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Edi beo thu heven quene folkes froove & engles blis
maid unwemmed modher cleene swich in world non other nis
on the hit is wel ethseene of alle wimmen thu hast the pris
mi sweete leudi heer mi beene & rew ot me ghif thi will is.
Thu astighe so dairewe deleth from the derke night
of the sprong a leeme neue al this world hit hath ilight
nis no maid of thine hewe so fair so scheene so rudi so bright
mi leudi sweet of me thu rewe & have merci of thi knight.
Sprunge blostm of one roote th'oli gost thee rest upon;
that was for mankines boote her soul aleese for on.
Leudi milde, soft and swoot, ich crie merci, ich am thi mon,
to honde bothen and to foot on allewise that ich kon.
Erth tu of goode seede on thee lighte th'even dew;
of thee sprong that edi bleede th'oli gost it on thee sew.
Bring us ut of kar, of dreede that Eve bitterlich us brew;
thu shalt us into hevne leede; wel sweet is us thet ilke dew.
Moder ful of thewes heende, maide dreigh and wel itaugh,
ich am in thi luvebeende and to thee is al mi draught.
Thu me schild ye from the feend, as thu art free and wilt and maught,
and help me to mi lives eend and make with thi sune saught.
Angelo Branduardi
Edi Beo Thu, Heven Quene
Edi Beo Thu, Heven Quene
Edi beo thu heven quene folkes froove & engles blis
maid unwemmed modher cleene swich in world non other nis
on the hit is wel ethseene of alle wimmen thu hast the pris
mi sweete leudi heer mi beene & rew ot me ghif thi will is.
Thu astighe so dairewe deleth from the derke night
of the sprong a leeme neue al this world hit hath ilight
nis no maid of thine hewe so fair so scheene so rudi so bright
mi leudi sweet of me thu rewe & have merci of thi knight.
Sprunge blostm of one roote th'oli gost thee rest upon;
that was for mankines boote her soul aleese for on.
Leudi milde, soft and swoot, ich crie merci, ich am thi mon,
to honde bothen and to foot on allewise that ich kon.
Erth tu of goode seede on thee lighte th'even dew;
of thee sprong that edi bleede th'oli gost it on thee sew.
Bring us ut of kar, of dreede that Eve bitterlich us brew;
thu shalt us into hevne leede; wel sweet is us thet ilke dew.
Moder ful of thewes heende, maide dreigh and wel itaugh,
ich am in thi luvebeende and to thee is al mi draught.
Thu me schild ye from the feend, as thu art free and wilt and maught,
and help me to mi lives eend and make with thi sune saught.
