Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Ladé, helpe! Jhesu, mercé!

Timor mortis conturbat me.

Dred of deth, sorow of syn,

Trobils my hert ful grevysly;

My soule hit nyth with my lust then —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Fore blyndnes is a hevé thyng,

And to be def therwith only,

To lese my lyght and my herying —

Passio Christi conforta me.

And to lese my tast and my smellyng,

And to be seke in my body,

Here have I lost al my lykyng —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Thus God he geves and takys away,

And, as he wil, so mot hit be;

His name be blessid both nyght and daye —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Here is a cause of gret mornyng —

Of myselfe nothyng I se,

Save filth, unclennes, vile stynkyng —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Into this word no more I broght,

No more I gete with me, trewly,

Save good ded, word, wil, and thoght —

Passio Christi conforta me.

The fyve wondis of Jhesu Crist,

My midsyne now mot thai be,

The Fyndis pouere downe to cast —

Passio Christi conforta me.

As I lay seke in my langure,

With sorow of hert and teere of ye,

This caral I made with gret doloure —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Oft with these prayere I me blest,

In manus tuas, Domine,

Thou take my soule into thi rest —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Maré moder, merceful may,

Fore the joys thou hadist, lady,

To thi Sun, fore me thou pray —

Passio Christi conforta me.

Lerne this lesson of Blynd Awdlay:

When bale is hyest, then bot may be,

Yif thou be nyd nyght or day,

Say “Passio Christi conforta me”.