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The Gude and Godlie Ballatis

Domine quis habitabit. Psal. xxxiiij.

O Lord, quha sall in Hevin dwell with the,
In Thy tryumphant throne and tabernakil?
Or quha sall on Thy haly hill sa hie
Mak residence, and haif his habitakill?
habitakill: dwelling
The innocent, that is ane spectakill
spectakill: mirror
Of haly lyfe and conversatioun,
And just in all his operatioun;
And he quhilk on the treuth hes all his thocht
And with his tung the same for till furthschaw,
And quhais tung his nichtbour noyis nocht
And hurtis nane be boist nor yit be blaw;
blaw: bragging
And thocht his nichtbouris fault or vice he knaw,
He scornis not; but dois til his brother
As that he wald till him did ony uther.
He that hes in na reputatioun
The wickit men in nurissing thair vice
With flatterie and adulatioun,
And all gude men he haldis in to pryse,
And thay that dreides God he comptis wyse;
Quhatever he sweir to ony man or say,
His promeis he will without delay.
Na occour he will use in till his lane,
occour: usuryhis lane: himself
Bot frelie with his nichtbour len and borrow;
len: lend
Contrair the just, reward he will tak nane,
Bot him defend fra fire, scham and sorrow.
This will he do at midnicht and [at] morrow:
Quhatever he be, that weill observis this,
Sall never perische, bot ring in Hevinnis blis.
ring: reign

Dominus Regit me. Psal. xxiij

The Lord God is my pastor gude,
Aboundantlie me for to feid;
Than how can I be destitute
Of ony gude thing in my neid?
He feides me in feildis fair,
To reveris sweit, pure and preclair
preclair: excellent
He dryvis me but ony dreid.
My saull and lyfe He dois refresche,
And me convoyis in the way
Of His justice and rychteousnes.
And me defendis from decay,
Nocht for my warkis verteousnes,
Bot for His name sa glorious,
Preservis me baith nycht and day.
And thocht I waver or ga wyll,
ga wyll: go out of the way
Or am in danger for to die,
Na dreid of deide sall cum me till,
Nor feir of cruell tyrannie.
Because that Thow art me besyde,
To governe me and be my gyde,
From all mischeif and miserie.
Thy staffe, quhair of I stand greit awe,
And Thy scheip-huke, me for to fang;
fang: seize
Thay nurtour me, my faultis to knaw,
Quhen fra the hie way I ga wrang.
Thairfoir my spreit is blyith and glaid
Quhen on my flesche Thy scurge is laid,
In the rycht way to gar me gang.
And Thow ane tabill dois provyde
Befoir me, full of all delyte,
Contrair to my persewaris pryde,
To thair displesour and dispyte.
Thow hes annoyntit weill my heide,
And full my coupe Thow hes maid,
With mony dischis of delyte.
Thy gudnes and beningnitie
Lat ever be with me thairfoir;
And quhill I leve untill I die,
Thow lay thame up with me in stoir,
That I may haif my dwelling place,
Into thy hous befoir thy face,
To ring with the for ever moir.

Quam bonus Deus Israell. Psal. lxxiij.

