Classic Poem

L ULLAY , lullay, litel child,
Thu that were so sterne and wild,
Nou art become meke and mild,
To sauen that was forlore.

But for my senne I wot it is
That godis sone suffret this;
Merci, lord! I haue do mis,
I-wis I wile no more.

Agenis my fadris wille I ches
An appel with a reuful res;
Werfore myn heritage I les,
And nou thu wepist therfor.

An appel I tok of a tre,
God it hadde for-boden me;
Werfore I sulde dampned be,
ef thi weping ne wore.

Lullay for wo, thu litel thing,
Thou litel barun, thou litel king;
Mankindde is cause of thi murning,
That thou hast loued so ore.

For man that thu hast ay loued so
et saltu suffren peines mo,
In heued, in feet, in hondis to,
And et wepen wel more.

That peine vs make of senne fre,
That peine vs bringge, Jesu, to the,
That peine vs helpe ay to fle,
The wikkede fendes lore. Amen.