Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1340–1400)

Thou mayde and mooder, doghter of thy sone,

Thou welle of mercy, sinful soules cure,

In whom that God, for bountee, chees to wone,

Thou humble, and heigh over every creature,

Thou nobledest so ferforth our nature,

That no desdeyn the Maker hadde of kinde,

His sone in blode and flesh to clothe and winde.

Withinne the cloistre blisful of thy sydes

Took mannes shap the eternal love and pees,

That of the tryne compas lord and gyde is,

Whom erthe and see and heven, out of relees,

Ay herien; and thou, virgin wemmelees,

Bar of thy body, and dweltest mayden pure,

The creatour of every creature.

Assembled is in thee magnificence

With mercy, goodnesse, and with swich pitee

That thou, that art the sonne of excellence,

Nat only helpest hem that preyen thee,

But ofte tyme, of thy benignitee,

Ful frely, er that men thyn help biseche,

Thou goost biforn, and art hir lyves leche.