Three Middle English Songs

Of on that is so fayr and bright
    Velut maris stella,
Brighter than the day is light,
    Parens et puella:
Ic crie to the, thou see to me,
Levedy, preye thi Sone for me,
    Tam pia,
That ic mote come to thee
    Maria.

 ... 

Levedy, flour of alle thing,
    Rose sine spina,
Thu bere Jhesu, hevene king,
    Gratia divina:
Of alle thu ber'st the pris,
Levedy, quene of paradys
    Electa:
Mayde milde, moder es
    Effecta.

In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
  And leves be large and long,
Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
  To here the foulys song.
 
To se the dere draw to the dale
  And leve the hilles so hee,
And shadow him in the leves grene
  Under the green-wode tree.
 
Hit befell on Whitsontide
  Early in a May mornyng,
The Sonne up faire can shyne,
  And the briddis mery can syng.
 
'This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne,
  'Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man than I am one
  Lyves not in Christiantè.
 
'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
  Litulle Johne can say,
'And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
  In a mornynge of May.'

Winter wakeneth al my care,
Now thise leves waxeth bare;
Ofte I sike and mourne sare
When hit cometh in my thoht
Of this worldes joie, hou hit geth al to noht.

Nou hit is, and nou hit nys,
Al so hit ner nere, ywys;
Al goth bote Godes wille:
Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.

Al that gren me graveth grene,
Nou hit faleweth al bydene:
Jehsu, help that hit be sene,
And shild us from helle!
For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.