University of Virginia Library

[Exit Isaiah; enter Gabriel to Mary.]
Gaberell.
Hayle, Mare, full of grace!
Owre Lord God ys with the;
Aboue all wemeñ that eyuer wasse,
Lade, blesside mote thow be!

Mare.
All-myght Fathur and King of blys,
From all dysses thou saue me now!
For inwardely my spretis trubbuld ys,
Thatt I am amacid and kno nott how.

Gaberell.
Dred the nothyng, meydin, of this;
From heyvin a-bowe hyddur am I sent
Of ambassage from that Kyng of blys
Unto the, lade and virgin reyuerent!
Salutyng the here asse most exselent,
Whose virtu aboue all othur dothe abownde.
Wherefore in the grace schalbe fownde;
For thow schalt conseyve apon this grownd
The Second Persone of God in trone;
He wylbe borne of the alone;
With-owt sin thou schalt hym see.
Thy grace and thi goodnes wyl neyuer be gone,
But eyuer to lyve in virgenete.

Mare.
I marvell soore how thatt mabe.
Manis cumpany knev I neyuer yett,
Nor neyuer to do, kast I me,
Whyle thatt owre Lord sendith me my wytt.

Gaberell.

Mare.
Now, and yt be thatt Lordis wyll
Of my bodde to be borne and forto be,
Hys hy pleysuris forto full-fyll
Asse his one hande-mayde I submyt me.

Gaberell.

Mare.
Thatt Lorde the gyde in eyuere cost,
And looly he leyde me and be my leyche!

Here the angell departyth, and Joseff cumyth in and seyth:
Josoff.
Mare, my wyff soo dere,
How doo ye, dame, and whatt chere
Ys with you this tyde?

Mare.
Truly, husebonde, I am here
Owre Lordis wyll forto abyde.

Josoff.
Whatt! I troo thatt we be all schent!
Sey, womoñ; who hath byn here sith I went,
To rage wyth thee?

Mare.
Syr, here was nothur mañ nor mans eyvin,
But only the sond of owre Lorde God in heyvin.

Josoff.

Mare.
Non but youris, husebond soo myld,
And thatt schalbe seyne, [ywis].

Josoff.
But myne? allas! alas! why sey ye soo?
Wele-awey! womon, now may I goo,
Be-gyld as many a-nothur ys.

Mare.
Na, truly, sir, ye be not be-gylde,
Nor yet with spott of syn I am not defylde;
Trust yt well, huse-bonde.

Josoff.

[Lies down to sleep; to him enters an angel.]
i. Angell.
Aryse up, Josoff, and goo whom ageyne
Vnto Mare, thy wyff, that ys soo fre.
To comford hir loke that thow be fayne,
For, Josoff, a cleyne meydin ys schee:
Sche hath conseyvid with-owt any trayne
The Seycond Person in Trenete;
Jesus schalbe hys name, sarten,
And all thys world sawe schall he;
Be not agast.

Josoff.
[Returns to Mare.]

Mare.
Now, thatt Lord in heyvin, sir, he you forgyve!
And I do for-geve yow in hys name
For euermore.

Josoff.
Now truly, swete wyff, to you I sey the same.
But now to Bedlem must I wynde
And scho my-self, soo full of care;
And I to leyve you, this grett, behynd,—
God wott, the whyle, dame, how you schuld fare.

Mare.
Na, hardely, husebond, dred ye nothyng;
For I woll walke with you on the wey.
I trust in God, all-myghte kyng,
To spede right well in owre jurney.

Josoff.
[They set out and travel a while.]

Mare.

Josoff.
Loo! blessid Mare, here schall ye lend,
Cheff chosyn of owre Lorde and cleynist in degre;
And I for help to towne woll I wende.
Ys nott this the best, dame? whatt sey ye?

Mare.
God haue marce, Josoff, my huse-bond soo meke!
And hartely I pra you, goo now fro me.

Josoff.

[In another part of the place a shepherd begins to speak.]
i. Pastor.

[Two other shepherds appear (in the street).]
ii. Pastor.
Hark, Sym, harke! I here owre brother on the looe;
This ys hys woise, right well I knoo;
There-fore toward hym lett vs goo,
And follo his woise a-right.
See, Sym, se, where he doth stond?
I am ryght glad we haue hym fond!
Brothur, where hast thow byn soo long,
And hit ys soo cold this nyght?

i. Pastor.
E! fryndis, ther cam a pyrie of wynd with a myst suddeñly,
Thatt forth off my weyis went I
And grett heyvenes then made I
And wase full sore afryght.
Then forto goo wyst I nott whyddur,
But trawellid on this loo hyddur and thyddur;
I wasse so were of this cold weddur
Thatt nere past wasse my might.

iii. Pastor.
Brethur, now we be past that fryght,
And hit ys far within the nyght,
Full sone woll spryng the day-lyght,
Hit drawith full nere the tyde.
Here awhyle lett vs rest,
And repast owreself of the best;
Tyll thatt the sun ryse in the est
Let vs all here abyde.