Till trew in hart God of Israell is sweit,
Bot stakerand almaist failyeit my feit
stakerand: staggering
Quhen I beheld thir perverst wickit men
Prosper alway, thocht thay did God misken.
Thair is na yock thir wickit men may oppres,
yock: yoke
Bot ever in welth plesour and greit riches,
Quhen uther men ar trublit and disesit,
With all pastyme full plesandlie thay ar easit,
Throw quhilk thay ar exaltit in-to pryde:
Thair violence and wrang walkis full wyde,
Throw thair greit mycht in alkin lust thay leif,
leif: live
Quhat thay can think, unto thair hart thay geif.
Quhat ever is done, thay think it vanitie
Bot gif that thay the authoure of it be;
God of Hevin thay blaspheme with thair mouth,
To curs all men thay think it na uncouth.
na uncouth: nothing strange
For this the peple dois flow to and fra
Quhen thay the wickit with welth se do swa,
Thay dar be bald to dout gif God dois knaw
Or understand the breking of His Law.
And I also thocht thair prosperitie
Suld ever indure with thame eternallie,
And thocht unto my self I did offence
That wusche my handis, and levit in innocence.
wusche: washed
To thole distres I thocht it was in vaine
Baith day and nycht to tak on me sic paine;
Quhen I had lang argound on sic a kynde,
argound: argued
The sonnis of God I dampnit in my mynde.
I tuke travell on this to knaw the treuth,
travell: effort
Bot all for nocht, my laubour was bot sleuth.
sleuth: idleness
Quhen I sall enter in Goddis secreit place,
Than sall I se thair end befoir my face.
Full slyddrie is the sait that thay on sit,
slyddrie: slippery
And for thair fault till Hell sune sall thay flit,
For suddanlie thay sall die with mischeif,
Thair distructioun salbe without releif.
As quhen ane man awaikis of his dreame,
Sa sall the Lord distroy thair fulische fame.
Quhen I had this imaginatioun,
My dullit spreit was in greit passioune.
dullit: torpid
Imprudently this brint I in my thocht,
In thy presence as brutall beist of nocht;
Yit leit thow nocht me fall in sic ane sort,
Bot held my hand and gaif me gude confort.
With thy counsell thow sall me weill convoy,
And efter this ressaif me to thy joy.
O Lord, quhat ever in Hevin ordand for me,
Outher in eird, compair I not to the.
Na thing am I, my body nor my hart;
God is my strenth, and ever salbe my part.
Perische sall thay that fleis from The far,
Loste sall thay be that ocht to The prefar.
To me, forsuith, I think it for the best,
To cleve to God, and on Him put my traist,
And schaw the nobill warkis that He hes done,
To quhome be gloir ringand in His throne.

Ane Sang of the Birth of Christ

with the tune of Baw lula low

I come from Hevin to tell
The best nowellis that ever befell;
nowellis: news
To ȝow thir tythingis I bring,
And I will of them say and sing:
This day to ȝow is borne ane childe
Of Marie meik and Virgin milde;
That blissit bairne bening and kynde,
bening: gentle
Sall ȝow rejoyis, baith hart and mynde.
It is the Lord Christ, God and man;
He will do for ȝow quhat he can:
Him-self ȝour Saviour will be
Fra sin and Hell to mak ȝow fre.
He is ȝour rycht salvatioun
From everlasting dampnatioun,
That ȝe may ring in gloir and blis
For ever mair in Hevin with His.
Ȝe sall Him find, but mark or wring,
wring: blemish
Full sempill in ane cribe lying;
Sa lyis He quhilk ȝow hes wrocht,
And all this warld maid of nocht.
Lat us rejoyis and be blyith,
And with the hyrdis go full swyith
hyrdis: shepherdsswyith: quickly
And se quhat God of His grace hes done
Throw Christ to bring us to His throne.
My saull and lyfe, stand up and se
Quha lyis in ane cribbe of tre;
Quhat babe is that, sa gude and fair?
It is Christ, Goddis Sone and air.
Welcome now, gracious God of mycht,
To sinnaris vyle, pure and unrycht:
Thow come to saif us from distres -
How can we thank Thy gentilnes?
O God, that maid all creature,
How art Thow now becumit sa pure
That on the hay and stray will ly
stray: straw
Amang the assis, oxin and ky?
ky: cattle
And war the warld ten tymes sa wyde,
Cled over with gold and stanis of pryde,
Unworthie it war ȝit to The
Under Thy feit ane stule to be.
The sylk and sandell The to eis
sandell: rich silk cloth
Ar hay and sempill sweilling clais
sweilling: swaddling
Quharin Thow gloris, greitest King,
As Thaw in Hevin war in thy ring.
Thow tuke sic panis temporall
To mak me ryche perpetuall,
For all this warldis welth and gude
Can na thing ryche Thy celsitude.
celsitude: majesty
O my deir hart, ȝung Jesus sweit,
Prepair Thy creddill in my spreit,
creddill: cradle
And I sall rock The in my hart,
And never mair fra The depart.
Bot I sail pryse The ever moir
With sangis sweit unto Thy gloir;
The kneis of my hart sail I bow,
And sing that rycht Balulalow
Gloir be to God eternallie,
Quhilk gaif His onlie Son for me:
The angellis joyis for to heir
The gracious gift of this new ȝeir.

