Page:Ludus Coventriae (1841).djvu/177

 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! Heyl, Cryst, kynde in oure kyth! Heyl, werker of wele to wonyn us wyth! Heyl wynner i-wys! Heyl, fformere and ffrende! Heyl, ffellere of the fende! Heyl, clad in oure kende! Heyl, prince of paradys! Tertius pastor. Heyl, Lord over lordys, that lyggyst ful lowe! Heyl, kynge ovyr kynges thi kynrede to knowe! Heyl, comely knyth the devyl to overthrowe! Heyl, flowre of alle! Heyl, werkere to wynne Bodyes bowndyn in synne! Heyl, in a bestys bynne, Be-stad in a stalle! Joseph. Herdys on hylle, Bethe not stylle, But seyth ȝour wylle, To many a man; How God is born, This mery morn, That is forlorn Fyndyn he can. Secundus Pastor. We xulle telle, Be dale and hylle,