Classic Poem

Maiden moder milde,
Oiez cel oreysoun;
From shome thou me shilde
E de ly mal feloun;
For love of thine childe
Me menez de tresoun.
Ich wes wod and wilde,
Ore su en prisoun.

Thou art feir and free
E plein de doucour;
Of thee sprong the ble,
Ly soverein creatour;
Maide, biseche I thee
Vostre seint socour;
Meke and milde be with me
Pur la sue amour.

Tho Judas Jesum founde,
Donque ly beysa,
He wes bete and bounde
Que nus tous fourma.
Wide were his wounde
Que le Giw ly dona;
He tholede harde stounde,
Me poi le greva.

On stou as thou stode,
Pucele, tot pensaunt,
Thou restest thee under rode,
Ton fits veites pendant;
Thou seye his sides of blode,
L'alme de ly partaunt;
He ferede uch an fode
En mound que fust vivaunt.

His siden were sore,
Le sang de ly cora;
That lond wes forlore,
Mes il le rechata.
Uch bern that wes ibore
En enfern descenda.
He tholede deth, therfore,
En ciel puis mounta.

Tho Pilat herde the tidinge,
Molt fu joyous baroun;
He lette bifore him bringe
Jesu Nazaroun.
He was icrouned kinge
Pur nostre redempcioun.
Whose wol me singe
Avera grant pardoun.