[Rycht sorelie musing]

Rycht sorelie musing in my mynde,
For pietie sore my hart is pynde
pynde: pained
Quhen I remember on Christ sa kynde,
That savit me;
Nane culd me saif, fra thyne till Ynde,
thyne: thenceYnde: India
Bot onlie He.
He is the way, trothe, lyfe and lycht,
The verray port till Heaven full rycht;
Quha enteris nocht be His greit mycht,
Ane theif is he,
That wald presume be his awin mycht
Savit to be.
I grant that I haif faultit sore,
To stok and stane gevand His glore
And heipand warkis into store
For my remeid;
War nocht His mercy is the more,
I had bene deid.
Thow lytill bill, thy wayis thow wend,
And schaw my mynde, fra end to end,
Till thame that will repent and mend,
Thow schaw thame till
Beleve in Christ, quhom God hes send,
And wirk His will.

[Quho is at my window?]

Quho is at my windo, quho, quho?
Go from my windo, go, go.
Quha callis thair, sa lyke ane stranger,
Go from my windo, go.
Lord I am heir, ane wratcheit mortall,
That for Thy mercy dois cry and call,
Unto The, my Lord Celestiall,
Se quho is at my windo, quho.
How dar thow for mercy cry?
Sa lang in sin as thow dois ly,
Mercy to haif thow art not worthy,
Go from my windo, go.
My gylt, gude Lord, I will refuse,
And the wickit lyfe that I did use,
Traistand Thy mercy sall be myne excuse:
Se quho is at thy windo, quho.
To be excusit, thow wald rycht faine,
On spending of thy lyfe in vaine,
Having my Gospell in greit disdaine,
Go from my windo, go.
O Lord, I haif offendit The;
Excuse thairof thair can nane be,
I haif followit thame that sa teichit me,
Se quho is at my windo, quho.
Nay, I call the nocht fra my dure, I wis,
Lyke ane stranger that unknawin is;
Thow art My brother, and My will it is,
In at my dure that thow go.
With rycht humill hart, Lord, I the pray,
Thy confort and grace obtene I may,
Schaw me the path and reddy way
In at Thy dure for to go.
I am cheif gyde to riche and pure,
Schawand the path way rycht to my dure,
I am their confort in everie hour,
That in at my dure will go.
Bot thay that walk ane uther way,
As mony did teiche from day to day,
That were indurit, my Gospell did say,
indurit: hardened
And far from my dure sall go.
O Gracious Lord, confort of all wicht,
For Thy greit power and excellent micht,
Sen Thou art cheif gyde, and verray licht,
In at thy dure lat me go.
Man, I gaif the nocht fre will
That thow suld my Gospell spill;
spill: spoilt
Thow dois na gude bot ever ill,
Thairfoir from my dure that thow go.
That will, allace! hes me begylit,
That will sa sair hes me defylit,
That will Thy presence hes me exilit;
Yit in at Thy dure lat me go.
To blame that will thow dois not rycht;
I gaif the ressoun, quhairby thow mycht
Haif knawin the day by the dark nycht,
In at my dure for to go.
Lord, I pray The with all my hart,
Of thy greit mercy remufe my smart;
Lat ane drop of Thy Grace be my part,
That in at thy dure I may go.
I haif spokin in my Scripture:
I will the deide of na creature;
Quha will ask mercy sall be sure,
And in at my dure for to go.
O Lord, quhais mercy is but end,
Quhairin ocht to The I did offend,
Grant me space my lyfe to amend,
That in at Thy dure I may go.
Remember thy sin, and als my smart,
And als for the quhat was my part;
Remember the speir that thirlit my hart,
thirlit: pierced
And in at my dure thow sall go.
And it war yit till do againe,
Rather or thow suld ly in paine
I wald suffer mair in certane,
That in at my dure thow mycht go.
I ask nathing of the, thairfoir,
Bot lufe for lufe to lay in stoir:
Gif me thy hart, I ask no moir,
And in at my dure thow sall go.
O Gracious Lord Celestiall,
As Thow art Lord and King Eternall,
Grant us grace that we may enter all,
And in at Thy dure for to go.
Quho is at my windo, quho?
Go from my windo, go;
Cry na mair thair, lyke ane stranger,
Bot in at my dure thow go.

