Seinte Mari moder milde

Seinte Mari moder milde,
Mater salutarts;
Feirest flour of eni felde
Vere nuncuparis.
Thorou ihesu crist thou were wid childe;
Thou bring me of my thouhtés wilde
Potente,
That maket me to dethé tee
Repente.

Mi thounc is wilde as is the
Luto gratulante.
Ho werchet me ful muchel wo
Maque favente.
Bote yef he wolé wende me fro,
Ic wene myn herte breket a two
Fervore.
Ic am ifaiht bo day ant naiht
Dolore.

Jhesu, thorou thi muchele miht
Omnia fecisti;
The holi gost in Marie liht
Sicut voluisti.
Forthi he is icleped ur driht,
Ihesu, bring my thouht to Crist
Constanter
That it be stable ant nout chaungable
Fraudanter.

Jhesu Crist, thou art on loft
Digno tu scandente;
Hevene ant erthe thou havest iwrouht
Victore triumphante;
Monkun wid thi bod: abouht,
Thou noldest lesen hym for nouht,
Nec dare
Ant yeve the blod that was so god
Tam gnare.

Sueté levedi, flour of alle,
Vere consolatrix,
Thou be myn help that I ne fall,
Cunctis reparatrix
Mildest quene ant bést icorn,
Niht ant day thou be me forn
Precantis!
Yef me grace to see thi face
Infantis!

That I thorou thi sueté bene,
Tutrix orphanorum,
Mot leven al this worldés tene,
Solamen miserorum;
Ant to the levedi mot I take,
And myn sunnés al fursake
Volente,
That I ne misse of thiné blisse
Poscente.