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 thе deorke nicht;
Of thee sprong a leomе 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