¶ On the concepciō of oure ladye. The pist.
AS a vyne / so brought I forth a savoure* 1.1 of swetnesse. And my flowres are the frute of glorie & riches. I am ye mother of bewtifull love & of feare / & of greatnes and of holye hope. In me is all grace of lyfe & tru¦the. And in me is all hope of lyfe & vertue. Co¦me vnto me all y• desyer me / & be fylled with the frutes that springe of me. For my sprite is sweter then honye or honye combe. The re∣membreunce of me is for ever & ever. They that eate me / shall honger the moare / and they that drinke me / shall thurst the more. He that herkeneth to me / shall not be ashamed / and he that worketh by my coūcell / shall not synne. And they that bringe into lyght / shall have eternall lyfe.