| O Lord, oure Lord, thy name how merveillous |
| Is in this large world ysprad -- quod she -- |
| 455 | For noght oonly thy laude precious |
| Parfourned is by men of dignitee, |
| But by the mouth of children thy bountee |
| Parfourned is, for on the brest soukynge |
| Somtyme shewen they thyn heriynge. |
| 460 | Wherfore in laude, as I best kan or may, |
| Of thee and of the white lylye flour |
| Which that the bar, and is a mayde alway, |
| To telle a storie I wol do my labour; |
| Nat that I may encressen hir honour, |
| 465 | For she hirself is honour and the roote |
| Of bountee, next hir Sone, and soules boote. |
| O mooder Mayde, O mayde Mooder free! |
| O bussh unbrent, brennynge in Moyses sighte, |
| That ravyshedest doun fro the Deitee, |
| 470 | Thurgh thyn humblesse, the Goost that in th' alighte, |
| Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte, |
| Conceyved was the Fadres sapience, |
| Help me to telle it in thy reverence! |
| Lady, thy bountee, thy magnificence, |
| 475 | Thy vertu and thy grete humylitee |
| Ther may no tonge expresse in no science; |
| For somtyme, Lady, er men praye to thee, |
| Thou goost biforn of thy benyngnytee, |
| And getest us the lyght, of thy preyere, |
| 480 | To gyden us unto thy Sone so deere. |
| My konnyng is so wayk, O blisful Queene, |
| For to declare thy grete worthynesse |
| That I ne may the weighte nat susteene; |
| But as a child of twelf month oold, or lesse, |
| 485 | That kan unnethes any word expresse, |
| Right so fare I, and therfore I yow preye, |
| Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye. |