Classic Poem

On hire is al mi lif ylong
Of vam Ic wille singen;
And herien him þeramong,
thad gon us bote bringen
Of helle-pine þat is strong,
Ant brut us blisse þat is so long
Al þurut hire childinke.
We biddit hire in ure song,
He yef us god hendinke,
thau ve don wrong.

Al þis world hid sal agon
Wid serve and wid sore,
And al þis blisse Ic mot forgon,
Nofþingit me so sore.
this world nis bute ure fo,
tharfor Ic wille henne gon
And lernin Godis lore,
this worldis blis nis wurd a slo.
I bidde, God, þin hore,
Nu and hevermore.

To longe Ic abbe sot iben
Ful sorre Y me adrede;
Ylovid Ic abbe gomin and gle
And hevir favre wedin.
Al þad nis nout, ful wel Ic seo,
therfore we sulin ur sunnis flen
And ure sothede.
We biddit hire us to seo,
thad con wissin and redin,
that is so fre.

Heo is hele and lif ond licte
And helpit al moncunene;
Ho us havet ful vel idiit,
Ho yaf us wele and winne.
thu brutis us day, and Eve nith,
Heo brout wou, þu brout rid,
thu almesse, and heo sunne.
thu do us merci, lavedi brit,
Wene we sulin henne:
Ful wel þu mit.

Agult Ic have, waylaway,
Sunful Ic am a wreche,
thu do me merci, lavedi brit,
Ar det me henne wecche.
Yif me þi love, Ic am redi,
Let me live and amendi,
thad fendes me ne letten.
Of mine sunnin Ic am sori,
Of my lif Ic ne recche,
Lavedi, merci.