To you that lyfe possess grete troubles do befall,
When we that slepe by Dethe do feel no harm at all.
An honeste lyfe dothe bringe a joyfull deathe at last,
And lyfe agayne begins when dethe is once past.
My louinge ffoxe ffarewell, God guyde thee with his grace,
Prepare thyselfe to come and I will geve the place.
My children all adewe, and be ryghte sure of this,
You shal be brought to Duste as emma ffoxe your Mother is.