O, now thy help and thy promocioun!
To God, thy Sonë, mak a mocioun
How he thy servaunt was, mayden Marië,
And lat his lovë floure and fructifyë.
Al-thogh his lyf be queynt, the résemblaunce
Of him hath in me so fresh lyflinesse
That, to putte othere men in rémembraunce
Of his persone, I have heer his lyknesse
Do makë, to this ende, in sothfastnesse,
That they, that have of him lest thought and minde,