Comen thus unto me.

For syn that tyme fulle welle I wote,
The stevyn of angelle voce it smote,
And rang now in myne ere;
A selcouthe thyng is me betyde,
The chyld makys joy, as any byrd,
That I in body bere.

And als, Mary, blyssed be thou,
That stedfastly wold trow,

The wordes of our heven kyng;

Therfor alle thyng now shalle be kend,
That unto the were sayd or send,
By the angelle gretyng.

Maria. Magnificat anima mea Dominum ; My saulle lufes my lord abuf,

And my gost glades with luf,

In God, that is my hele ;

For he has bene sene agane,
The buxumnes of his bane,

And kept me madyn lele.
Lo, therof what me shalle betyde,
Alle nacyons on every syde,

Blyssyd shalle me calle ;

For he that is fulle of myght,
Mekylle thyng to me has dyght,

His name be blyssed over alle;

And his mercy is also,

From kynde to kynde tylle alle tho
That ar hym dredand.

Myght in his armes he wroght,

And dystroed in his thoght,

Prowde men and hyghe berand.

Myghty men furthe of sete he dyd,

And he hyghtyned in that stede
The meke men of hart;
The hungre withe alle good he fyld,
And left the rich outt shyld,

Thaym to unquart.

Israelle has under law,

His awne son in his awe,

By menys of his mercy ;

As he told before by name,

To oure fader, Abraham,

And sayd of his body.

Elezabethe, myn awnt dere,

My lefe I take at you here,

For I dwelle now fulle lang.

Elezabethe. Wylle thou now go, Godes fere?
Com kys me, doghter, with good chere,
Or thou hend gang;

Fare welle now, thou frely foode,
I pray the be of comfurthe goode,
For thou art fulle of grace ;

Grete welle alle oure kyn of bloode,
That lord, that the with grace infude,
He save alle in this place.

EXPLICIT SALUTACIO ELEZABETH.

INCIPIT PAGINA PASTORUM.

Primus Pastor. Lord, what thay ar weylle that hens ar past,

For thay noght feylle theym to downe cast; Here is mekylle unceylle, and long has it last, Now in hart, now in heylle, now in weytt, now in blast,

Now in care,

Now in comfurthe agane,
Now in fayre, now in rane,
Now in hart fulle fane,

And after fulle sare.

Thus this warld, as I say, farys on ylk syde,
For after oure play com sorows unryde,

For he that most may, when he syttes in pryde,
When it comys on assay is kesten downe wyde,
This is seyn;

When ryches is he,

Then comys poverte,

Hors man Jak cope

Walkys then, I weyn:

I thank it God, hark ye what I mene,
For even or for od I have mekylle tene,
As hevy as a sod I grete with myn eene,
When I nap on my cod for care that has bene,
And sorow.

Alle my shepe ar gone,

I am not left oone,

The rot has theym slone,

Now beg I and borow.

My handes may I wryng and mowrnyng make,
Bot if good wille spryng, the countre forsake,
Fermes thyk ar comyng, my purs is bot wake,
I have nerehand nothyng to pay nor to take;
I may syng
Withe purs penneles,
That makes this hevynes;
Wo is me this dystres,

And has no helpyng.

Thus sett I my mynde truly to neven,

By my wytt to fynde to cast the warld in seven ;
My shepe have I tynde by the moren fulle even ;
Now if hap wille grynde, God from his heven
Send grace.

To the fare wille I me,
To by shepe, perde,
And yit may I multyple,

For alle this hard case.

Secundus Pastor. Benste, benste, be us emang,
And save alle that I se here in this thrang,
He save you and me over twhart and endlang,
That hang on a tre, I say you no wrang,
Cryst save us

From alle myschefys,
From robers and thefys,
From those mens grefys,

That oft ar agans us.

Both bosters and bragers God kepe us fro,
That with thare long dagers dos mekylle wo,
From alle bylle hagers with colknyfes that go,
Siche wryers avd wragers gose to and fro
For to crak.

Who so says hym agane,

Were better be slane ;

Bothe ploghe and wane

Amendys wille not make.

He wille make it as prowde a lord as he were
With a hede lyke a clowde felterd his here,
He spekys on lowde with a grym bere,
I wold not have trowde so galy in gere
As he glydys.

I wote not the better,
Nor whedder is gretter,
The lad or the master,

So stowtly he strydys.

If he hask me oght that he wold to his pay,
Fulle dere bese it boght if I say nay;
Bot God that alle wroght, to the now I say,
Help that thay were broght to a better way
For thare sawlys,

And send theym good mendyng

With a short endyng,

And with the to be lendyng

When that thou callys.

How, Gyb, good morne; wheder goys thou?
Thou goys over the corne, Gyb, I say, how!
Primus Pastor. Who is that? Johne Horne!
I make God a vowe;

I say not in skorne, Thom, how farys thou?
Secundus Pastor. Hay, ha!

Ar ye in this towne ?

Primus Pastor. Yey, by my crowne.
Secundus Pastor. I thoght by your gowne
This was youre aray.

Primus Pastor. I am ever elyke, wote I never what it gars,

Is none in this ryke a shephard farys wars. Secundus Pastor. Poore men ar in the dyke, and oft tyme mars,

The warld is slyke, also helpars

Is none here.

Primus Pastor. It is sayde fulle ryfe,

“A man may not wyfe

And also thryfe,

And alle in a yere."

Secundus Pastor. Fyrst must us crepe and sy

then go.

Primus Pastor. I go to by shepe.

Secundus Pastor.

Nay, not so;

What, dreme ye or slepe? where shuld thay go?

Here shalle thou none kepe.

Primus Pastor.

Who am I?

I wylle pasture my fe

Where so ever lykes me,

A, good sir, ho!

Here shalle thou theym se.

Secundus Pastor. Not so hardy ;

Not oone shepe taylle shalle thou bryng hedyr. Primus Pastor. I shalle bryng, no faylle, a hundrethe togedyr.

Secundus Pastor. What, art thou in aylle? longes thou oght whedir?

Primus Pastor. Thay shalle go, saunce faylle;

go now, belle weder!

Secundus Pastor. I say, tyr!

Primus Pastor. I say, tyr, now agane!

I say skyp over the plane.

Secundus Pastor. Wold thou never so fane,