Iesu, swete sone dere!
On porful bed list thou here,
And that me greveth sore;
For thi cradel is ase a bere,
Oxe and asse beth thi fere:
Weepe ich mai tharfore.
Iesu, swete, beo noth wroth,
Thou ich nabbe clout ne cloth
The on for to folde,
The on to folde ne to wrappe,
For iche nabbe clout ne lappe;
Bote ley thou thi fet to my pappe,
And wite the from the colde.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem