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
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；
Used me with healing hands for all my needs.
The mortal stain of my reputed sin
My state despised and my defilèd weeds
He hath put by as though they had not been.