There the scheppardis drawys furth there meyte and doth eyte and drynk; and asse the drynk, the fynd the star, and sey thus:
iii. Pastor.
Brethur, loke vp and behold!
Whatt thyng ys yondur thatt schynith soo bryght?
Asse long ase eyuer I haue wachid my fold,
Yett sawe I neyuer soche a syght
In fyld.
A ha! now ys cum the tyme that old fathurs hath told,
Thatt in the wynturs nyght soo cold
A chyld of meydyñ borne be he wold
In whom all profeciys schalbe fullfyld.

i. Pastor.
Truth yt ys with-owt naye,
Soo seyd the profett Isaye,
Thatt a chylde schuld be borne of a made soo bryght
In wentur ny the schortist dey
Or elis in the myddis of the nyght.

ii. Pastor.
Loovid be God, most off myght,
That owre grace ys to see thatt syght;
Pray we to hym, ase hit ys right,
Yff thatt his wyll yt be,
Thatt we ma haue knoleyge of this syngnefocacion
And why hit aperith on this fassion;
And eyuer to hym lett vs geve lawdacion,
In yerthe whyle thatt we be.

There the angelis syng “Glorea in exselsis Deo.”
iii. Pastor.
Harke! the syng abowe in the clowdis clere!
Hard I neyuer of soo myrre a quere.
Now, gentyll brethur, draw we nere
To here there armony.

i. Pastor.
Brothur, myrth and solas ys cum hus among;
For be the swettnes of ther songe,
Goddis Sun ys cum, whom we haue lokid for long,
Asse syngnefyith thys star that we do see.

ii. Pastor.
“Glore, glorea in exselsis,” that wase ther songe;
How sey ye, fellois, seyd the not thus?

i. Pastor.
Thatt ys wel seyd; now goo we hence
To worschipe thatt chyld of hy manyffecence,
And that we ma syng in his presence
“Et in tarra pax omynibus.”

There the scheppardis syngis “Ase I owt Rodde,” and Josoff seyth:
Josoff.
Now, Lorde, this noise that I do here,
With this grett solemnete,
Gretly amendid hath my chere;
I trust hy nevis schortly wolbe.

There the angellis syng “Gloria in exsellsis” ageyne.
Mare.
A! Josoff, husebond, cum heddur anon;
My chylde ys borne that ys Kyng of blys.

Josoffe.
Now welcum to me, the Makar of mon,
With all the omage thatt I con;
Thy swete mothe here woll I kys.

Mare.
A! Josoff, husebond, my chyld waxith cold,
And we haue noo fyre to warme hym with.

Josoff.
Now in my narmys I schall hym fold,
Kyng of all kyngis be fyld and be fryth;
He myght haue had bettur, and hym-selfe wold,
Then the breythyng of these bestis to warme hym with.

Mare.
Now, Josoff, my husbond, fet heddur my chyld,
The Maker off man and hy Kyng of blys.

Josoff.
That schalbe done anon, Mare soo myld,
For the brethyng of these bestis hath warmyd [hym] well, i-wys.

[Angels appear to the shepherds.]
i. Angell.
Hyrd-meñ hynd,
Drede ye nothyng
Off thys star thatt ye do se;
For thys same morne
Godis Sun ys borne
In Bedlem of a meydin fre.

ii. Angell.
Hy you thyddur in hast;
Yt ys hys wyll ye schall hym see
Lyinge in a crybbe of pore reypaste,
Yett of Davithis lyne cumonñ ys hee.

[The shepherds approach and worship the Babe.]
i. Pastor.
Hayle, mayde-modur and wyff soo myld!
Asse the angell seyd, soo haue we fonde.
I haue nothyng to present with thi chylde
But my pype; hold, hold, take yt in thy hond;
Where-in moche pleysure that I haue fond;
And now, to oonowre thy gloreose byrthe,
Thow schallt yt haue to make the myrthe.

ii. Pastor.
Now, hayle be thow, chyld, and thy dame!
For in a pore loggyn here art thow leyde,
Soo the angell seyde and tolde vs thy name;
Holde, take thow here my hat on thy hedde!
And now off won thyng thow art well sped,
For weddur thow hast noo nede to complayne,
For wynd, ne sun, hayle, snoo and rayne.

iii. Pastor.
Hayle be thow, Lorde ouer watur and landis!
For thy cumyng all we ma make myrthe.
Haue here my myttens to pytt on thi hondis,
Othur treysure haue I non to present the with.

Mare.
Now, herdmeñ hynd,
For youre comyng
To my chyld schall I prae,
Asse he ys heyvin kyng,
To grant you his blessyng,
And to hys blys that ye may wynd
At your last day.