Alone Walking - Old Funeral

Alone walking, in thought plaining

And sore sighing, all desolate

Me remembring, of my living

My death wishing, both early and late

Infortunate, is so my fate

That vote ye what?

Out of measure

My life I hate, thus desperate

In soche pore eslate though I endure

Of other cure am I not sure

Thus to endure is hard, certain

Such is my cure I you ensure:

What creature may have more pain?

My truth so plain is taken in vain

And great disdain in remembrence;

Yet i full faine would me complain

Me to abstaine from this penence;

But in substaunce none Allegiance

Of my grevaunce can I not find:

Right so my chance with Displesance

Doeth me avance and thus an ende