2. Wolcum Yole Wolcum be thou hevene king, Wolcum Yole! Wolcum, born in one morning, Wolcum for whom we sal sing! Wolcum, Thomas marter one, Wolcum, seintes lefe and dere, Wolcum, innocentes every one. Wolcum Twelfthe Day both in fere Wolcum be ye, Stevene and Jon, Wolcum be ye good Newe Yere. Wolcum! Candelmesse, Quene of bliss, Wolcum bothe to more and lesse. Wolcum be ye that are here, Wolcum alle and make good cheer. Wolcum alle another yere, 3. There is no rose There is no rose of such vertu As is the rose that bare Jesu, Alleluia.

Yule

T. a Beckett, 1st English martyr (Dec 29) beloved and dear the holy innocents, Dec. 28 Epiphany Eve, Jan. 5 St Stephen, Dec. 26, St John, Dec. 27 Candlemas, Feb. 2

bore

Wolcum bay thoo hevene king, Wolcum Yole! Wolcum, born in one morning, Wolcum for whom way sal sing! Wolcum, Thomas marter one, Wolcum, syntes layfe and dayre, Wolcum, eennocentes every one. Wolcum Twelfthe Die both in fayre Wolcum bay yay, Stayvene and Jon, Wolcum bay yay goad New Yair. Wolcum! Candelmesse, Quayne of bliss, Wolcum bothe toe more and lesse. Wolcum bay yay that are hair, Wolcum all and mak goad chair. Wolcum all another yair.

There is no rose of sich vertoo As is the rose that bar Jaysoo Alleluia

For in this rose conteined was Heaven and earth in littel space, Res miranda.

For in this rose contained was Hayven and erth in littel spass, Res miranda.

By that rose we may well see There be one God in persons three, Pares forma.

Bee that rose way my well say There bay one God in persons thray, Pares forma.

The aungels sungen the shepherds to: Gloria in excelsis Deo, Gaudeamus. Leave we all this werldly mirth, And follow we this joyful birth, Transeamus.

the angels sang to the shepherds:

The owngels sungen the shepherds toe: Gloria in excelsis Deo, Gaudeamus. Layve way all this werldly mirth, And follow way this joyful birth, Transeamus.

4. Balulalow O my deare hert, young Jesu sweit, Prepare thy creddil in my spreit, And I sall rock thee to my hert, And never mair from thee depart.

O mee dare hairt, yong Jaysu swyt, Prepare thee creddil in mee spryt, And I sall rock thay toe mee hairt, And never mare from thay daypairt.

But I sall praise thee evermoir with sanges sweit unto thy gloir; The knees of my hert sall I bow, And sing that richt Balulalow.

But I sall praise thay evermore with san(g)es swayt untoe thy glore; The Knays of my hairt sall ee boo, And sing that richt Baloolaloo.

5. As dew in Aprille I sing of a maiden That is makelees: King of alle kinges To her sone she chees. He cam also stille Ther his moder was As dewe in Aprille That falleth on the gras.

matchless, mateless chose as where/mother

Ee sing of a myden That is mahkelace King of all kings Toe her son shay chays Hay cahm also still Ther his moeder was As dew in Ahpril That falleth on the gras

He cam also stille To his modres bowr As dewe in Aprille That falleth on the flowr.

Hay cahm also still Toe his moedres boor As dew in Ahpril That falleth on the flure.

He cam also stille Ther his moder lay As dewe in Aprille That falleth on the spray.

Hay cahm also still There his moeder lie As dew in Ahpril That falleth on the spry.

Moder and maiden Was nevere noon but she: Wel may swich a lady Godes moder be.

Moeder and myden was never noan but shay: Well my swich a ladee God’s moeder bay.

such

This little Babb so few days old, Is come to reefle Satan's fold; All Hell doth at his presence quack (!!), Though hay himself for cold doe shack; For in this wayk unarmed wees The gatts of Hell hay will surprees.

6. This little Babe This little Babe so few days old, Is come to rifle Satan's fold; All Hell doth at his presence quake, Though he himself for cold do shake; For in this weak unarmed wise The gates of Hell he will surprise.

With tares hay feechts and wins the failed, His nakked breast stands for a shaild. His battering shot are babbish crees, His arrows lokes of wayping ees, His martial ensigns Cold and Nayd, And fayble Flesh his warrior's stayd.

With tears he fights and wins the field, His naked breast stands for a shield. His battering shot are babish cries, His arrows looks of weeping eyes, His martial ensigns Cold and Need, And feeble Flesh his warrior's steed.

His camp is pitched in a stall, His bulwark but a broken wall; The crib his trench, haystalks his stakks; Of shepherds hay his muster maks; And thus, as sure his foe toe wownd, The owngels' trumps alarum sound.

