Christmas Carols, Ancient and Modern/Annotated/Missus est angelus Gabriel

God sent his Aungell Gabriell
 * To Nazareth the chefe cite

Of Galile, as Luk will telle,
 * To Marie mylde and mayden fre.

The which was weddid to a man
 * Of David hows, that Joseph hight;

To her the Aungell entrid than
 * And seyde unto that mayden bryght,

Hayl, ful of grace, the Lord of all
 * He is with thee, blessyd mote thou be

Among all wymen grete & small;
 * Thus salwed he that Lady fre.

When sche this herde sche was affrayede,
 * And thought with in hir hert wytly

Of this worde howe it was sayde;
 * And than to her he seyde in highe,

Drede nought, Marye, for thou hast founde
 * The grace of God in mekenesse trewe;

Thow schalt conseyve and bere a sone,
 * And thou schalt clepe his name Jesus.

He schal be grete by goldy myght,
 * And cleped hys sone that is most hee;

He schal hym gyve by mothir ryght
 * The sete of David hys fathir free.

In Jacob hows he schal be kyng,
 * And of hys rewme shcal be noon ende;

Then askyd Marye of this thing,
 * How it schulde be sche wolde be kende,

For man I purpose to knowe;
 * Than seyde the Aungell from above

The Holy Gost schal come and schowe
 * To thee in the strengthe of love,

And umbischadwe thee with light
 * And grete of hys godhede;

that holy thing of myght
 * That schal be born of thee in dede

Schal be Goddis sone, and so be called,
 * And so Elizabeth thi awnte

Sche hath conseyved, though sche be olde,
 * A sone, suche grace God hath hir graunte.

And now the Sixte moneth is this
 * To hir that passed in childe berynge,

To God unmyghty no thing is,
 * At hym be may no failyng thinge.

Than spak the mother of pyte,
 * Lo the Lordys handmayde I am,

thi woorde be do to me;
 * And at that poynt God bycome man.

Than roos that blissyd mayde Marye,
 * And gede up to the hillys with hasty breeth

Unty the hows of Zakarye,
 * And salewed ther Elizabeth.

And whan Elizabeth dide her
 * The gretyng of that lady swete,

Hir childe Seynt John glad cher than made
 * With inne hir wombe there as sche sete.

And than, fulfilled of the holy Goost,
 * Elizabeth bigan to crye

Blessed the art of wymen moost
 * So is the fruyt of thi bodye.

And how is this, that thus to me
 * Cometh the mothir of my Lord,

To make my childe so welcome thee
 * As voys dothe voys in gode acorde?

And blessyd be thou in feith so trewe,
 * For what is seyde from God to thee,

By alle bothe olde and newe,
 * Now is fulfilled, blessyd mote the be.

Than spake Mary, Goddis mothir dere,
 * Moche magnifieth my Sowle my Lord,

And so my spirit hath schewed glad cher
 * In God my helpe with ful acorde.

This graciouse cowpil of foure in fere,
 * Of Crist and Marye milde,

Elizabeth and hir sone dere
 * Seynt John Baptist, fro schame us schilde.
 * Amen.