Classic Poem

As I wandrede her by weste
Faste under a forest side,
I seigh a wight went him to reste;
Under a bough he gon abide.
Thus to Crist full yeorne he criyede,
And bothe his hondes he held on heigh:
“Of povert, plesaunce, and eke of pride,
Ay mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!”

God, that I have igrevet thee
In wille and werk, in word and dede,
Almighty Lord, have mercy of me
That for my sunnes thy blod gon schede!
Of wit and worschupe, weole and wede,
I thonke thee, Lord, full inwardly;
All in this world, howevere I spede,
Ay mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Graunt-mercy, God, of all thy gifte,
Of wit and worschupe, weole and wo;
Into thee, Lord, min herte I lifte;
Let never my dedes twinne us atwo.
Mercy that I have misdo,
And sle me nought sodeynly!
Though Fortune wolde be frend or fo,
Ay mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

I am unkinde, and that I knowe,
And thou hast kud me gret kindenes;
Therfore with humbel herte and lowe,
Mercy and forgivenes
Of pride and of unboxumnes!
Whatever thy sonde be, thus sey I,
In hap and hele, and in seknes,
Ay mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Graunt-mercy, God, of all thy grace,
That fourmed me with wittes five,
With feet and hond, and eke of face,
And liflode, whil I am alive:
Sithen thou hast give me grace to thrive,
And I have ruled me rechelesly,
I weore to blame and I wolde strive—
But mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Mercy that I have misspent
My wittes five! Therfore I wepe.
To dedly sinnes ofte have I asent,
Thy Commaundements couthe I never kepe;
To sle my soule in sunne I slepe,
And lede my lif in lechery;
From covetise couthe I nevere crepe—
Ay mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Of othes grete and glotony,
Of wanhope and of wikked wille,
Bakbite my neighebors for envy,
And for his good I wolde him culle,
Trewe men to robbe and spille,
Of simony and with surquidri—
Of all that evere I have don ille,
Ay mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

By lawe I scholde no lengor live
Then I hedde don a dedly sinne;
Graunt-mercy that ye wolde forgive,
And geve me space to mende me inne!
From wikked dedes and I wolde twinne,
To receive me ye be redy
Into thy blisse that never schal blinne:
Now mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Graunt mercy, for thou madest me,
Mercy, for I have don amis!
Min hope, min help is hol in thee,
And thou hast yore biheight me this:
Whos-evere is baptized schal have bliss,
And he rule him rightwisly.
To worche thy wille, Lord, thou me wis—
Now mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Sothfast God, what schal I say?
How schulde I amendes make,
That plesed thee nevere into this day,
Ne schop me nought my sunnes forsake?
But schrift of mouthe my sunnes schal slake,
And I schal sece and beo sory;
And to thy mercy I me take—
Now mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!

Fader and Sone and Holigost,
Graunt-mercy, God, with herte light,
For thou woldest not that I weore lost.
The Fader hath given me a might;
The Sone a science and a sight,
And wit to welde me worschupely;
The Holigost ur grace hath dight.
Now mercy, God, and graunt mercy!

This is the Trone that twinned nevere,
And preved is persones three,
That is and was and schal ben evere
Only God in Trinite:
Help us, Prince of alle pite,
At the day that we schal dy,
Thy swete face that we may see.
Now mercy, God, and graunt-mercy!