Edi beo thu, hevene quene
Folkes froure and engles blis
Moder unwemmed and maiden clene
Swich in world non other nis
On thee hit is wel eth sene
Of all wimmen thu havest thet pris
Mi swete levedi, her mi bene
And reu of me yif thi wille is
Thu asteghe so the daiy rewe
The deleth from the deorke nicht
Of thee sprong a leome newe
That al this world haveth ilight
Nis non maide of thine heowe
Swo fair, so schene, so rudi, swo bricht
Swete levedi, of me thu reowe
And have merci of thin knicht
Spronge blostme of one rote
The Holi Gost thee reste upon
Thet wes for monkunnes bote
And heore soule to alesen for on
Levedi milde, softe and swote
Ic crie thee merci, ic am thi mon
Bothe to honde and to fote
On alle wise that ic kon
Thu ert eorthe to gode sede
On thee lighte the heovene deugh
Of thee sprong theo edi blede
The Holi Gost hire on thee seugh
Thu bring us ut of kare of drede
That Eve bitterliche us breugh
Thu sschalt us into heovene lede
Welle swete is the ilke deugh
Moder, ful of thewes hende
Maide dreigh and wel itaucht
Ic em in thine love bende
And to thee is al mi draucht
Thu me sschildghe from the feonde
Ase thu ert freo, and wilt and maucht
Help me to mi lives ende
And make me with thin sone isaught