Classic Poem

In a chirche ther I con knel,
This ender day is one morwening,
Me liked the servise wonder wel;
For-thy the lengere can I ling.
I seigh a clerk a book forth bring
That prikked was in many a plas;
Faste he soughte what he sholde sing,
And al was Deo Gracias .

Alle the queristres in that queer
On that word fast gan they cry:
The noise was good, and I drow neer
And called a preest ful prively,
And saide: " Sire, for your curtesy,
Tel me, if ye habbeth spas,
What it meneth, and for-why
Ye singe Deo Gracias ."

In silk that comely clerk was clad,
And over a lettorne leened he;
And with his word he made me glad,
And saide: " Sone, I shal telle thee.
Fader and Sone in Trinite,
The Holy Gost, ground of our gras,
Also ofte-sithe thanke we
As we say Deo Gracias .

" To thanke and blesse Him we been bounde
With al the mirthes that man may minne;
For al the world in wo was wounde
Til that He crepte into our kinne;
A lovesum birde He lighte withinne,
The worthiest that ever was;
And shedde His blood for oure sinne,
And therefore Deo Gracias ."

Then saide the preest: " Sone, by thy leve,
I moste saye forth my servise;
I praye thee take it nought in greve,
For thou hast herd al my devise,
Because why it is clerkes wise,
And Holy Chirche minde of it mas,
Unto the Prince so muchel of prise
For to singe Deo Gracias ."

Out of that chirche I wente my way,
And on that word was al my thought,
And twenty times I can say:
" God graunte that I foryete it nought."
Though I were out of bonchef brought,
What help were to me to saye " allas"?
In the name of God, whatever be wrought,
I shal say " Deo Gracias ". . . .