[Johne, cum kis me now]

Johne, cum kis me now,
Johne, cum kis me now,
Johne, cum kis me by and by,
And mak no moir adow.
The Lord, thy God, I am,
That Johne dois the call,
Johne representit man
Be grace celestiall;
For Johne Goddis grace it is,
(Quha list till expone the same);
expone: interpret
Och, Johne, thow did amis,
Quhen that thow loste this name!
Hevin and eirth of nocht,
I maid thame for thy saik,
For ever moir I thocht,
To my lyknes the mak,
In Paradice I plantit the,
And maid the Lord of all
My creatures, not forbidding the
Nathing, bot ane of all.
Thus wald thow not obey,
Nor yit follow to my will,
Bot did cast thy self away,
And thy posteritie spill.
My justice condampnit the
To everlasting paine;
Man culd find na remedie
To by man fre againe.
Of pure lufe and meir mercy,
Myne awin Sone downe I send;
God become man for the,
For thy sin his lyfe did spend.
Thy attenement and peace to mak,
attenement: atonement
He sched His blude maist halie,
Suffering deith for thy saik,
Quhat culd he do moir for the?
It plesit Christ without desart
For his ennemie to die,
Suffering a speir to peirs his hart --
The cause was thy folie.
Beleve this; repent thy sin;
His deith haif ever in mynde,
Remissioun of sin lyis onlie thairin,
To thy Lord be never unkynde.
Quhen He ascendit, left Him behind
His word to reid and heir;
Quhen Antichrist wald the blind,
That thow suld geve Him na eir.
Bot quhen Sathan was lousit out of hell,
And had set man in my place,
All that he did, thow thocht it weill,
At him thow socht for grace,
Na thing regarding, how of me
All thing had thair creatioun,
Nor yit quhat Christ sufferit for the,
To redeme the from dampnatioun.
Bot the abhominatioun of desolatioun
Thow settis in the haly place,
Be Antichristis fals persuatioun,
My Sonnis passioun to deface,
Quhairfoir my justice movit me
My word fra the restraine,
And to thy lust to geve up the,
To traist in thingis vaine.
In mannis warkis than did thow traist,
Seiking helth, thow wist not quhair;
At thy deith thow did mistraist,
And sa fell in dispair.
Quhen I did draw ony to me
My Gospell to profes,
Thow did thame slay rycht cruellie,
Thinkand to do me service.
Thy service sall rewardit be
With everlasting paine,
And all that hait my work and me,
Except thay do abstaine.
Thus quhen thow was in dangerous case,
Reddie to sink in Hell,
Of my mercy and speciall grace,
I send the my Gospell.
My Prophetis call, my preichouris cry:
Johne cum kis me now,
Johne cum kis me by and by,
And mak no moir adow.
Ane spreit I am incorporate,
Na mortal e can me se,
Yit my word dois intimate,
Johne, how thow moste kis me.
Repent thy sin unfenyeitlie,
Beleve my promeis in Christis deith,
This kis of Faith will justifie the,
As my Scripture plainely saith.
Mak na delay, cum by and by,
Quhen that I do the call,
Lest deith do stryke the suddantlie,
And sa cum nocht at all.
Gif thow cum not quhill thow hes space,
Bot my Gospell dois contempne,
I will tak from the my grace,
And my word will the condampne.
Of all that cum I will none reject,
Na creature, greit nor small;
For Christis saik, I will thame accept,
And geve thame lyfe eternall.

[With huntis up]

