Te, reformator sensuum,

Lytyl and mekyll, mor and sum,
Worshyp that chyld that is cum
De virgine Maria.

Gloria tibi, Domine,

Thre persons in Trinite,

Worshepe that chyld so fre

De virgine Maria.

XIV.

LULLAY, my chyld, and wepe no more,

Slepe and be now styll; The kyng of blys thi fader ys,

As it was hys wyll.

This endrys nyзt I saw a sy3th,

A mayd a cradyll kepe,

And ever she song and seyd among,
Lullay, my chyld, and slepe.

Me thougt I hard, the chyld answard,

And to hys moder he sayd,

My moder der, what do I her,

In crybbe why am I layd.

I was borne and layd beforne
Bestys, both ox and asse.

My moder myld, I am thi chyld,
But he my fader was.

Adams gylt this man had spylt,

That syn grevyt me sore; Man, for the her shal I be

Thyrty wynter and mor.

Dole it is to se, her shall I be

Hang upon the rode,

With baleis to-bete, my woundes to-wete,

And 3effe my fleshe to bote.

Her shal I be hanged on a tre,

And dye as it is skyll;

That I have bou3t lesse wyll I nouzt,

It is my faders wyll.

A spere so scharp shall perse my herte,
For dedys that I have done.
Fader of grace, wher thou hase
Forgetyn thy lytyll sonne.

Withoutyn pety her shall aby,
And mak my fleshe al blo.
Adam i-wys, this deth it ys
For the and many mo.

XV.

Make we mery in this fest,

For verbum caro factum est.

GODES Sonne for the love of mane,
Flesshe and blode of Mary he nam,
As in the gospell seyth sent Johan,
Verbum caro factum est.
Of joy and myrth now mow3 we syng,
God with man is now dwellyng,

Holy wrytt makyth now shewyng,
Deus homo natus est.

God and man hath shewyd hys chyld,
That hath us bouzt fro the develys wyld;
Hym to worshyp now be we myld,

Congaudere mihi.

This chyldes moder ever more

Maydyn she was after and before,

And so sayd the prophett in hys lore,
Verbo prophesye.

XVI.

Of a rose, a lovely rose, of a rose I syng a song.

LYTH and lystyn, both old and 3yng,
How the rose begane to spryng,

A fayyrer rose to owre lekyng

Sprong ther never in kynges lond.

v. branchis of that rose ther ben,
The wych ben both feyer and chene;
Of a maydyn, Mary, hevyn qwene,

Ouzt of hyr womb the branch sprong.
The branch was of gret honour,
That blyssed Mary shuld ber the flour;
Ther cam an angell ou3t hevyn toure,
To breke the develes bondes.
The secund branch was gret of myzt,
Yt sprong up on Cristmes nyt,
The sterre shone and lemezd bryzt,

That man schuld se it both day and nyzt.

The iij. branch gan spryng and spred,

iij. kynges than to branch gan led,

Tho to owre lady in hyr chyldbed,

Into Bethlem that branch sprong ryzt.

The iiij. branch it sprong to hell,

The develes powre for to fell,

That no soule therin shuld dwell,

The braunch so blessedfully sprong.

The v. branch it was so swote,

Yt sprong to hevyn both croppe and rote; every ball to ben owre bote,

In

So blessedly yt sprong.

XVII.

A good medycyn for sor eyen.

FOR a man that is almost blynd,

Let hym go barhed all day ageyn the wynd,
Tyll the sozne be sette;

And than wrap hym in a cloke,

And put hym in a hows full of smoke,

And loke that every hol be well shett.

And whan hys eyen begyne to rope,
Fyll hem full of brymston and sope,

And hyll hym well and warme.

And yf he se not by the next mone,
As well at mydny3t as at none,

I schal lese my ryzt arme.

XVIII.

I hold hym wyse and wel i-tau3t,
Can bar an horn and blow it nau3t.

BLOWYNG was mad for gret game;
Of thi blowyng cometh mekell grame;
Therfor I hold it for no schame,

To ber a horne and blow it nouzt.

Hornes are mad both loud and shyll,
Whan tym ys, blow thou thi fyll,
And whan ned is, hold the styll,"

And ber a horne and blow it nouzt.

What so ever be in thi thougt,