(5)
O gaubriel, whan þat thu come a place,
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And madest vnto me thi salewyng,
And seidist thus: "heil, Mary, ful of grace!"
Whi ne had thu govë [to] me warnyng
Of þat gracë that veyn is and faylyng?
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As thu now seest, & sey it weel beforne,
Sith my ioye is me rafte, my grace is lorne.
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(6)
O thu elizabeth, my cosyn dere,
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The word[ës] þat thu spak in the mountayne
Be ended al in á-nothére manere
Than thu had wened; my blissyng in-to peyne
Retorned is; of ioye am I bareyne;
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I song to sone; for I sang be the morwe,
And now at evene I wepe and makë sorwe. [folio 64]
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(7) [See Minor Poems I, p. 1-8.]
O woman, þat among the poepil speke,
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how that the wombë blissed was þat bere,
And the tetýs þat gave to sowkë eek
The sone of god, the which þat hongith hire,
What seist þou now? whi comest þou not nere?
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Whi art thu not here? a, woman! where art thu,
That noght ne seest my woful body nowe?
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(8)
O Symeon, þou seidist me ful sothe,
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"the strook þat perchë schal my sones herte,
Myn sowle eek thirle it schal"; & so it doth;
The wonde of deth [ne] may I not astirte;
There may no martirdam me makë smerte
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So sore as this martírdam smertith me:
So schuld he sey, þat myght myn hurtë see.
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(9)
O Ioachim, a, derë fadir myn,
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And thu seint anne, my dere modire also,
To what entent, or to what ende or [[MS. of]] fyne
Engendred ye, me þat am greved soo?
Mirthe to me is become a veray foo:
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