Classic Poem

My folk, now answere me,
And sey what is my gilth.
What might I mor ha don for thee
That I ne have fulfilth?

Out of Egypte I broughte thee,
Ther thu wer in thy wo:
And wickedliche thu nome me
Als I hadde ben thy fo.

Over all abouten I ledde thee,
And oforn thee I yede:
And no frenchipe fond I in thee
Whan that I hadde nede.

Fourty wenter I sente thee
Angeles mete fro Hevene:
And thu heng me on Rode Tre,
And greddest with loud stevene.

Heilsum water I sente thee
Out of the harde ston:
And eisil and galle thu sentest me—
Other yef thu me non.

The see I parted asunder for thee,
And ledde thee thoru wol wide:
And the herte blod to sen of me
Thu smettest me thoru the side.

Alle thy fon I slow for thee,
And made thee cout of name:
And thu heng me on Rode Tre,
And dedest me michil shame.

A kinges yerde I thee betok,
Till thu wer all beforn:
And thu heng me on Rode Tre
And corownedest me with a thorn.

I made thine enemies and thee
For to ben knowen asunder:
And on an hey hil thu henge me,
All the werld on me to wonder.