Heyl, God grettest, I grete the on grownde!
The gredy devyl xal grone grysly as a gryse,
Whan thou wynnyst this worlde with thi wyde wounde,
And puttyst man to paradys with plenty of prys;
To love the is my delyte.
Heyl, floure and fre!
Lyght from the Trynyté!
Heyl, blyssyd mote thou be!
Heyl, mayden, fayrest in syght!
Secundus Pastor. Heyl, floure ovyr fflour fowndyn in fryght!