Hevene Quene: Edi Beo Thu

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Peter Xifaras

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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 erteorthe to gode sede
On thee lighte heovene deugh
Of thee sprong theo edi blede
The Holy 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.

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