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.
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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