Classic Poem

O lord, I dred, and that I did not dred
I me repent, and evermore desyre
The, the to dred. I open here and spred
My fawte to the, but thou, for thi goodnes,
Mesure it not in largenes nor in bred,
Punish it not, as askyth the grettnes
Off thi furour, provokt by my offence.
Tempre, O lord, the harme of my excesse
With mendyng will, that I for recompense
Prepare agayne; and rather pite me,
For I ame wek and clene withowt defence:
More is the nede I have of remede,
For off the hole the lech takyth no cure.
The shepe that strayth the sheperd sekes to se:
I lord ame strayd: I, sek withowt recure,
Fele al my lyms, that have rebelld for fere,
Shake in dispayre, onles thou me assure.