Most wretched hart most myserable

Most wretched hart most myserable,
Syns the comforte is from the fled,
Syns all the trouthe is turned to fable,
Most wretched harte why arte thow nott ded ?

No ! no ! I lyve and must doo still,
Whereof I thank God and no mo.
Ffor I me selff have all my will,
And he is wretched that wens hym so.

Butt yete thow hast bothe had, and lost
The hope so long that hathe the fed,
And all thy travayle, and thy cost;
Most wretched harte why arte thow nott ded ?

Som other hope must fede me new ;
Yff I have lost, I say, what tho?
Dyspayre shall nott throwghe ynsew
For he is wretched that wenys hym so.

The Sonne the mone doeth frowne on the,
Thou hast darkenes in daylyghtes stede,
As good in grave as soo to be ;
Moost wretched hert why art thou not ded ?

Some plesaunt sterre may shewe me light
But tho the heven wold worke me woo,
Who hath himself shal stand up right,
And he is wretched that wens him soo.

Hath he himself that is not sure ?
His trust is like as he hath sped ;
Against the streme thou maist not dure;
Most wretched herte why art thou not ded?

The last is worse, who feres not that?
He hath himself where so he goo,
And he that knoweth what is what
Sayeth he is wretched that wens him soo.

Seist thou not how they whet their teth,
Which to touche the sometime ded drede ?
They finde comforte for thy mischief;
Moost wretched hert why art thou not dede ?

What tho that currs do fall by kinde
On him that hathe the overthro?
Al that can not opresse my mynde.
For he is wretched that wens him soo.

Yet can it not be thenne denyd
It is as certain as thy crede ;
Thy gret unhap thou canst not hid ;
Unhappy thenne, why art thou not dede?

Unhappy, but no wretche therefore,
For happe doth come agayne and goo;
For whiche I kepe my self in store.
Sins unhap cannot kil me so.