RYght myghty prỹces of euery crysten regyõ

I sende you gretynge moche hertly & grace

Right wel to gouern vpright your dominiõ

And all your lordes I greete in lyke cace

By this my lettre your hertes to enbrace

Besechynge you to prynte it in your mynde

How for your sake I toke on me mankynde

And as a lambe moost mekely dyde enclyne

To suffre the dethe for your redempcyon

And ye my kynges whiche do nowe domyne

Ouer my comons in terrestryall mancyon

By pryncely preemynence and Iuredyccyon

In your regall courtes do suffre me be rente

And my tender body with blode all besprente

Without my grace ye maye nothynge preuayle

Though ye be kynges for to mayntene your see

To be a kynge it may nothynge auayle

Buy yf my grace preserue his dygnyte

Beholde your seruauntes how they do tere me

By cruell othes now vpon euery syde

Aboute the worlde launcynge my woundes wyde

All the graces whiche I haue you shewed

Reuoule in mynde ryght ofte ententyfly

Beholde my body with blody droppes endewed

Within your realmes nowe torne so pyteously

Towsed and tugged with othes cruelly

Some my heed some myn armes and face

Some my herte do all to rente and race

They newe agayne do hange me on the rode

They tere my sydes and are nothynge dysmayde

My woundes they open and deuoure my blode

I god and man moost wofully arayde

To you complayne it maye not be denayde

Ye nowe do tug me / ye tere me at the roote

Yet I to you am chefe refuyte and boote

Wherfore ye kynges reygnynge in renowne

Refourme your seruauntes in your courte abused

To good example of euery maner towne

So that theyr othes whiche they longe haue vsed

On payne and punysshement be holly refused

Meke as a Lambe I suffre theyr grete wronge

I maye take vengeaunce thoughe I tary longe

I do forbere I wolde haue you amende

And graunte you mercy and ye wyll it take

O my swete brederne why do ye offende

Agayne to tere me whiche deyed for your sake

Lo se my kyndenes and frome synne awake

I dyde redeme you from the deuylles chayne

And spyte of me ye wyll to hym agayne

Made I not heuen the moost gloryous mansyon

In whiche I wolde be gladde to haue you in

Now come swete bretherne to myn habytacyon

Alas good brederne with your mortall synne

Why flee ye from me / to torne agayne begynne

I wrought you I bought you ye can it not denye

Yet to the deuyll ye go nowe wyllyngly