Sinfonye - Gabriel fram evene king | Текст песни

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• Sinfonye
• Gabriel fram evene king

Gabriel, fram evene king
Sent to the maide swete,
Broute hire blisful tiding,
And faire he gan hire greten:
"Heil be thu, ful of grace arith,
For Godes Sone, this evene lith,
For mannes loven
Wile man bicomen
And taken
Fles of thee, maiden brith,
Manken fre for to maken
Of senne and devles mith."

Mildeliche im gan andsweren
The milde maiden thanne:
"Wichewise sold ichs beren
Child withhuten manne?"
Thangle seide, "Ne dred te nout;
Thurw tholigast sal ben iwrout
This ilche thing
Warof tiding
Ichs bringe.
Al manken wrth ibout
Thur thi swete chiltinge,
And hut of pine ibrout."

Wan the maiden understud
And thangles wordes herde,
Mildeliche with milde mud
To thangle hie andswerde:
"Hur Lordes theumaiden iwis
Ics am, that her aboven is.
Anenttis me
Fulfurthed be
Thi sawe,
That ics, sithen his wil is,
Maiden withhuten lawe
Of moder have the blis."

Thangle wente awei mid than
Al hut of hire sithte;
Hire wombe arise gan
Thurw tholigastes mithe.
In hire was Crist biloken anon:
Suth God, soth man ine fleas and bon,
And of hir fleas
Iboren was
At time,
Warthurw us kam God won.
He bout us hut of pine
And let im for us slon.

Maiden moder makeles,
Of milche ful ibunden,
Bid for hus im that thee ches,
At wam thu grace funde,
That he forgive hus senne and wrake,
And clene of evri gelt us make;
And evne blis
Wan hure time is
To sterven
Hus give for thine sake
Him so her for to serven
That he us to him take.

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