The Wryghtes and Sklaters Plaie
Pagina sexta de salutacione et nativitate salvatoris Jesu Christi.
Heale be thou, Marye, mother ffree,
Full of grace, God is with thee,
Amonge all wemen blessed thou be,
And the frute of thy bodye.
Ah, Lorde, that sittes highe in see,
That wounderouslye nowe marvailes me,
A symple mayden of my degreey
Be grete this graciouslye.
Marye, ney dreed thee naughte this casse;
With greate God founde thou haste
Amonge all wemen especiall grace:
Therfore, Marye, thou mone
Conseave and beare, I tell thee,
A childe, his name Jesus shalbe,
So greate shalbe never non as he,
And called Godes sonne.
And our Lorde God, leve thou me,
Shall geve hym David his fathers see,
In Jacobes howse raigne shall he,
With full mighte ever more.
And he that shalbe borne of thee,
Endlesse liffe in hym shalbe,
That suche renowne and royalltye
Hade never non before.
Howe maye this be? thou arte so brighte,
In synne knewe I no worldlye wighte.
The Holye Ghoste shall in thee lighte
From God in magistie,
And shadowe thee seemlye in sighte;
Theirfore that holye, as I have teighte,
That thou shalte beare, through Godes mighte,
His sonne shall called be.
Elizabeth, that barren was,
As thou maie se, conseaveid has
In age a sonne through Godes grace;
The keydell shalbe of blysse.
The seixte month is gone nowe againe
Seith men called her barene,
But nothinge to Godes mighte and mayne
Nowe seith that God will yt be so,
And suche a grace hath sente to me,
Blessed ever more be he!
To pleaise hym I am paide.
Loe! Godes cossen meklye here,
And Lorde God, prince of power,
Leve that yt falle in such manere,
This worde that thou haste saide.
Tunc ibit angelus, et Maria salutabit Elizabeth:
Elizabeth, nice God thee see!
Marye, blessed moste thou be,
And the frute that comes of thee
Amonge wemen all.
Wonderlye nowe marvailes me,
That Marye, Godes mother freye,
Greetes me this of symple degreey.
Lorde, howe maie that befalle?
When thou me greeteste, sweete Marye,
The childe stored in my bodye,
For greate joye of thy companye,
And the frute that is in thee.
Blessed be thou ever for-thy,
That leived so well and steadfastlye!
For that was saide to thee, ladye,
Fullfilled and done shalbe.
Maria gaudens incipit canticum Magnijicate, et dicat Maria
Elizabeth, theirfore will I
Thanke the Lorde, kinge of mercye,
With joyfull meirth and melodye,
And lawde to his lekinge.
Magnijicate while I have to me,
Anima mei, domine,
To Christe that in my kinde is come,
Devoutlye I will singe.
Et exultamt spiritus meus in Deo;
And for my ghoste joyed haste
In God, my heale and all my grace,
For meknes he se in me was
His feare in manye degree.
Therfore blesse me well maie
All generacions for aye,
Moche hase that Lorde donne for me,
That moste is in his magistie,
All princes he passes in postie,
As sheweth wel by this;
Theirfore with full harte and freey,
His name allwaye hallowed be,
And honoured allwaie ever more be he,
And highe in heaven blisse.
Moche hase God done for me to daie,
His name aye hallowed be aye,
As he is bounde to do mercye,
From progenye to progenye,
And all that dreaden hym verelye,
His tallente to fulfill.
He through his mighte gave maisterye,
Dispersces prowde did pitiouslye,
With mighte of his harte hastelye,
At his owine will;
Disposeith mightie out of place,
And meeke also he hansced has,
Hongarye, nedye, wantinge grace,
With good he hath fulfilled.
That riche power he hath forsaken,
To Isarell his sonne he hath betacken,
Wayle to man through hym is wacken,
And mercye has of his owine,
As he spake to our fathers before,
Abraham and his seede for yore;
Joye to the Father evermore,
The Sonne and the Hollye Ghoste,
As was from the begininge,
And never shall have endinjre.
From worlde to worlde aye weildinge,
Amen! God of mighte moste.
Marye, I rede no we that we gone
To Josephe thy husbande anon,
Leste he to messe thee make mone,
For nowe that is moste neede.
Elizabeth, nice, to doe so good ys,
Leste he suppose on me amysse;
But the Good Lorde that hath ordeyned this,
Will wyttnes of my deede.
