.’
6
Sith thou hast born oure sauyowre
And alle oure trust is leyde in the,
Defende us ay fro all dolowre,
Mater misericordie.
7
Lete notte the fende with all his fraude
Make thrall, thatt thy sone hath made fre,
In blysse thatte we may gyff you laude,
Mater misericordie.
8
Pray Crist, thy sonne, that high iustyse,
Thatte we may dwell with hym and þe
In the sweete blysse of paradyse,
Mater misericordie.
