_Of a rose, a lovely rose,_
_Of a rose is all my song._
Listen, lordings, both eld and ying,
How this rose began to spring;
Such a rose to my liking
In all this world ne know I none.
The angel came from heaven’s tower
To greet Mary with great honour,
And saidë she should bear the flower
That should break the fiendës bond.
The flower sprung in high Bethlem,
That is bothë bright and sheen;
The rose is Mary, heaven’s queen,
Out of her bosom the blossom sprung.
The firstë branch is full of might,
That sprung on Christëmass night;
The star shone over Bethlem bright
That is both broad and long.
The second branch sprung to hell,
The fiendës power down to fell;
Therein might none soulë dwell;
Blessed be the time the rose sprung.
The third branch is good and swote,
It sprang to heaven crop[30] and root,
Therein to dwell and be our boot,
Every day it showeth in priestës hand.
Pray we to her with great honour,
She that bare the blessed flower,
She be our help and succoúr,
And shield us from the fiendës bond.
[30] Tip.