In myn swete sowle his chawmere I ches,
In me belevyth the lorde of pes,
I go to his burryenge boorde.
Maria Jacobi. My systeres sone I woot he was,
He lyth in here as sunne in glas,
The chylde was born by oxe and asse
Up in a bestys stalle.
Thow his body be gravyd undyr gras,
The grete godhede is nevyr the lasse,
The Lord xal rysyn and gon his pas,