O mother of the Saviour of the world,
Blesséd art thou, among all women blest,
For God himselfe within thy womb was curl'd,
And God himselfe did suckle at thy brest;
And he that dy'd and rose and quitt the tomb
Blossom'd within thy house and there did bloom.
The firstborn fruit of Gods inerrant seede,
Press'd like a bunch of grapes beneathe His wrath
Untill the Man of Sorrowes sore did bleede
And suffer more than any martyr hath,
Was offer'd vpp a sacrifice for mee
By Father God and, Mother Mary, thee.
Woman, behold thy Sonne, the glorifi'd,
Transfigur'd Kinge of Heauen; lion, lamb,
Messiah, God and man who liu'd and died
And liues againe for aye, and is I AM;
Like Abraham, the LORD did ask thy Sonne;
Like Abraham, thou saidst, Thy will be done.