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!