Classic Poem

At the time of Matines, Lord, thu were itake,
And of thine disciples sone were forsake.
The felle Jewes thee token in that iche stounde,
And ledden thee to Caiphas, thine handis harde ibounde.

We honuren thee, Christ, and blissen thee with vois,
For thu boutest this werd with thine Holy Crois.

At Prime, Lord, thu were ilad Pilat beforn,
And there wol fals witnesse on thee was iborn.
He smiten thee under the ere and seiden, ‘Who was tat?’
Of hem thy faire face foule was bespat.

At Underne, Lord, they gunnen thee to crucifiye,
And clotheden thee in pourpre, in scoren and in enviye.
With wol kene thornes icorowned thu were,
And on thy sulder to thy peines thine Holy Crois thu bere.

At Midday, Lord, thu were nailed to the Rode,
Betwixen tweiye theves, ihanged all on blode.
For thy pine thu wexe athrist and seidest, ‘Sicio’.
Galle and eisil they yeven thee to drinken tho.

At the heiye Non, Lord, thu toke thy leve
And into thy Fader hond the Holy Ghost thu yeve.
Longis, the knight, a sarp spere all to thine herte pithte.
The erde quakede and tremlede, the sunne les hire lithte.

Of the Rode he was idon at the time of Evesong;
Mildeliche and stille he suffrede all here wrong.
Swich a deth he underfong that us helpen may.
Allas! the crune of joiye under thornes lay.

At Cumplin time he was ibiriyed, and in a ston ipith,
Jesu Christe's swete body, and so seit Holy Writh,
Enoint with an oniment—and than was cumpliyed
That beforn of Jesu Christ was ipropheciyed.

This iche holy orisoun of thy Passioun
I thenke to thee, Jesu Christ, with devocioun,
That thu that suffredest for me harde piningge
Be my solas and my confort at my last endingge.