The Ox he openeth wide the Doore, 
And from the Snowe he calls her inne, 
And he hath seen her Smile therefor, 
Our Ladye without Sinne. 
Now soon from Sleep 
A Starre shall leap, 
And soone arrive both King and Hinde: 
   ~Amen, Amen:~ 
But O, the Place co'd I but finde! 

The Ox hath hush'd his voyce and bent 
Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow, 
And on his lovelie Neck, forspent, 
The Blessed layes 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 Judah 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!