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To Maria Sweete and benygne mother and maid (Medieval Poem) Sweet and benign mother and maid, Turtledove true, flower of women all, Aurora bright, clear as the day, Noblest of hue, thus we you call; Lily fragrant eye of the valley Revived with bemys of glory In whom never was founded sin So fair, so good, was never non; Your place therefore transcends Angels all and saints each one; Next unto God, such is the grace. Lo, the mekenes thee did purchase me Ever in joy so to endure In the great land, oh princess pure. Surmounting is thin excellence, Thou rose of great value, thou flower of May like Phoebus in his rising plethoric of celestial there where you dwell for the eternity Lady without peer, this is undeniable, Empress of hell also of right, In you is also our anchor placed Against storms of cruel sin That to drag us do strongly; And while we this world be in Now, lady beautiful, do not fail us. Allow never vice on us prevail; beg to your baby, celestial queen Who will not deny you Since here is nothing but misery, The fiend, the flesh, the world also Assault us ever without mercy, Not comfortless yet is our woe: Lady to you we resort Ever trusting in your grace and aid In whom fully woe trust is layde. Suitte and service we owe, majesty, To the highnesses of very due, As royal most by pedigré None like you in grace or virtue Lovely lady, the servants true, Ensnared with passions wilde, In time of need strengthen and protect; Save them from sin and worldly shame That who worship you with humble heart; And to your Son, Jesus by name, Not cease to pray that we not suffer. Lord, your judgment we may not scape We hopr for you grace us high In worship of your mother bright. Original Version Swete and benygne moder and may, Turtill trew, flowre of women alle, Aurora bryght, clere as the day, Noblest of hewe, thus we thee calle; Lylé fragrant eke of the walle, Ennewid with bemys of blys In whom never was founden mys: So fayre, so good, was never non; Transcendyng is therfor thi place Aungels alle and seyntis echone; Next unto God, such is thi grace. Lo, thi mekenes thee did purchace Ever in joy so to endure In thi grete lande, o princes pure. Surmountyng is thin excellence, Thou rose of prys, thou flowre of May, And Phebus lyke in his ascence, Natyff of blys where thou art ay, Lady saunzpere, this is no nay, Empres of helle also of righte, In thee is eke owre anker pight Stormys ageyne of cruell syn That puyssauntlye us do assayle; And hwile we this world be yn Now, lady fayre, thou us not fayle. Lat never vice on us prevayle; Entrete thi babe so, quene on hie In whom to thee is no denye. Sith here is nought but myserie, The fende, the fleish, the world also Assaute us ay withoute mercy, Not comfortles yit is owre wo: Lady, to thee resorte we do, Evyr tristying thi grace and ayde, In whom fully owre trist is layde. Sewte and service we owe, pardé, To thi highnesse of very due, As royall most by pedigré None lyke of grace ne of vertu. Lovely lady, thi servauntes trew, Entrikid with passiouns wylde, In tyme of nede socour and shilde; Save hem fro syn and worldly shame That thee worship with humble herte; And to thi son, Jesus by name, Not sete to pray that we not smert. Lord, thi jugement we may not sterte Evere therfor thi grace us hight In worship of thi modere bright. Sources: Medieval Poems Dedicated to the Celebration and Praise of our Mother Virgin Mary (Translated by José Antonio Alonso Navarro, EADE / University of Wales in Málaga) Poems in Celebration of MaryEdited by Karen Saupe Originally Published in Middle English Marian Lyrics Kalamazoo, Michigan: Medieval Institute Publications, 1998 (http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/teams/picof85.htm )
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