Classic Poem

Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me.

Vueilles not, O Lord,
Take me in your wrath,
Moy, who irritated you ay:
Does your terrible fury
Punish me of the horrible
Torment, Ay merited.

Ains, Lord, vien estendre
Upon me thy tender mercy,
Because I feel sick.
Doncques health gives me:
Astonished because my great evil
Wholes my bones, and my senses:

And my spirit is troubled
Greatly, and the double
In extreme soucy.
O Lord full of grace,
How long will it,
That lairras me?

Alas, sire, returns:
In round on me destourne
This wonderful esmoy.
Certainly great is my Faulte,
But by thy mercy haulte,
Dying care Avg.

Because in the cruel death
It is a new toy,
Memory, not reputation.
Who do you, who die,
Who rents, and chant
In the pit thy name?

Every night the both works,
That bed, It Shalit, and straw,
I drown in tears fays:
And water 'drip
Goes my entire layer,
By so much weep.

My eye constantly crying
Of despit, and destresse,
Ung in great disorder is mys:
It is envieilly of ire,
Avg round to gaze upon laugh
My greatest foes.

Sus, sus, rear iniquitous
Deslogez tyrannical
Avg of wholes in foys:
Because God debonnaire
My regular plaincte
A well ouy voice.

The Lord back
Has no mys my prayer,
Exaulce me of cieulx:
Receu my demand
And asks him what
Has given me, and had rather.

Doncques become ashamed
And vaincuz stand
My opponents wholes.
That every one of eulx is eslongne
Undergoes in large 'vergongne,
Then God is me if dOulx.