His camp is pitched in a stall, His bulwark but a broken wall; The crib his trench, haystalks his stakes; Of shepherds he his muster makes; And thus, as sure his foe to wound, The angels' trumps alarum sound. My soul with Christ join thou in fight; Stick to the tents that he hath pight. Within his crib is surest ward; This little Babe will be thy guard. If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy, Then flit not from this heavenly Boy.

pitched

My soul with Chreest join thoo in feecht; Stick toe the tents that hay hath peecht. Within his crib is surest ward; This little Bab will bay thee gard. If thoo wilt foil thee foes with joy, Then flit not from this heavenly Boy.

8. In freezing winter night Behold, a silly tender babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies, Alas, a piteous sight!

helpless

Bayhold, a silly tender bab, In frayzing winter neecht, In homely mahnger trembling lees, Alas, a piteous seecht!

The inns are full; no man will yield This little pilgrim bed. But forced he is with silly beasts In crib to shroud his head.

The inns are full; no man will yayld This little pilgrim bed. But forced hay is with silly baysts In crib to shroud his head.

This stable is a Prince's court, This crib his chair of State; The beasts are parcel of his pomp, The wooden dish his plate.

This stabble is a Prince's court, This crib his chair of Stat; The baysts are parcel of his pomp, The woeden dish his plat.

The persons in that poor attire His royal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from heav'n; This pomp is prized there.

The persons in that pore atteer His royal liveries wear; The Prince himself is come from heav'n; This pomp is preezed there.

With joy approach, O Christian wight, Do homage to thy King, And highly praise his humble pomp, which he from Heav'n doth bring. 10. Adam lay ybounden Adam lay ybounden, bounden in a bond, Four thousand winter thoughte he not too long; And al was for an apple, an apple that he took, As clerkes finden writen, writen in hir book. Ne hadde the apple taken been Ne hadde nevere Oure Lady ybeen hevene Queen. Blessed be the time that apple taken was: Therfore we mown singen Deo Gratias.

being

their had not heaven’s

With joy approach, O Christian weecht, Do homage toe thee King, And heechly pryse his humble pomp, which hay from Heav'n doth bring.

Adam lie iboonden, boonden in a bond Foor thoosand winter thoucht hay not toe long And all was for an apple, an apple that hay toke As clerkes feenden wreeten in hair boke. Nuh had the apple takuh bayn Nuh hadde never Oor Ladee ibaynuh hayvene Quayn Blessed bay the teem that apple takuh was Therefore way moon singen Deo Gratias

Out of your sleep Owt of your slepe aryse and wake, For God mankynd nowe hath ytake Al of a maide without eny make; Of al women she bereth the belle. And through a maide fair and wise Now man is made of full great price Now angels knelen to man’s service And at this time all this befell. Now man is brighter than the sun Now man in heav’n on high shall won Blessed be God this game is begun And his mother the Empress of Hell. That ever was thrall now is he free That ever was small now great is she Now shall God deem both thee and me Unto his bliss if we do well. Now man may to heven wende: Now heven and erthe to hym they bende: He that was foo now is oure frende: This is no nay that Y yowe telle. Now, blessyd brother, graunte us grace At domesday to se thy face And in thy courte to have a place, That we may there synge nowel.

a slave

Owt of your slayp arees and wak, For God mankeend nowe hath ytak Al of a myd without any mak; Of all women she bereth the bell. And through a maide fair and wise Now man is mad of full great prees Now owngels knaylen toe man’s servees And at this teeme all this befell. Now man is brichter than the sun Now man in heav’n on high shall won Blessed bay God this gam is begun And his mother the Empress of Hell. That ever was thrall noo is he fray That ever was small noo great is shay Now shall God daym both thay and may Untoe his bliss if way doe well. Now man my toe hayven wend: Now hayven and erthe to him thy bend: Hay that was foe noo is oor friend: This is no nay that ee you tell. Now, blessed brother, grownte us grass At domesdy toe say thee fass And in thee cowrte toe have a plass, That way my there sing noel.

Coventry Carol Lully, lulla, thow littell tine child, By, by, lully, lullay. O sisters too, How may we do For to preserve this day This poor yongling For whom we do singe, “By, by, lully, lullay.” Herod the King In his raging, Chargid he hath this day His men of might In his owne sight All yonge children to slay. That wo is me, Pore child, for thee, And ever morne and may For thi parting Nor say nor singe, “By, by, lully, lullay.”

Lullee, lulla, thoo littell teenay cheeld, Bee, bee, lullee, lullie. O sisters toe, Hoo my way doe For toe preserve this die This pore yongling For whoem way doe sing, “Bee, bee, lullee, lullie.” Herod the King In his rahging, Chargid hay hath this die His men of micht In his oon sicht All yong children toe sly. That woe is may, Pore child, for thay, And ever morne and my For thee parting Nor sy nor sing, “Bee, bee, lullee, lullie.”