The Hostelers' Play: The Coronation of the Virgin

Jesus
Myne aungellis that are bright and schene,1
On my message take ye the waye
Vnto Marie, my modir clene,
That berde is brighter than the daye.
Grete hir wele haly bedene,
An to that semely schall yoe saye
Off heuene I haue hir chosen quene,7
In joie and blisse that laste schall aye.
I wille yoou saie what I haue thoughte
And why that yoe schall tille hir wende,
I will hir body to me be brought
To beilde in blisse withouten ende.
Mi flesshe of hir in erthe was tone;13
Vnkindely thing it were iwis,
That scho schulde bide be hire allone
And I beilde here so high in blis.
Forthy tille hir than schall yoe fare
Full frendlye for to fecche hir hedir,
There is no thyng that I loue more,19
In blisse thanne schall we belde togedir.

Angel 1
O blisfull lorde nowe moste of myght,21
We are redye with all oure myght
Thy bidding to fulfille,
To thi modir that maiden free,
Chosen cheffe of chastité,
As it is thy wille.

Angel 2
Off this message we are full fayne,27
We are redy with myght and mayne,
Bothe be day and be nyght.
Heuene and erthe nowe gladde may be,
That frely foode nowe for to see
In whome that thou did light.

Angel 3
Lorde Jesu Criste, oure gouernoure,33
We are all boune atte thi bidding,
With joie and blisse and grete honnoure,
We schall thi modir to the bringe.

Angel 4
Hayle, the doughtir of blissid Anne,37
The whiche consayued thurgh the holy goste,
And thou brought forthe both God and manne,
The whiche felled doune the fendis boste.

Angel 5
Haile, roote of risse, that fourthe brought41
That blissid floure oure saueoure,
The whiche that made mankynde of noght
And brought hym vppe into his toure.

Angel 6
Of the allone he wolde be borne45
Into this worlde of wrecchidnesse,
To saue mankynde that was forlorne
And bringe thame oute of grete distresse.

Angel 1
Thou may be gladde bothe day and nyght49
To se thy sone oure saueoure,
He will the croune nowe, lady bright,
Thou blissid modir and faire floure.

Angel 2
Marie, modir and mayden clene,53
Chosen cheffe vnto thi childe,
Of heuene and erthe thou arte quene;
Come vppe nowe lady, meke and mylde.

Angel 3
Thi sone has sente vs aftir the57
To bringe the nowe vnto his blisse,
Ther schall thou belde and blithe be,
Of joie and mirthe schall thou noyot misse.

Angel 4
For in his blisse withouten ende,61
There schall thou alkynne solas see,
Thi liffe in likyng for to lende
With thi dere sone in trinité.

Mary
A, blissid be God, fadir all-weldand,65
Hymselffe wottith best what is to doo.
I thanke hym with harte and hande,
That thus his blisse wolde take me too,
And yoou also his aungellis bright
That fro my sone to me is sente,
I am redy with all my myght71
For to fulfille his comaundement.

Angel 5
Go we nowe thou worthi wight73
Vnto thi sone that is so gente,
We schall the bringe into his sight
To croune the quene, thus hase he mente.

Angel 6
Alle heuene and erthe schall worschippe the77
And baynnely be at thi biddinge,
Thy joie schall euere incressid be,
Of solas sere than schall thou synge.

Angel 1
Jesu, lorde and heueneis kyng,81
Here is thi modir thou aftir sente,
We haue her brought at thi biddynge,
Take hir to the as thou haste mente.

Mary
Jesu my sone, loved motte thou be,85
I thanke the hartely in my thought
That this wise ordand is for me,
And to this blisse thou haste me broght.

Jesus
Haile be thou Marie, maiden bright,89
Thou arte my modir and I thy sone,
With grace and goodnesse arte thou dight,
With me in blisse ay schall thou wonne.
Nowe schall thou haue that I the hight,
Thy tyme is paste of all thi care,
Wirschippe schall the aungellis bright,95
Of newe schall thou witte neuere more.

Mary
Jesu my sone, loued motte thou be,97
I thanke the hartely in my thoyot,
That on this wise ordand is for me,
And to this blisse thou has me broght.

Jesus
Come forth with me my modir bright,101
Into my blisse we schall assende
To wonne in welthe, thou worthi wight,
That neuere more schall it haue ende.
Thi newis, modir, to neuen thame nowe,
Are turned to joie, and soth it is
All aungellis bright thei schall the bowe107
And worschippe the worthely iwis.
For mekill joie, modir, had thou
Whan Gabriell grette the wele be this,
And tolde the tristely for to trowe
Thou schulde consayue the kyng of blisse.
Nowe maiden meke and modir myne,113
Itt was full mekill myrthe to the
That I schuld ligge in wombe of thine
Thurgh gretyng of an aungell free.
The secounde joie, modir, was syne
Withouten payne whan thou bare me;
The thirde aftir my bittir peyne119
Fro dede on lyve thou sawe me be.
The fourthe was when I stied vppe right
To heuene vnto my fadir dere-
My modir, when thou saugh that sight,
To the it was a solas seere.
This is the fifte thou worthy wight,125
Of the jois this has no pere,
Nowe schall thou belde in blisse so bright
For euer and ay, I highte the here,
For thou arte cheffe of chastité,
Off all women thou beris the floure;
Nowe schalle thou, lady, belde with me131
In blisse that schall euere indowre
Full high on highte in magesté,
With all worshippe and all honnoure,
Wher we schall euere samen be
Beldand in oure bigly boure.
Alle-kynnys swetnesse is therin137
That manne vppon may thynke, or wiffe,
With joie and blisse that neuere schall blynne
Ther schall thou, lady, lede thy liffe.
Thou schalte be worshippid with honnoures
In heuene blisse that is so bright,
With martiris and with confessouris,143
With all virginis, thou worthy wight.
Before all othere creatours
I schall the giffe both grace and might,
In heuene and erthe to sende socoures
To all that seruis the day and nyght.
I graunte thame grace with all my myght,149
Thurgh askyng of thi praier,
That to the call be day or nyght.
In what disease so that thei are.
Thou arte my liffe and my lekyng,
Mi modir and my mayden schene;
Ressayue this croune my dere darlyng,155
Ther I am kyng thou schalte be quene.
Myne aungellis bright, a songe yoe singe
In the honnoure of my modir dere,
And here I giffe yoou my blissing
Haly nowe, all in fere.