Mar 29, 2005 01:53
'Blysful' quoth I, 'may thys be trwe?
Dyspleses not if I speke errour.
Art thou the quene of hevenes blwe,
That al thys worlde schal do honour?
We leven on Marye that grace of grewe,
That ber a barne of vyrgyn flour;
The crowne fro hyr quo moght remwe
Bot ho hir passed in sum favour?
Now, for synglerty o hyr dousour,
We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby,
That freles of hyr fasor,
Lyk to the quen of cortaysye.'