Villon

THEY threw me from the gates: my matted hair

Was dank with dungeon wetness; my spent frame

O?  erlaid with marish agues: everywhere

Tortured by leaping pangs of frost and flame

So hideous was I that even Lazarus there 5

In noisome rags arrayed and leprous shame

Beside me set had seemed full sweet and fair

And looked on me with loathing.

But one came

Who laid a cloak on me and brought me in

Tenderly to an hostel quiet and clean; 10

Used me with healing hands for all my needs.

The mortal stain of my reputed sin

My state despised and my defil    d weeds

He hath put by as though they had not been.