Alone walkyng, In thought pleynyng mourning And sore syghyng, Al desolate, Me remembryng remembering Of my lyvyng, my way of living My deth wyshyng wishing Bothe erly and late. Infortunate unfortunate Is soo my fate so That, wote ye whate? Oute of mesure beyond measure My lyfe I hate, Thus, desperate, In suche pore estate poor Do I endure. remain Of other cure Am I nat sure; not Thus to endure Ys hard, certayn! Suche ys my ure, use I yow ensure: assure What creature May have more payn? My trouth so pleyn truth Ys take in veyn, taken And gret disdeyn In remembraunce; remembrance Yet I ful feyn gladly Wolde me compleyn, Me to absteyn to avoid From thys penaunce. penance But, in substaunce, substance None allegeaunce alleviation Of my grevaunce grievance Can I nat fynd; not Ryght so my chaunce With displesaunce displeasure Doth me avaunce; advance And thus an end. Alone walk I, With many a sigh In secrecy, All desolate, And still review My life anew: For death I sue Both early and late. My fate doth grow So luckless now That--do you know? Beyond all telling My life I hate: Thus, desperate, In woeful state I still am dwelling. I am not sure Of any cure; ’Tis hard t’ endure With no relief! But certain ’tis, My state is this: What thing that is Could have more grief? My story plain Is taken in vain, With great disdain In recollection; Yet I would fain Alway complain, To shun the pain Of this correction! For which find I, Substantially, No remedy, My lot to mend; So fate, I see, Still draws on me More enmity-- And there’s an end! Notes by the Way.