His owyn son and my chylde here ȝe may se.
ȝelomye. Alle heyl, Mary, and ryght good morn!
Who was mydwyfe of this ffayr chylde?
Maria. He that nothynge wyl have forlorne
Sent me this babe, and I mayde mylde.
ȝelomye. With honde lete me now towche and fele,
Yf ȝe have nede of medycyne;
I xal ȝow comforte and helpe ryght wele,
As other women, yf ȝe have pyne.
Maria. Of this fayr byrthe that here is myn,