A. C. Cawley
I had wende surer I sholde you haue founde.
He that trusteth in his Strength,
She hym deceyueth at the length.
Bothe Strength and Beaute forsaketh me;
Yet they promysed me fayre and louyngly.
Eueryman, I wyll after Strength be gone.
As for me, I wyll leue you alone.
Why, Dyscrecyon, wyll ye forsake me?
Ye, in faytyh, I wyll go fro the,
For whan Strength goth before
I folowe after euer more.
Yet, I pray the, for the loue of the Trynyte,
Loke in my graue ones pyteously.
Nay, so nye wyll I not come.
Fare well, euerychone!