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 And help thi wyff fro hurt and grame; Come forthe, Joseph, go we streythe thedyr. Joseph. I thank ȝow, damys, ȝe comforte my lyff,  Streyte to my spowse walke we the way. In this pore logge lyght Mary my wyff;  Hyre for to comforte, gode frendys, asay. Salome. We dare not entre this logge in fay,  Ther is therin so gret bryghtnes,— Mone be nyght nor sunne be day   Shone nevyr so clere in ther lyghtnesse. ȝelomye. Into this hous dare I not gon,  The woundyrffulle lyght doth me affray. Joseph. Than wyl myself gon in alon,  And chere my wyff, if that I may; Alle heyl, maydon and wyff, I say! How dost thou fare? telle me thi chere! The for to comforte in gesyne this day,  Tweyn gode mydwyvis I have brought here. The for to helpe that art in harde bonde,  ȝelomye and Salomee be come with me,— ffor dowte of drede withowte thei do stond,   And dare not come in for lyght that they se. Hic Maria subridendo dicat, Maria.

Maria. The myght of the Godhede in his magesté Wyl not be hyd now at this whyle; The chylde that is born wyl preve his modyr fre, A very clene mayde, and therfore I smyle. Joseph. Why do ȝe lawghe, wyff? ȝe be to blame; I pray ȝow, spowse, do no more so; In happ the mydwyvys wyl take it to grame, And at ȝour nede helpe wele non do. Iff ȝe have nede of mydwyvys, lo! Peraventure thei wyl gon hens: