(4)
Stormys ageyne of cruell syn
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That puyssauntlye us do assayle;
And while we þis world be yn
Now, lady fayre, þou us not fayle.
Lat neuer vice on us prevayle.
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Entrete þi babe, so, quene on hie,
In whom to þe is no denye.
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(5)
Siþ here is nought but myserie;
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The fende, þe fleish, þe world also,
Assaute us ay wiþ-oute mercy.
Not comfortles ȝit is owre wo;
Lady, to þe resorte we do,
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Euyr tristyng thi grace and ayde,
In whom fully owre trist is layde.
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(6)
Sewte and servise we owe, parde,
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To þi hiȝnesse of very due,
As royall most by pedigre,
None lyke of grace ne of vertu,
Louely lady, þi servauntes trew,
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Entrikid wiþ passiouns wylde,
In tyme of nede socour and shilde.
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(7)
Saue hem fro syn and worldly shame
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That þe worship with humble herte,
And to þi son, iesus by name,
Not sete (sic) to pray that we not smert.
Lord, þi iugement we may not sterte;
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Euere þerfor thi grace us hight,
In worship of þi modere bright.
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By William Huchen.
