Alone walking

Alone walking,
In thought pleyning,
And sore sighing,
All desolate,
Me remembring
Of my living,
My deth wishing,
Bothe erly and late,

Infortunate
Is so my fate,
That wote ye what:
Out of mesure
My lyf I hate.
Thus desperate
In pore estate

Do I endure.
Of other cure
Am I nat sure;
Thus to endure
Is hard, certain.
Such is my ure,
I yow ensure.
What creature
May have more pain?

My trouth so pleyn
Is take in veyn,
And gret disdeyn
In remembraunce;
Yet I ful feyn
Wold me compleyn,
Me to absteyn

Fyom this penaunce.
But in substaunce
Noon allegeaunce
Of my grevaunce
Can I nat finde.
Right so my chaunce
With displesaunce
Doth me avaunce.
And thus an ende.