Seynt Stevene was a clerk in Kyng Herowd{.e}s halle,
And servyd him of bred and cloth, as every kyng befalle.
Stevyn out of kechone cam, wyth boris hed on honde;
He saw a sterre was fayr and bryght over Bedlem stonde.
He kyst adoun the boris hed and went in to the halle:
‘I forsak the, Kyng Herowd{.e}s, and thi werkes all{.e}.’
‘I forsak the, Kyng Herowd{.e}s, and thi werkes alle;
Ther is a chyld in Bedlem born is beter than we alle.’
‘Quat eylyt the, Stevene? quat is the befall{.e}?
Lakkyt the eyther mete or drynk in Kyng Herowdes halle?’
‘Lakit me neyther mete ne drynk in Kyng Herowd{.e}s halle;
Ther is a chyld in Bedlem born is beter than we alle.’
‘Quat eylyt the, Stevyn? Art thu wod, or thu gynnyst to brede?
Lakkyt the eyther gold or fe, or ony ryche wed{.e}?’
‘Lakyt me neyther gold ne fe, ne non rych{.e} wed{.e};
Ther is a chyld in Bedlem born xal helpyn us at our nede.’
‘That is al so soth, Stevyn, al so soth, iwys.
As this capoun crowe xal that lyth here in myn dysh.’
That word was not so son{.e} seyd, that word in that halle,
The capoun crew Cristus natus est! among the lord{.e}s all{.e}.
‘Rysyt up, myn turmentowres, be to and al be on,
And ledyt Stevyn out of this toun, and stonyt hym wyth ston!’
Tokyn he Stevene, and stonyd hym in the way,
And therfore is his evyn on Cryst{.e}s owyn day.
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