Josephe, God thee save and see!
Thy wife I have broughte to thee.
Alas! alas! and woes me!
Who hase made her with childe
Well I wiste an oulde man and a maye
Mighte not accorde by noe waye;
Nor manye wynters mighte I not plaie,
Ner worcke no worckes wilde.
Three monthes shee hase bene from me,
Nowe hase shee gotten here, as I see,
A greate bellye like to thee,
Since shee wente awaie;
And myne it is not, be thou boulde,
For I am bouth oulde and coulde;
These thirtie wynters, thoughe I woulde,
I mighte not plea no leaie.
Alas! where mighte I lenge or lende!
For loth is me my wife to shende,
Therfore from her will I wende
Into some other place.
For to discreve her will I naughte,
Fowlye though shee have wroughte,
To leave her prevelye is my thoughte,
That no man knowe this case:
God lette never an oulde man
Take hym a yonge woman,
Nay sette his harte her uppon,
Leste he besrilede be.
For accorde their maye be non,
Nor the maye never be at one;
And that is seene in manye a one,
As well as one me.
Therfore when I have slepte a while,
My wife that can me thus begyle,
For I will goe from her, for her to file
Me is loth in good faye.
This case makes me so heavye,
That nedes slepe nowe muste I:—
Lorde, on her thou have mercie,
For her misdeede to daie.
Josephe, lette be thy feible thoughte,
Take Marye, thy wife, and dreed the naughte,
For wickedlye shee hath not wroughte,
But this is Godes will.
The childe that shee shall beare, i-wysse,
Of the Holye Ghoste begotten is,
To save mankinde that did amisse,
And prophescie to fullfill.
A! nowe I wotte, Lorde, yt is soe,
I will no man be her foe,
But while I maie on earth goe
With her I wilbe;
Nowe Christe is in our kinde lighte,
As the prophescye before heighte.
Lorde God, moste of mighte,
Withe wayle I worshippe thee.
Make rombe, lordinges, and geve us waie,
And lette Octavian come and plaie,
And Syble the Sage, that well fayer maye
To tell you of prophescye:
That Lorde that died on Good Frydaie,
He save you all bouth nighte and daye.
Fare well, lordinges, I goe my waye,
I maye noe longer abyde.
I proveid prince, moste of postie,
Under heaven higheste am I,
Fayereste food to feighte in fere,
Noe frecke my fface maye fleye.
All this worlde withouten were,
Kinge, prince, baren, bachelere,
I maye destroye in greate dangere,
Through vertue of my degreey.
My name Octavyan called ys,
All me aboute full in my blysse,
For whollye all this worlde, i-wysse,
Is readye at my owine wille.
Noe man one live dare doe amisse
Againste me, I tell you this:
Maye no man saye that oughte is his,
But my leave be theirtill.
For I halffe multiplied more
The cittye of Rome, seith I was bore,
Then ever did anye me before,
Seith I hade this kingdom;
For what with strockes and strengths sore,
Leadinge lordshippes lovelye lore,
All this worlde nowe hase bene yore
Tributarye unto Rome.
Segurrs tous se asmeles
Jeo posse fay re lerment et leez
A mes probes estates et mete in langore
Tous se prest me fortes
De fay ere intentes movelentes
Car Jesu soyavorayn bensages
Et demaunde emperower
Jeo si persone mile seable Jeosu tent fayer
Et leabele entransorce me creaca
Meas detole plerunte destrette et sage
Saen comecch amie ondem et ou pusell
Declaan sanke et mater frayle un
Tellnest pace um.
Kinge, coysell, clarke, or kinge,
Soundens solitaryes in sighte;
Princes, prese here nowe dighte,
And presente in this place:
Peace, or heare my truth i-plighte,
I am the manlieste man of mighte,
Takes mynde of my mase.
All lordes in lande be at my likinge
Castill, conquerowre, and kinge,
liayne be to my byddinge,
It will non other be.
Righte I thinke, so moste it be,
For all the worlde dose my willinge,
And bayne when I byde bringe
Homage and feoalitie.
Seithen I was lorde, withouten lesse,
With my witte I can more increasse
The empier hier then ever it was,
As all this worlde it wiste.
