Now leyke we hens, as that lyght us lede:
Myght we se onys that bryght on bed,
Oure sorow it wolde unbynde.
We xulde shadyr for no shoure,
Buske us hens to Bedleem boure,
To se that fayr fresche flowre,
The mayde mylde in mynde.
Secundus Pastor. Lete us ffolwe with alle oure myght,
With songe and myrthe we xul us dyght,
And wurchep with joye that wurthy wyght,