With 'huntis up!', with 'huntis up!',
It is now perfite day,
Jesus, our King, is gaine in hunting,
Quha lykis to speid thay may.
Ane cursit fox lay hid in rox
rox: rocks
This lang and mony ane day,
Devoring scheip quhill he mycht creip;
Nane mycht him schaip away.
schaip: escape
It did him gude to laip the blude
Of yung and tender lambis;
Nane culd he mis, for all was his,
The yung anis with thair dammis.
anis: ones
The hunter is Christ, that huntis in haist,
The hundis ar Peter and Paull,
The Paip is the fox, Rome is the rox,
That rubbis us on the gall.
That creull beist, he never ceist
Be his usurpit power,
Under dispens to get our penneis,
Our saulis to devoir.
Quha culd devise sic merchandis
As he had thair to sell,
Onles it war proude Lucifer,
The greit maister off Hell?
He had to sell the tantonie bell,
tantonie bell: pardoners' bell
And pardonis thairin was;
Remissioun of sinnis, in auld scheip skinnis,
Our saulis to bring from grace.
With bullis of leid, quhyte wax and reid,
And uther quhylis with grene,
Closit in ane box, this usit the fox,
Sic peltrie was never sene.
peltrie: trivial rubbish
With dispensationis and obligationis,
According to his law,
He wald dispence, for money from hence,
With thame he never saw.
To curs and ban the sempill pure man,
That had nocht to fle the paine,
Bot quhen he had payit all to ane myit,
myit: small amount
He mon be absolvit than.
To sum, God wot, he gaif 'tot quot',
tot quot: on as many separate occasions (opening words of an indulgence)
And uther sum pluralitie,
Bot first with penneis he mon dispens,
Or ellis it will nocht be.
Kingis to marie, and sum to tarie,
tarie: delay
Sic is his power and mycht,
Quha that hes gold, with him will he hold,
Thocht it be contrair all rycht.
O blissit Peter, the fox is ane lier,
Thow knawis weill it is nocht sa;
Quhill at the last he salbe downe cast,
His peltrie, pardonis, and all.

[The Bischop of Hely]

The Bischop of Hely brak his neck,
Dishereist of his benefice,
Dishereist: disinherited
Cause he the preistis wald not correct,
Corruptand Goddis sacrifice;
Sen our Hely in his office
Is lyke in prevaricatioun,
He sall ressaif sic lyke justice,
Mak he nocht reformatioun.
The Levites at thair awin hand,
Thay reft their teind and mekle mair,
reft: stoleteind: tithe
Expres aganis Goddis command;
Thair huredome haitit He rycht sair.
Thairfoir God send thame sic cruell weir;
Thay tint the feild, the Ark was tane;
tint: lost
Hely fell downe throw suddane feir,
And brak his neck and coller bane.
Ophni and Phenis, your conscience remord,
remord: give remorse
Amend your lyfe, or in the feild
Ye salbe slaine; and ye, my Lord,
Quhilk hes the wyte that thay are keild,
wyte: blame
Helis jugement salbe your beild,
beild: shelter
And als your mortal ennemeis
Sall bruke, withoutin speir or scheild,
bruke: enjoy
Your office, evin befor your eyis.
For your abuse may be ane brother
To Tharis, als lyke in similitude
As ever ane eg was lyke ane uther,
Of Goddis word baith destitude;
And greit God in sanctitude,
Quhais power hes nocht taine ane end,
Sall send, with that same fortitude,
Siclyke on yow, except ye mend.
except: unless
All the exempillis of the Law
Ar writtin with greit diligence
For our saikis, that we stand aw
Of Goddis hie magnificence;
Of this we haif experience
Of divers natiounis round about,
For Inglis prelatis, Duche and Dence,
For thair abuse ar rutit out.
Reforme in tyme, leif your tyrannie;
First mend your lyfe, syne leirne to preiche;
Thocht wageour freiris faine wald lie,
wageour: wandering
The Treuth will furth, and will not leiche,
leiche: (?) hold back
For everie man dois uther teiche
And countis nocht your crueltie;
Except ye mend, I will nocht fleiche,
fleiche: flatten
Ye sall end all mischevuouslie.

[I am wo for thir wolfis sa wylde]

