It is hym tolde that in thin house,
A cockoldeis bowe is eche nyght bent.
He that shett the bolt is lyke to be schent:—
ffayre mayde, that tale ȝe kan best telle;
Now be ȝoure trowthe telle ȝour entent,
Dede not the archere plese ȝow ryght welle?
Maria. Of God in hevyn I take wyttnes,
That synful werk was nevyr my thought;
I am a mayd ȝit of pure clennes,
Lyke as I was into this werd brought.