The spear all to his heart
And through his side is gone.

Oft when I syke, _sigh._
With care I am through-sought; _searched through._
When I wake I wyke; _languish._
Of sorrow is all my thought.
Alas! men be wood _mad._
That swear by the rood _swear by the cross._
And sell him for nought
That bought us out of sin.
He bring us to wynne, _may he: bliss._
That hath us dear bought!


I add two stanzas of another of like sort.

Man that is in glory and bliss,
And lieth in shame and sin,
He is more than unwis _unwise._
That thereof will not blynne. _cease._
All this world it goeth away,
Me thinketh it nigheth Doomsday;
Now man goes to ground: _perishes._
Jesus Christ that tholed ded _endured death._
He may our souls to heaven led _lead._
Within a little stound. _moment._

Jesus, that was mild and free,
Was with spear y-stongen; _stung_ or _pierced._