Classic Poem

I wende to dede, knight stithe in stoure!
Thurghe fight in felde I wane the flour.
Na fightes me taght the dede to quell:
Wend to dede, soth I you tell.

I wende to dede, a kinge, iwisse!
What helpes honor or werldes blisse?
Dede is to man the kinde way:
I wende to be clade in clay.

I wende to dede, clerk full of skill,
That couth with worde men mare and dill.
Sone has me made the dede ane ende:
Bese ware with me! To dede I wende!