This is no lif, alas, that I do lede

This is no lif, alas, that I do lede;
It is but deth as in lifes likenesse,
Endeless sorrow assured oute of drede,
Past all despeire and oute of all gladenesse.
Thus well I wote I am remedylesse,
For me nothing may comforte nor amende
Till deth come forthe and make of me an ende.
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