The Annunciation to and Visitation of the Shepherds

Angelus ad pastores dicit "Gloria in excelsis Deo."

Joye to God þat sytt in hevyn,
And pes to man on erthe grownde.
A chylde is born benethe þe levyn,
Thurwe hym many folke xul be vnbownde!
Sacramentys þer xul be vij
Wonnyn þo[r]we þat childys wounde.
Therfore I synge a joyful stevene.
þe flowre of frenchep now is founde,
God þat wonyght on hy3!
He is gloryed mannys gost to wynne,
He hath sent salue to mannys synne;
Pes is comyn to mannys kynne
Thorwe Goddys sleytys sly3.
Primus Pastor
Maunfras, Maunfras, felawe myne,
I saw a gret lyght with shene shyne!
3it saw I nevyr so selkowth syne
Shapyn vpon þe skyes.
It is bryghtere þan be sunnebem,
It comyth ryght ouyr all þis rem,
Evyn above Bedleem.
I saw it brenne thryes.
Secundus Pastor
Thu art my brother, Boosras.
I haue beholdyn þe same pas!
I trowe it is tokenynge of gras
þat shynynge shewyght beforn.
Balaam spak in prophesye
A lyght xuld shyne vpon þe skye
Whan a sone of a mayd Marye
In Bedleem were iborn.
Tercius Pastor
Thow I make lyty[l] noyse,
I am an herde þat hattyht Moyse.
I herde carpynge of a croyse
Of Moyses in his lawe.
Of a mayd a barne born,
On a tre he xulde be torn;
Delyver folkys þat arn forlorn,
The chylde xulde be slawe.
Primus Pastor
Balaam spak in prophecie
Out of Jacob xuld shyne a skye.
Many folke he xulde bye
With his bryght blood.
Be þat bryght blod þat he xulde blede
He xal us brynge fro þe develys drede,
As a duke most dowty in dede,
Thorwe his deth on rode.
Secundus Pastor
Amos spak with mylde meth,
A frute swettere than bawmys breth,
His deth xulde slen oure sowlys deth
And drawe us all from helle.
Therfore such lyght goth beforn
In tokyn þat þe childe is born
Whiche xal saue þat is forlorn,
As prophetys gonne spelle.
Tercius Pastor
Danyel þe prophete þus gan speke:
"Wyse God, from woo us wreke,
þi bryght hevyn þu to-breke
And medele þe with a mayde."
This prophecye is now spad:
Cryst in oure kende is clad.
þerfore mankend may be glad,
As prophetys beforn han seyd.

"Gloria in Excelsis Deo" cantent.

Primus Pastor
Ey! Ey! þis was a wondyr note
þat was now songyn above þe sky.
I haue þat voys ful wele I wote,
þei songe "Gle, glo glory."
Secundus Pastor
Nay, so moty the, so was it nowth.
I haue þat songe ful wele invm.
In my wyt weyl it is wrought,
It was "Gle, glo, glas, glum."
Tercius Pastor
The songe methought it was "Glory".
And aftyrwarde he seyd us to,
þer is a chybde born xal be a prynce myghty.
For to seke þat chylde I rede we go.
Primus Pastor
The prophecye of Boosdras is spedly sped,
Now leyke we hens as þat lyght us lede.
Myght we se onys þat bryght on bed,
Oure bale it wolde vnbynde.
We xulde shodyr for no shoure.
Buske we us hens to Bedleem boure
To se þat fayr fresch flowre,
The mayde mylde in mynde.
Secundus Pastor
Lete us folwe with all oure myght.
With songe and myrth we xul us dyght,
And wurchep with joye þat wurthy wyght
þat Lord is of mankynne.
Lete us go forthe fast on hye
And honowre þat babe wurthylye,
With merthe, songe, and melodye.
Haue do! þis songe begynne.

Tunc pastores cantabunt "Stella celi extirpauit," quo facto ibunt ad querendum Christum.

Primus Pastor
Heyle, floure of flourys, fayrest ifownde!
Heyle, perle peerles, prime rose of prise!
Heyl, blorne on bedde, we xul be vnbownde
With þi blody woundys and werkys full wyse!
Heyl, God grettest, I grete þe on grownde!
þe gredy devyl xal grone grysly as a gryse
Whan þu wynnyst þis worlde with þi wyde wounde
And puttyst man to paradys with plenty of prys.
To loue þe is my delyte.
Heyl, floure fayr and fre,
Lyght from þe Trynyté!
Heyl, blyssyd mote þu be!
Heyl, mayde fayrest in syght!
[Secundus] Pastor
Heyl, floure ovyr flourys fowndyn in fryght!
Heyl, Cryst, kynde in oure kyth!
Heyl, werker of wele to wonyn us wyth!
Heyl, wynnere, iwys!
Heyl, formere and frende!
Heyl, fellere of þe fende!
Heyl, clad in oure kende!
Heyl, Prince of Paradys!
Tercius Pastor
Heyl, lord ouyr lomdys, þat lyggyst ful lowe!
Heyl, kynge ovyr kyngys, þi kynrede to knowe!
Heyl, comely knyth, þe deuyl to ouyrthrowe!
Heyl, flowre of alle!
Heyl, werkere to wynne
Bodyes bowndyn in synne!
Heyl, in a bestys bynne,
Bestad in a stable!
Herdys on hylle,
Beth not stylle,
But seyth 3oure wylle
To many a man:
How God is born
þis mery morn;
þat is forlorn
Fyndyn he can.
Primus Pastor
We xull telle
Be dale and hylle
How Harwere of Helle
Was born þis nyght,
Myrthis to melle
And fendys to quelle
þat were so felle
A3ens his ryght.
Secundus Pastor
Farewel, babe and barne of blys!
Farewel, Lord þat lovely is!
þe to wurchep þi feet I kys,
On knes to þe I falle.
þe to wurchepe I falle on kne.
All þis werd may joye of þe,
Now farewel, Lorde of grett pousté!
3a, farewel, kynge of alle!
Tercius Pastor
Thow I be þe last þat take my leve,
3it, fayre mullynge, take it nat at no greve.
Now, fayre babe, wele mut þu cheve;
Fayr chylde, now haue good day!
Fareweyl, myn owyn dere derlyng!
Iwys, þu art a ryght fayr thyng.
Farewel, my Lorde and my swetyng!
Farewel, born in pore aray!
Now, 3e herdmen, wel mote 3e be.
For 3oure omage and 3ourd syngynge,
My sone xal aqwyte 3ow in hefne se
And 3eue 3ow all ryght good hendynge.

2019 Nov 25  16:21:41