THeyr dedes in effecte, my lyfe wolde haue
Theyr wordes do pretende, my lyuynge to craue
Theyr dedes I drede not, theyr wordes beynge suche
I drede and regarde, in maner as moche.
My lyfe is but vyle, I esteme as lyght
Then shulde I in gooddes, or lyuynge delyght
Whom matters and dedes, nought moueth at all
Shulde wynde and vayne wordes, his courage appall.
Not man vnto man, can threaten I wote
More greuous then death, the horryble lote
And be it that death, by sentence of man
I suffre and that, well suffre I can.
What shulde I regarde, this transytorie state
Regarde and thynke on, both early and late
I muste a newe lyfe, that euer shall laste
Subiecte to no death, no syckenesse, no waste.
Than welcome be death, the entrye of lyfe
And dewe to the worlde, the stage of all stryfe
Lyfe lost in this wyse, releuyth agayne
For euer in blysse, to lyue without payne.
From hence and herein, my comforte and staye
Reposed I haue, that can not decaye
God graunt me suche losse, that rayseth this gayne
God graunt me that death, suche lyfe to retayne.
In meane tyme and space, saye properly this
I maye and in place, Vana salus hominis.
☞Stephen Wynton.☜
YOur dedes in effecte, that made your lyfe braue
Hath caused your wordes, the truth to depraue
Your dedes ye forget not, your wordes beynge suche
You dryue on and drede not, all men se to moche.
Your lyfe hath ben lewde, whiche ye esteme lyght
Of force to leaue gooddes, no thanke to go quyght
Thoughe matters and dedes, nought moue you at all
Let God and his threates, your stowtenes appall.
For man vnto man, can nought threate ye wote
More greuous then death, that horryble lote
But yf ye haue death, that Iustyce gyue can
Drede then your desertes, and blame ye not man.
Amende and repente, your stobourne estate
That truthe hath neare tryed, but almoste to late
A patarne moste popysshe, from fyrste to the laste
As wylfull, as wyttie, whiche wante worketh waste.
I doubte the welcome of death, to that lyfe
Plased for Popes pageantes, in stage of moche stryfe
Lyfe lost in this wyse, releuyth agayne
As he that from blysse, returneth to payne.
From hence and herein, your comforte and staye
Reposed you haue, whiche nedes muste decaye
If God for this losse, do graunt ye dewe gayne
God shylde ye from death, suche lyfe to retayne.
In meane and space, our prayer is this
As we maye in place, God tourne to his.
☞H. S.☜