Since I was soveraigne warre cleane can cease,
And through this worlde nowe is peace,
For so dreade a ducke sate never one dese
In Rome, that you maie truste;
Therfore as lorde nowe likes me,
To prove my mighte and my postie,
For I will sende aboute and see
Howe manye heades I have.
All the worlde shall wrytten be,
Greate and small in eiche degreey,
That dwell in shier or in cittie,
Kinge, clarke, knighte, and knave.
Eich man on pennye shall paie;
Therfore, my bedell, doe as I saye.
In medeste the worlde by anye waie,
This gammon shal begyne;
The folke of Jewes in good faye
In medeste bene, that is no naye,
Therfore theider daye by daie,
And traville or thou blyne.
Warne hym that their is presedente,
That this is fullye myne intente,
That eich man appeare presente
His pennye for to paye.
And by that penye, as well apente,
Knowledge to be obediente,
To come by geiste of such a rente,
From that tyme after ever.
When this is done this in Judye,
That in the medeste of the worlde shalbe,
To eiche lande, shier, and cittie,
To Rome make them so thralle.
Warne them, boye, I comaunde thee,
The doe the same, saye this from me,
So all this worlde shall witte that we
Bene soveraigne of them all.
Have done, boye, arte thou not bowne?
All readye, my lorde, by Mahounde,
No tayles tuppe in all this towne
Shall goe further without fayle.
Boy therfore, by my crowne,
Thow muste have thy warrysoun.
The highest horse besydes (B)[r]oughton
Take thow for thy travell.
Graunt mercye, lord, perdye,
This hackney will well serve mee,
For a great lord of your degree
Should ryde in such araye.
The bine hye in dignitye,
And alsoe high and swifte is hee;
Therefore that reverans takes yee,
My deare lord, I you praye.
But your arrand shalbe donne anone,
First into Judye I will gone,
And sommon the people, everychone,
Both shire and eke cyttye.
Boye, their be ladyes manye a one,
Amonge them all chouse thee one
Take the faiereste, or elles non,
And freelye I geve her thee.
From my lorde Octavyan we be sente,
From all Rome with good intente,
Thy men their have iche on i-mente
As God to honour thee.
And to that poynte we be sente,
Poore and riche in parlimente,
For so loved a lorde veramente
Was never in this cittie.
Yea, seicker sir, their will is this,
To honoure thee as God with blesse;
For thou did never to them amisse,
In worde, thoughte, ner deede.
Peace hath bene longe, and yet is,
Noe man in thy tyme loste oughte of his;
Therfore their will is so, i-wisse,
To quitte you this your meede.
Welekome, my frendes, in good faye!
For you be welekome to my paie;
I thanke you all that ever I maie
The homage ye doe to me;
But follye it were, by manye a waye,
Suche soveraigntye for to assaie,
Seinge I muste dye I wote not what daie
To desyer suche dignitie.
For all the fleshe, bloode, and bone,
Man I am borne of a woman,
And siccker other matter non
Sheweth not righte in me:
Nether of iron, tree, nor stone,
Am I not wroughte, ye wotte eichone,
And of my liffe moste parte is gone.
Age sheweth hym soe, I see;
And godheade askes in all thinge
Tyme that hath no begininge,
Ne never shall have endinge,
And non of thes have I.
Wherfore by vereye proffe shewinge,
Though I be higheste worldlye kinge,
Of godhead have I noe knowinge;
It were unkinde.
But yeate inquier of this wilbe,
At her that hath grace for to se
Thinges that afterwarde shalbe,
By ghoste of prophescye.
And after her lawe, by my bewtie,
Disscussinge this difficallitie,
Worcke and take no more on me,
Then I am well worthye.
Sibell the Sage, tell me this thinge,
For thou witte haste as no man livinge,
Shall ever be anye eairthlye kinge
To passe me of degreey?
Yea, sir, I tell you without leasinge,
A barne shalbe borne blesse to bringe,
The which that never hade begininge,
Ner never shall endinge have.
Sybbell, I praye thee especiallye,
By signe thou woulde me certiffye,
What tyme that lorde so royallye
To raigne he shal begyne.
Yea, I shall tell you witterlye,
His signes when I see verelye;
For when he comes through his mercye,
On mankinde he will mynne:
Well I wotte and south, i-wysse,
That God will bringe mankinde to blesse,
And sende from heaven, leve well this
His sonne our savyour.
