The Annunciation

Foucy as deith is likand lufe
Throuch quhom al bittir swet is;
No thing is hard, as Writ can pruf,
Till him in lufe that letis;
Luf us fra barret betis;
Quhen fra the hevinly sete abufe
In message Gabriell couth muf,
And with mild Mary metis,

And said, " God wele the gretis;
In the He will tak rest and rufe,
But hurt of syne, or yit reprufe:
In Him sett thi decretis."
This message mervale gert that'Myld,
And silence held but soundis,
As weill aferit, a maid infild,
The angell it expoundis,

How that hir wame but woundis
Consave it suld, fra syne exild.
And quhen this carpin wes compild
Brichtnes fra bufe aboundis;
Thane fell that gay to groundis,
Of Goddis grace na thing begild,
Wox in hir chaumer chaist with child,
With Christ our King that crownd is.

Thir tithingis tauld, the Messinger
Till hevin agane he glidis:
That princes pure, withoutyn peir,
Full plesandly applidis,
And blith with barne abidis.
O worthy wirschip singuler,
To De moder and madyn meir,
As Cristin faith confidis;

That borne was of hir sidis,
Our Maker, Goddis Sone, so deir,
Quhilk erd, wattir, and hevinnis cler,
Throw grace and virtu gidis.
The miraclis ar mekle and meit,
Fra luffis ry ver rynnis;
The low of luf haldand the hete
Unbrynt full blithlie birnis;

Quhen Gabriell beginnis
With mouth that gudely May to grete,
The wand of Aarone, dry but wete,
To burioun nocht blynnis;
The flesch all donk within is,
Upone the erd na drop couth fleit;
Sa was that May maid Moder swete,
And sakeless of all synnis.

Hir mervalus haill madinhede
God in hir bosum bracis,
And hir divinite fra deid
Hir kepit in all casis.
The Hie God of His gracis
Him-self dispisit us to speid,
And dowtit nocht to dee one deid:
He panit for our peacis,

And with His blude us bacis;
Bot quhen He ras up, as we rede,
The cherite of His Grodhede
Was plane in every placis.
O Lady lele and lusumest,
Thy face moist fair and schene is!
O blosum blithe and bowsumest,
Fra carnale cry me that clene is!

This prayer fra my splene is,
That all my werkis wikkitest
Thow put away, and mak me chaist
Fra Termigant that teyn is,
And fra his cluke that kene is;
And syne till hevin my saule thow haist,
Quhair thi Makar of michtis maist
Is King, and thow thair Quene is.