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Songs and carols from a manuscript in the British Museum of the fifteenth century


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SONGS AND CAROLS.
 II. 
II. Now bething the, gentilman, How Adam dalf and Eve span.
 III. 
III. Alle maydenis, for Godes grace, Worchepe ȝe seynt Nicolas.
 IV. 
IV. God that alle mytes may, Helpe us at our ending daye.
 V. 
V. O flos de Jesse virgula, Laus tibi sit et gloria.
 VI. 
VI. Eya, Jhesus hodie Natus est de virgine.
 VII. 
VII. Gay, gay, gay, gay, Think on drydful domis day.
 IX. 
IX. Jhesu, Jhesu, Jhesu, Jhesu, Saf us alle thorw thi vertu.
 X. 
X. Now go gyle, gyle, gyle, Now go gile, gyle, go.
 XI. 
XI. Syng we alle and sey we thus, Gramersy myn owyn purs.
 XIV. 
XIV. Man, be war, be war, be war, And kep the that thou have no car.
 XVI. 
XVI. I drukke, I dare, so wil I may, Quan I thynke on myn endyng day.
 XVII. 
XVII. Gay, gay, to be gay, I holde it but a vanite.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. Be war, sqwyer, ȝeman, and page, For servyse is non erytage.
 XX. 
XX. Man, be war, er thou be wo, Think on pride and let him goo.
 XXI. 
XXI. I may synge of a may, Of joyis fyve and merthis most.
 XXII. 
XXII. Man, be war of thin wowyng, For weddyng is the longe wo.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia, Deo patri sit gloria.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. Nowel el el el el el el el el el el el, Mary was gret with Gabriel.
 XXX. 
XXX. Al the meryere is that place, The sunne of grace hym schynit in.
 XXXII. 
XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. Of alle the spyces that I knowe, Blyssid be the qwete flour.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. The sterre hym schon bothe nyȝt and day, To lede thre kynges ther our Lord lay.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. Reges de Saba venient, Aurum, tus, myrram, offerent. Alleluia.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. Synge we, synge we, Gloria tibi, Domine.
 XLV. 
XLV. Nowel el el el el el el el el el el el el el el el.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. A, a, a, a, Nunc gaudet ecclesia.
 XLVII. 
XLVII. Man, be glad in halle and bour, This tyme was born our Savyour.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. How hey, it is [non] les, I dar not seyn, quan che seyȝ pes.
 L. 
L. Synge we, synge we, Regina celi, letare.
 LI. 
LI. Synge we nowe alle and sum, Ave, rex gentes Anglorum.
 LII. 
LII. Man, be wys, and arys, And thynk on lyf that lestenit ay.
 LIII. 
LIII. Go bet, peny, go bet, go, For thou mat makyn bothe frynd and fo.
 LIV. 
LIV. We ben chapmen lyȝt of fote, The fowle weyis for to fle.
 LVI. 
LVI. Man, be glad in halle and bour, This tyme was born our savyour.
 LVIII. 
LVIII. Man, be merie as bryd on berie, And al thi care let away.
 LIX. 
LIX. I may seyn to most and lest, Verbum caro factum est.
 LX. 
LX. Nowel, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el, el.
 LXI. 
LXI. Prenegard, prenegard, Thus bere I myn baselard.
 LXII. 
LXII. I may seyn, and so mown mo, That in semenaunt goth gyle.
 LXIII. 
LXIII. Kep thi tunge, thi tunge, thi tunge, Thi wykyd tunge werkit me w[o].
 LXIV. 
LXIV. Alma Redemptoris mater.
 LXVII. 
LXVII. Wolcum, ȝol, thou mery man, In worchepe of this holy day.
 LXIX. 
LXIX. Lullay, myn lykyng, my dere sone, myn swetyng; Lullay, my dere herte, myn owyn dere derlyng.
 LXXII. 
LXXII. Mak ȝe merrie, as ye may, And syng with me, I ȝou pray.
 LXXIV. 
LXXIV. Kyrie, so kyrie, Jankyn syngyt merie, with aleyson.
  
Wymmen beth bothe goude and truwe, Wytnesse on Marie.

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2

II. Now bething the, gentilman,
How Adam dalf and Eve span.

In the vale of Abraham
Cryst hym self he made Adam,
And of his rybbe a fayr womman,
And thus this semly word began.
“Cum, Adam, and thou xalt se
The blysse of paradis that is so fre;
Therin stant an appil-tre,
Lef and frewt growit theron.
Adam, if thou this appil ete,
Alle these joyis thou xalt forȝete,
3

And the peynis of helle gete.”
Thus God hym self warnid Adam.
Quan God was fro Adam gon,
Sone after cam the fend anon;
A fals tretour he was on,
He tok the tre, and krep theron.
“Quat eylyt the, Adam, art thou wod?
Thi lord haȝt tawt the lytil good,
He wolde not thou understod
Of the wyttes that he can.
Tak the appil of the tre,
And ete therof, I bidde the,
And alle hese joyis thou xalt se,
Fro the he xal hedyn non.”
Quan Adam hadde that appil ete,
Alle hese joyis wern forȝete,
Non word more myȝt he speke,
He stod as nakyd as a ston.
Than cam an aungil with a swerd,
And drof Adam into a disert;
Ther was Adam sore aferd,
For labour coude he werkyn non.
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