In lufe lacyd He hase my thoght, þat I sal neuer forgete.
Ful dere me thynk He hase me boght with blodi hende and fete. 80
For luf my hert es bowne to brest, when I þat faire behalde;
Lufe es fair þare it es fest, þat neuer will be calde;
Lufe vs reues þe nyght-rest, in grace it makes vs balde;
Of al warkes luf es þe best, als haly men me talde.
Na wonder gyf I syghand be, and sithen in sorow be sette: 85
Iesu was nayled apon þe tre, and al blody forbette.
To thynk on Hym es grete pyté—how tenderly He grette—
Þis hase He sufferde, man, for þe, if þat þou syn wyll lette.