I am wo for thir wolfis sa wylde,
Quhilk neuer will convert
Thair fals indurit hart;
Sa lang the warld thay haif begylde,
And baneist us from Jesus Christ.
Greit cause thay haif for till repent,
Y[i]t will thay nocht do so,
Nouther for weill nor wo;
Thair blindit mynde can nocht consent,
That we are onlie savit be Christ.
Thair subtell slychtis now are spyit,
Be Christ the veritie;
Thair fals hypocresie
Throw all the warld is now outcryit,
Quhairwith thay baneist us fra Christ.
Thay brint and heryit Christin men,
heryit: harried
And flemit thame full far;
Thay said, thay did bot erre,
That spak of the Commandementis Ten,
Or red the word of Jesus Christ.
Heretykis thay did us call,
Curssand us nycht and day,
The treuth durst na man say;
Trew preichouris war forbidden all
To schaw the word of Jesus Christ.
Thay baneist thame in uncouth land,
Full mony hunder myle;
Quhair thay, in thair exile,
Leirnit better till understand
The trew word of Jesus Christ.
Nobill lordis of greit renowne
That favoris the Treuth,
On your saulis haif reuth
reuth: pity
And put thir Antechristis downe,
Quhilk wald suppres the Word of Christ.
Under cullour of commoun-weill
Thair cloikit subteltie,
And with greit crueltie
Eftir thay think to slay and keill
All that confes the Word of Christ.
For sa thay think to bleir your e,
And syne at yow to hount,
And do as thay war wount,
And will exerce thair tyrannie
On yow, and all that luiffis Christ.
Scotland was never in harder case
Sen Fergus first it wan;
The preistis we may sair ban,
Quhilk hes the wyte, that brak the peace,
For to put downe the Word of Christ.
And hunder thousand thay wald se
Yockit in till ane feild
Under thair speir and scheild;
Bot with the wyfis thay wald be
At hame, to smoir the Word of Christ.
smoir: smother
Defend na mair thir wolfis sa wylde,
Sa full of cruelnes;
Their cloikit halynes
Baith men and wyfis sa lang hes sylde,
sylde: blinded
And ar the verray Antichristis.

[The Paip, that pagane full of pryde]

The Paip, that pagane full of pryde,
He hes us blindit lang,
For quhair the blind the blind dois gyde,
Na wounder baith ga wrang;
Lyke prince and king, he led the regne
Of all iniquitie:
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
Bot his abominatioun
The Lord hes brocht to licht:
His Popische pryde and thrinfalde crowne
thrinfalde: triple
Almaist hes loste thair mycht.
His plak pardonis ar bot lardonis
plak: fourpennylardonis: deceits
Of new-fund vanitie.
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
His Cardinallis hes cause to murne,
His bischoppis borne aback,
His abbotis gat ane uncouth turne
Quhen schavelingis went to sack;
schavelingis: tonsuredsack: ruin
With burges wyffis thay led thair lyves,
And fure better nor we,
fure: got on
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
His Carmelitis and Jacobinis,
His Dominikis had greit [a]do;
His Cordeleiris and Augustinis,
Sanct Frances ordour to;
Thay sillie freiris mony yeiris
With babling bleirit our e:
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
The Sisteris Gray, befoir this day,
Did crune within thair cloister;
crune: croon
Thay feit ane freir thair keyis to beir --
feit: hired
The Feind ressave the foster!
foster: offspring
Syne in the mirk he weill culd wirk,
And kittill thame wantounlie:
kittill: tickle
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
The blind Bischop, he culd nocht preiche
For playing with the lassis;
The sillie freir behulffit to fleiche,
behulffit: behoved
For almous that he assis;
The curat, his Creid he culd nocht reid,
Schame fall the cumpanie.
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
The bischop he wald not wed ane wyfe,
The abbot not persew ane,
Thinkand it was ane lustie lyfe,
Ilk day to haif ane new ane;
In everie place ane uncouth face
His lust to satisfie:
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
The persoun wald nocht haif ane hure,
Bot twa, and thay war bony;
The vicar, thocht he was pure,
Behuifit to haif as mony;
The pareis preist, that brutall beist,
He polit thame privelie:
polit: shafted
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
Of Scotland-well, the freiris of Faill
The lymmerie lang hes lestit;
lymmerie: villainy
The monkis of Melros maid gude kaill
On Frydayis quhen thay fastit;
The syllie nunnis caist up thair bunnis,
bunnis: buttocks
And heisit thair hippis on hie:
heisit: heaved
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
Of lait I saw thir lymmaris stand
lymmaris: rascals
Lyke mad men at mischeif,
Thinking to get the upper hand
Thay luke efter releif;
Bot all in vaine, go tell thame plaine
That day will never be!
Hay trix, tryme go trix, under the grene wod tre.
O Jesu! gif thay thocht greit glie
To se Goddis word downe smorit;
The Congregatioun maid to flie,
Hypocrisie restorit,
With Messis sung and bellis rung
To thair idolatrie;
Marie, God thank yow, we sall gar brank yow
brank: bridle, curb
Befoir that tyme trewlie.
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