Who that evyr beholdyth me veryly,
They xall be grettly steryd to vertu,
ffor this ȝyfte and many moo, good Lord, gramercy.
Joseph. How hast thou ferde, jentyl mayde,
Whyl I have be out of londe?
Maria. Sekyr, sere, beth nowth dysmayde,
Ryth aftyr the wyl of Goddys sonde.
Joseph. That semyth evyl, I am afrayd,
Thi wombe to hyȝe doth stonde.
I dred me sore I am betrayd,