The Ox he openeth wide the Doore
And from the Snowe he calls her inne,
And he hath seen her smile therefore,
Our Ladye without Sinne.
Now soone from Sleepe
A Starre shall leap,
And soone arrive both King and Hinde;
_Amen, Amen_:
But oh, the place co'd I but finde!
The Ox hath husht his voyce and bent
Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow,
And on his lovelie Neck, forspent,
The Blessed lays her Browe.
Around her feet
Full Warme and Sweete
His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell;
_Amen, Amen_:
But sore am I with Vaine Travel!
The Ox is host in Juda's stall,
And Host of more than onelie one.
For close she gathereth withal
Our Lorde her littel Sonne.
Glad Hinde and King
Their Gyfte may bring,
But wo'd to-night my Teares were there,
_Amen, Amen_:
Between her Bosom and His hayre!
