Classic Poem

Glad and blithe mote ye be,
All that ever I here nowe se,
Alleluia!
Kinge of kingis, Lord of alle,
Borne he is in oxe stalle,
Res miranda.

The angel of consel now borne he is,
Of a maide full clene, iwis,
Sol de stella.
The sunne that ever shineth bright,
The sterre that ever yeveth his light,
Semper clara.

Right as the sterre bringth forth his beme,
So the maide here barn teme.
Pari forma.
Nother the sterre for his beme,
Nother the maide for here barne-teme
Fit corrupta.

The cedur of Liban that groweth so hie
Unto the hysope is made lie
Valle nostra.
Godis sone of Heven bright
Until a maide is he light,
Carne sumpta.

Isaye saide by prophecye.
The Synagoge hath it in memorye,
Yit never he lynneth maliciusly
Esse ceca.
If they leve not here prophetis,
Then lete hem leve hethen metris,
In sibyllinis versiculis
Hec predicta.

Unhappy Jewe, come thu nere,
Beleve ellis thine eldere.
Why wolt thu, wretch, idampned be?
Whomme techeth the letter —
Beholde the childe the better —
Him bare a maide-moder, Marye.