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Sedmerä radost panny Marie,

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Tez y do dne fudneho.

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czoz gyelt lydu bylo koly,
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Ymagycz [we [rdeze w tey woly,
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Nade wífyechno gy chwalecze,
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Gyedyneho boha wyecze,

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Wifak nebylo lzye toho,
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Willychny ty, acz by y mnoho
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flozyly chwaly od te ruozye,

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Ot marye, matky bozye.

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Yaz pak, czlowek nedomyllny,
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W tey zadney chwale nelmyllny,
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W tu [em [ye w praczy vwazal, |
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gyehoz bych pyfmem dokazal,
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acz nemnoho, ale malo.

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Ach boze, by fye to Italo,

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Bych mohl to floweze wymyflyty,
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yenz by [ye mohlo Ilybyty
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Tobye, tworcze, y twe matczye,
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Racz [e mnu byty na poczatczye.
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Gelcze gyne chczy rzeczy:
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Wzdechny frdcze, wzplaczta oczy,
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Rucze fepnyeta [ye wzhuoru,
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Gdyeta nozye v pokoru;

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Myll [ye nawrat k [wemu ([palu,
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Vita mlvwte w kazdem czalu

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Ot marzje, ') matky bozye.

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Ta gyelt nas wífyech chudych Ibozye.

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Iazyk, taczy*) Imylly mogy,

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') z přeškrtnuto. ?) Snad za yaczy aneb w/yczy.

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