Classic Poem

For trewthe telleth that loue:is triacle of hevene;
May no synne be on him sene:that useth that spise,
And alle his werkes he wrou3te:with loue as him liste;
And lered it Moises for the levest thing:and moste like to heuene,
And also the plante of pees:moste precious of vertures.
For hevene myghte noughte holden it:it was so hevy of hym-self,
Tyl it hadde of the erthe:yeten his fylle,
And whan it haved of this folde:flesshe and blode taken,
Was neuere leef upon lynde:lighter ther-after,
And portatyf and persant:as the poynt of a nedle,
That myghte non armure it lette:ne none heigh walles.
For-thi is love leder:of the lordes folke of hevene,
And a mene, as the maire is:bitwene the kyng and the comune;
Right so is love a ledere:and the lawe shapeth,
Upon man for his mysdedes:the merciment he taxeth.
And for to knowe it kyndely:it comseth by myght,
And in the herte, there is the hevede:and the heigh welle.