Woefully arrayed

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Tekst wordt toegeschreven aan John Skelton, eind 15e, begin 16e eeuw. Meer lezen?

Wofully araide,

My blode, man,

For thee ran,

It may not be naide;

My body blo and wanne,

Wofully araide.

Beholde me, I pray thee, with all thine whole reson,

And be not hard-herted for this encheson,

That I for thy saule sake was slaine in good seson,

Begylde and betraide by Judas fals treson;

Unkyndly entretid,

With sharpe corde sore fretid,

The Jewis me thretid,

They mowid, they grynned, they scornyd me,

Condempnyd to deth, as thou maist se,

Wofully araide.

Thus nakyd am I nailid, O man, for thy sake!

I love thee, then love me; why slepist thou? awake!

Remembir my tendir hart rote for thee brake,

With panys my vaynys constreyned to crake;

Thus toggid to and fro,

Thus wrappid all in woo,

Whereas neuer man was so,

Entretid thus in most cruell wyse,

Was like a lombe offerd in sacrifice,

Wofully araide.

Of sharpe thorne I haue worne a crowne on my hede,

So paynyd, so straynyd, so rufull, so red;

Thus bobbid, thus robbid, thus for thy loue ded,

Onfaynyd, not deynyd my blod for to shed;

My fete and handes sore

The sturdy nailis bore;

What might I suffir more

Than I haue don, O man, for thee?

Cum when thou list, wellcum to me,

Wofully araide.

Off record thy good Lord y haue beyn and schal bee;

Y am thyn, thou artt myne, my brother y call thee;

Thee love I enterly; see whatt ys befall me!

Sore bettyng, sore thretyng, too make thee, man, all free;

Why art thou unkynde?

Why hast nott mee yn mynde?

Cum yett, and thou schalt fynde

Myne endlys mercy and race;

See how a spere my hert dyd race,

Wofully araide.

Deyr brother, noo other thyng y off thee desyre

But gyve me thyne hert fre to rewarde myn hyre;

Y wrought thee, I bowght thee frome eternal fyre;

Y pray thee aray thee tooward my hyght empyre,

Above the oryent,

Wherof y am regent,

Lord God omnypotent,

Wyth me too reyn yn endlys welthe;

Remember, man, thy sawlys helthe.

Wofully araide,

My blode, man,

For thee ran,

It may not be naide;

My body blo and wanne,

Wofully araide.

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