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¶ Ase Y me rod this ender day
By grene wode to seche play,
Mid herte Y thohte al on a may,
Suetest of alle thinge.
Lythe, ant Ich ou telle may
Al of that suete thinge.
This maiden is suete ant fre of blod,
Briht ant feyr, of milde mod —
Alle heo mai don us god
Thurh hire bysechynge;
Of hire he tok fleysh ant blod,
Jesu, hevene kynge.
With al mi lif Y love that may;
He is mi solas nyht ant day,
My joie ant eke my beste play,
Ant eke my love-longynge.
Al the betere me is that day
That Ich of hire synge!
Of alle thinge Y love hire mest —
My dayes blis, my nyhtes rest!
Heo counseileth ant helpeth best
Bothe elde ant yynge.
Nou Y may, yef Y wole,
The fif joyes mynge.
The furst joie of that wymman:
When Gabriel from hevene cam
Ant seide God shulde bicome man
Ant of hire be bore,
Ant bringe up of helle pyn
Monkyn that wes forlore.
That other joie of that may
Wes o Cristesmasse day:
When God wes bore on thoro lay,
Ant brohte us lyhtnesse.
The ster wes seie byfore day;
This, hirdes bereth wytnesse.
The thridde joie of that levedy,
That men clepeth the Epyphany:
When the kynges come, wery,
To presente hyre sone
With myrre, gold, ant encens,
That wes mon bicome.
The furthe joie we telle mawen:
On Ester morewe wen hit gon dawen,
Hyre sone that wes slawen
Aros in fleysh ant bon —
More joie ne mai me haven,
Wyf ne mayden non!
The fifte joie of that wymman:
When hire body to hevene cam,
The soule to the body nam,
Ase hit wes woned to bene.
Crist, leve us alle, with that wymman,
That joie al forte sene!
Preye we alle to Oure Levedy,
Ant to the sontes that woneth hire by,
That heo of us haven merci,
Ant that we ne misse
In this world to ben holy,
Ant wynne hevene blysse.
Amen.
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¶ As I rode out the other day
To seek pleasure by the green wood,
Fervently I thought wholly on a girl,
Sweetest of everything.
Listen, and I may tell you
All about that sweet thing.
This maiden is sweet and noble of birth,
Beautiful and fair, of gentle manner —
She may bring us only good
By our beseeching her;
Of her he took flesh and blood,
Jesus, heaven’s king.
With all my life I love that girl;
She’s my solace night and day,
My joy and also my best delight,
And also my love-longing.
I always fare better on that day
When I sing about her!
Of all things I love her most —
My day’s bliss, my night’s rest!
She counsels and helps best
Both old and young.
Now I may, as I wish,
The five joys call to mind.
The first joy of that woman:
When Gabriel came from heaven
And said God would become man
And of her be born,
And raise up out of hell-pain
Mankind who was forlorn.
The next joy of that maiden
Occurred on Christmas day:
When God was born in perfect light,
And brought us to enlightenment.
The star was visible before day;
To this, shepherds bear witness.
The third joy of that lady,
Which men call the Epiphany:
When the kings came, weary,
To present her son
With myrrh, gold, and incense,
Who had become man.
The fourth joy we may tell:
On Easter morn when it began to dawn,
Her son that was slain
Arose in flesh and bone —
More joy may no man have,
Nor wife nor maiden either!
The fifth joy of that woman:
When her body came to heaven,
The soul joined with the body,
Where it was accustomed to be.
Christ, grant us all, with that woman,
To see that joy!
Pray we all to Our Lady,
And to the saints that dwell near her,
That she have mercy on us,
And that we not fail
In this world to be holy,
And win heaven’s bliss.
Amen.
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