Classic Poem

Water and blod for thee I swete,
And as a thef I am itake;
I am ibounden, I am ibete,
And all it is, man, for thy sake.

I suffre Jewes on me to spete,
And all night with hem I wake,
To loken whan thu woldest lete
Thy senne for love of thy make.

My body is as red as ro,
Thornes prikken min hed fol sore;
My visage waxeth wan and blo;
I have so bled I may no more.

Min herte is forsmite ato,
All, mankinde, for love of thee:
To loken whan thu woldest go
Fro thy senne for love of me.

Thou thu will nought loven me,
Sithen I thee my love schewe,
Nedes I mot loven thee,
Ne be thu nevere so untrewe.

The nailes, the scourges, and the spere,
The galle, and the thornes sharpe—
Alle these moun witnesse bere
That I thee have wonnen with min harte.