Alone Walking

Alone walkyng, in thought plaining,

And sore sighing, all desolate

Me remembryng, of my livyng,

My dethe wishyng, bothe erly and late.

Infortunate, is so my fate,

That vote ye what? out of measure.

My life i hate, thus desperate

In soche pore eslate doe i endure.

Of othir cure am i not sure

Thus to endure is hard certain.

Such is my ure i you ensure:

What creature maie have more pain?

My truthe so plain is take in vain,

And grete disdain in remembraunce;

Yet i full faine would me complaine

Me to abstaine from this penaunce;

But in substaunce none allegeaunce

Of my grevaunce can i not finde:

Right so my chaunce with displesaunce

Doeth me avaunce and thus an ende.