Classic Poem

Gabriel, fram Hevene King
Sent to the maide swete,
Broughte hire blisful tiding,
And faire he gan hire grete:
"Heil! be thu, full of grace aright,
For Godes sone, this Hevene light,
For mannes loven
Wile man becomen,
And taken
Fleas of the maiden bright,
Manken fre for to maken
Of senne and Devles might.'

Mildeliche him gan andsweren
The milde maiden thanne:
"Whiche wise sold ich beren
Child withuten manne?'
Th'angle seide, "Ne dred thee nought!
Thurw th'Holy Gast shall ben iwrought
This ilche thing,
Wharof tiding
Ich bringe.
All manken wurth ibought
Thurw thy swete childinge,
And ut of pine ibrought.'

Whan the maiden understud,
And th'angles wordes herde,
Mildeliche, with milde mud,
To th'angle hie andswerde:
"Ur Lordes theumaiden, iwis,
Ich am, that her aboven is.
Anenttis me,
Fulfurthed be
Thy sawe,
That ich, sithen his wil is,
Maiden, withuten lawe,
Of moder have the blis.'

Th'angle went awey mid than
All ut of hire sight.
Hire womb arise gan
Thurw th'Holy Gastes might.
In hire was Christ beloken, anon,
Soth God, soth man, ine fleas and bon,
And of hir fleas
Iboren was
At time,
Wharthurw us cam god won:
He bought us ut of pine,
And let him for us slon.

Maiden, moder, makeles,
Of milche ful ibunde,
Bid for us him that thee ches,
At wham thu grace funde,
That he forgive us senne and wrake,
And clene of evry gelt us make,
And Hevne blis,
Whan ure time is
To sterven,
Us give for thine sake,
Him so her for to serven
That he us to him take.