Classic Poem

Lovely ter of lovely eiye,
Why dostu me so wo?
Sorful ter of sorful eiye,
Thu brekst mine herte ato.

Thu sikest sore,
Thy sorwe is more
Than mannis muth may telle:
Thu singest of sorwe
Manken to borwe
Out of the pit of helle.

I prud and kene,
Thu meke and clene,
Withouten wo or wile.
Thu art ded for me,
And I live thoru thee,
So blissed be that while.

Thy moder seet
How wo thee beet,
And therfore yerne she yerte.
To hire thu speke
Hire sorwe to sleke:
Swet sute wan thine herte.

Thine herte is rent,
Thy body is bent
Upon the Rode Tree.
The weder is went,
The Devil is shent,
Christ, thoru the might of thee.