Jesu Christe nothinge ameisse
Called he shalbe and ys,
To overcome the devill and his countise,
And be our conquerower.
But what tyme, sire, in good faye
That he will come, can I not saye,
Therfore in this place will I praie
To greateste God of mighte:
And yf I see oughte in your paie,
Ghostlye by anye waye
Warne you I shall this daie,
And shewe yt in your sighte.
Tunc orat Sibbella, et dicatpreco alia voce.
Peace, I byde, kinge and knighte,
Men and wemen, and iche wighte,
Tell I have toulde that I have tighte,
Stande stiffe bouth still and stronge;
My lorde Octavian, moche of mighte,
Commaundes you shoulde be readye dighte,
Tribute he will have in heighte
Of all this worlde aboute.
He will have wrytten eiche cuntreye,
Castill, shier, and eke cittie,
Men and wemen, leeve you me,
And all that be theirin.
A penye of eich man have will he,
The valewe of tenne pence it shalbe,
To knowledge that he hath soveraigntye
Fullye of all mankinde.
A! Lorde, what doth this man nowe heare!
Poore mens weale is ever in were:
I wotte, by this bolsters beare,
That tribute I muste paye;
And for greate age and no power
I wane no good this seven yeaire,
Nowe comes the kinges messingere,
To gette all that he maye.
With this axe that I beare,
This perscer and this nagere,
A hamer all in feare,
I have wonnan my meate.
Castill, tower, ne manere,
Had I never in my power;
But, as a symple carpentere,
With thes what I mighte gette.
Yf I have store nowe anye thinge,
That muste I paye unto the kinge,
But yet I have a likinge,
The angell to me toulde;
He that man out of balle bringe,
My wife hade in her kepinge,
That seemes all good to my likinge,
And makes me more boulde.
A! leifle sir, tell me, I thee praye,
Shall poore as well as riche paye?
By my faye! sire, I hope naye,
That were a woundrous wronge.
Good man, I warne thee, in good faye,
To Bethlem to take the waye,
Leste thou in danger fall to daye,
Yf thou be to longe.
Nowe, seith it may no other be,
Marie, sister, nowe hye we,
An oxe I will take with me
That their shalbe soulde;
The seilver of hym, so mote I thee!
Shall fynde us in that eittye,
And paye tribute for thee and me,
For theirto we be houlde.
A! Lorde, what maye this signifie?
Some men I see glade and merye,
And some all sickinge and sorye:
Wherfore so ever yt be,
Seith Godes sonne came man to for-bye,
Is comen through his greate mercye,
Me thinke that man should kindlye
Be glade that sighte to see.
Marye, Godes mother deare,
The tockeninge I shall thee lere,
The comon people, as thou seiste heare,
Are glade, as the well maye,
That the shall see of Abrahames seede
Christe come to helpe them in ther neede,
Wherfore the joye withouten dreed
For to abyde this daie.
The mourninge men, take this in mynde,
Are Jewes that shalbe put behynde,
For the passeth out of kinde,
Through Christe at his cominge;
For the shall have no grace to knowe
That God for man shall lighte so loe;
For shame on them that sone shall shooe,
Theirfore the be mourninge.
Marie, sister, south to saye,
Harber I hope gette we non maie,
For greate lordes of stowte araye
Do occupye this plase;
Wherfore we muste, in good faye,
Lie in this stable tell it be daie;
To make men meeke, leeve I maie,
Shewe hym heare will he.
Helpe me downe, my leffe fere,
For I hope my tyme be nere,
Christe in this stable that is here
I hope borne wilbe.
Tunc Josephe accipiet Mariam in brachia sua.
Come to me, my sweete deare,
The treasure of heaven without were;
Welckome in full meke manere
Hym hope I for to see.
Tunc statuet Mariam inter bovem et asinam.
Marie, sister, I will assaie
To gette towe mydwyffes, yf I maie;
For though in thee be God vereye
A-comen againste kinde;
For usage here of this cittie,
As manners sake as thinkes me,
Towe I will feche anon to thee,
Yf I maie anye fynde.
Josephe [ad] obstetrices
Wemen, God ye save and see!
Is it your will to goe with me?
My wife is comen into this cittie
With childe, and tyme is nye;
Helpe her nowe, for charittye!
And be with her tell daie be,
And youer travayle, so mote I thee!
I shall paie you righte heare.
