Gabryel me tolde with wordys he beforn,
That ȝe of ȝour goodnes wold become my chylde;
Help now of ȝour hyȝness, my wurchep be not lorn,
A! dere sone, I pray ȝow, help ȝour modyr mylde.
Episcopus. Almyghty God, what may this mene,
ffor alle the drynke of Goddys potacyon,
This woman with chylde is fayr and clene,
Withowtyn fowle spotte, or maculacion.
I cannat, be non ymagynacion,
Preve hyre gylty and synful of lyff;