Classic Poem

My trewest tresowre sa trayturly was taken,
Sa bytterly bondyn wyth bytand bandes,
How sone of thi seruandes was thou forsaken,
And lathly for my lufe hurld with thair handes.

My well of my wele sa wrangwysly wryed,
Sa pulled owt of preson to pilate at prime;
Thaire dulles and thaire dyntes ful drerely thou dreed
Whan thai schot in thi syght bath slauer and slyme.

My hope of my hele sa hyed to be hanged,
Sa charged with thi crosce and corond with thorne,
Ful sare to thi hert thi steppes tha stanged —
Me thynk thi bak burd breke; it bendes for-borne.

My salue of my sare sa saryful in syght,
Sa naked and nayled thi ryg on the rode,
Ful hydusly hyngand, thai heued the on hyght,
Thai lete the stab in the stane all stekked that thar stode.

My dere-worthly derlyng, sa dolefully dyght,
Sa straytly vpryght streyned on the rode;
For thi mykel mekenes, thi mercy, thi myght,
Thow bete al my bales with bote of thi, blode.

My fender of my fose, sa fonden in the felde,
Sa lufly lyghtand at the euensang tyde;
Thi moder and hir menghe vnlaced thi scheld —
All weped that thar were, thi woundes was sa wyde.

My pereles prynce als pure I the pray,
The mynde of this myrour thou lat me noght mysse;
Bot wynd vp my wylle to won wyth the ay,
That thou be beryd in my brest and bryng me to blysse.