All readye, good man, in good faye,
We will doe all that ever we maie;
For towe suche myddwifes, I dare saie,
Are not in this cittie.
Come, good man, leade us the waie:
With Godes helpe, or it be daye,
That we can good thy wife shall saie,
And that thou shalte well see.
Loe! Marye, sweete harte, broughte I have here
Towe mydwifes, for the manere,
To be with thee, my darlinge deare,
Tell that it be daye.
Sir, the be welckome withouten were;
But God will worcke of his power
Full sone for me, my leiffe fere,
As beste is nowe and ever.
Tunc paululum acquiescunt
A! Josephe, tydinges arighte,
I have a sonne, a sweete wighte,
Lorde, thanked be thou, moche of mighte!
For proved is thy postie.
Paine non I felte this nighte,
But righte so as he in me lighte,
Comen he is here in my sighte,
Godes sonne, as thou maie see.
Tunc Stella apparebit.
Lorde, welckome, sweete Jesu,
Thy name thou hadeste, or I thee knewe;
Nowe leeve I the angelles wordes trewe
That thou arte a cleane maie;
For thou arte comen mans blesse to brewe,
To all that thy lawe will shewe,
Nowe mans joye begineth to newe,
And joye to passe awaie.
Lorde, blessed muste thou be,
That symple borne arte, as I see!
To prive the devell of his postie,
Comen thou arte to daie;
Fyne clothes is non for thee;
Therfore thy sweete bodye freey
In this crache shall lye with lee,
And be lapped aboute with haye.
A! deare Lorde, heaven kinge,
That this is a marvelous thinge,
Withouten teene or travelinge,
A fayer sonne shee hase one;
I dare well saye for south, i-wisse,
That cleane mayden this woman is,
For shee hathe borne a childe with blesse,
So wiste I never non.
Be stille, Tebell, I thee praie!
For that is false, in good faye.
Was never woman cleane maye,
And childe withouten man?
But never the latter I will assaye,
Wheither shee be cleane maie,
And knowe it yf I can.
Tunc Salome tentabit tangere Mariam scpu secreto, et statim arescent manus ejus, et clamando dicat.
Alas! alas! alas! alas!
Me is betyde a sorye case;
My handes be dryed up in this place,
That feelinge non have I.
Vengance on me nowe is lighte,
For I woulde temp[t]e Godes mighte
Alas! that I cam here to nighte,
To suffer suche anoye.
Tunc apparet Stella, et veniet angelus dicens ut sequitur.
Wemen, beseeke this childe of grace,
That he forgeve thee thy treaspas,
And ever thou goe out of this place,
Holpen thou shalbe:
This mirackle nowe, that thou seeiste here,
Is of Godes owine power,
To bringe mankinde out of dangere,
And mende them, leeve thou me.
A! sweete childe, I aske mercye,
For thy mothers love, Marye,
Though I have wroughte wrechedlye,
Sweete childe, forgeve it me. —
A! blessed be God,! all wholle am I!
Nowe leve I well and seckerlye,
That God is comen man to for-bye,
And, Lorde, thou arte he.
Lo, lordinges all, of this mirackelle here
Free Barthelemewe, in good manere,
Beareth wittnes withouten were,
As plaied is you beforne;
Another mirackle, yf I maie,
I shall rehearse, or T goe awaie,
That befell that same daie
That Jesus Christe was borne.
We reade in cronackles expresse
Some tyme in Rome a temple was,
Made of suche greate riches
That wounder was witterlie;
For all thinges in it, leve you me,
Was silver, goulde, and riche pearle;
The thirde parte the worlde, as reade we,
That temple was worthye.
Of eiche provinges that boke mynde mase,
Their godes image their sette was,
And eicheone aboute his necke base
A seilver belle hanginge;
And one his breste written also
The landes naimes and goodes bouth too,
And sette also in medeste of thoe,
God of Rome righte as a kinge.
Aboute the howse also meaninge theire
A man on horse stoode men to steare,
And in his hande he bare a speare,
All pewer dispitiouslye:
That horse and man was made of brasse,
Torninge aboute that image was,
Save certene preistes their mighte non passe
For devilles fantesye.
But when that anye lande withe battill
Was readye Rome for to assaile,
The godes I meane withouten fayle
Of that lande range his belle,
And torned his face dispitiouslye
To god of Rome, as rede I,
In tockeninge that their wente readye
To feightinge freshe and fell.
The image also above standinge,
When the bell beneath beganne to ringe,
Torninge hym all sharplie shewinge
Towarde that lande his speare:
And when the see this tockeninge,
Rome ordeyned without taryeinge
And oste to kepe their torninge
Longe or the came their.
And in this maner southlye,
By arte of negremonscye,
All the worlde witterlye
To Rome were made lowte.
And in that temple their dowtles
Was called theirfore the Temple of Peace,
Through his sleate battill can cease,
Throughout the worlde aboute.
But he so cuninglye this worcke caste,
Asked the devill, or he paste,
Howe that temple it shoulde laste
Tha[t] he their can builde.
The devill answered suttellye,
And saide it shoulde laste sickerlye,
Untell a mayden womanlye
Hade conseaved a childe.
The harde and beleeved theirfore
Yt shoulde indewer for evermore,
But that tyme that Christe was bore
Yt fell downe sone in hie.
Of which howse is seene this daie,
Somewhat standinge, in good faye,
But no man dare goe that waie
For feindes fantasye.
That daie was seene veramente
Three sonnes in the firmamente,
And wonderlye togeither wente,
And torned into one.
The oxe, the asse, their the be lente,
Honoured Christe in their intente,
And more mirackles, as we have mente
To playe righte here anon.
Tunc ostendent stellam, et veniet Sibella ad imperatorem,
Sir emperower, God thee save and see!
I tell you trulye that borne is he
That passes thee of postie;
Loke upon highe after me,
That barron thou seiste greate shalbe
To passe all kinges and eke thee,
That is borne or ever shalbe.
O Sibelle, this is a wounderous sighte!
For yender I see a mayden brighte,
A yonge childe in her armes clighte;
A brighte crosse in his heade.
Honoure I will that sweete wighte
With incense with all my mighte,
For that reverence is moste righte,
Yf that it be thy reade.
Incence bringe I commaunde in hie,
To honoure this childe, kinge of mercye.
Shoulde I be God? ney, ney, witterlie,
Greate wronge I wiste it were.
For this childe is more worthye
Then suche a thousande as am I;
Theirfore to God moste miffhtie
Incense I offer heare.
Tunc angellus cantabit hec esie ara Dei, cela fiant noiam, secundum arbitrium agentis.
A! Sybell, heares not thou this songe?
My members all it goeth amonge,
Joye and blesse maketh my harte stronge,
To heare this melodye;
Trulye it maye non other be
But this childe is prince of postie,
And I his subjecte, as I see:
He is moste worthy.
Yea, sir, thou shalte leeve well this,
Somewhere in earth borne he is,
And that he cometh for mans blisse
His tocken this can shewe.
Reverence hym I rede, i-wisse,
For other God ther non is:
He that hopeth otherwise dothe amisse,
But hym for Christe to knowe.
Sires, senatores, goes whom anon,
And warne my men everye icheone,
That suche worsjiippe I muste forgone
As the woulde doe to me;
But this childe woishippe iche man,
With full harte all that you can,
For he is worthye to leeve upon,
And that I nowe well see.
And, Lorde, whatever this maie be,
This is a wounderous sighte to see,
For in the starre, as thinketh me,
I see a full faier maye.
Sir, shall this childe passe ye
Of worthynes and dignitie?
Suche a lorde, by my lewtie,
I wende never hade bene non.
Lordinges, that this is vereye,
By vereye signe knowe ye maie,
For in Rome, in good faye,
Ther as thes thinges was seene,
Was builde a chourshe in noble araye,
In worshipe of Marye that sweete maye,
That yet lasteth unto this daie,
As men knowe that their hath bene.
And for to have full memorye
Of the angelles melodye,
And of this sighte seckerlye,
The emperower their knewe,
The churche is called Saynte Marie,
The sirname in a Racali,
That men knowe well theirby
Tha[t] this was fullye trewe.
Another mirackle I fynde also,
A christes birth fell thoe,
When Salome attempted to knowe
Wheither shee was a maye,
Her hande rotted, as you have seene;
Wherby ye maye take good teene,
That unbeleffe is a fowle syne
As you have seene in this place.
Finis. Deo gracias I per me Georgi Bellin. 1592.
Come, Lorde Jesu, come quicklye.
2018 Nov 08 14:38:26