Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/56

 21. Lament for the Makers

I that in heill was and gladnèss Am trublit now with great sickness And feblit with infirmitie:— Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Our plesance here is all vain glory, This fals world is but transitory, The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:— Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The state of man does change and vary, Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary, Now dansand mirry, now like to die:— Timor Mortis conturbat me.

No state in Erd here standis sicker; As with the wynd wavis the wicker So wannis this world's vanitie:— Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Unto the Death gois all Estatis, Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis, Baith rich and poor of all degree:— Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knichtis in to the field Enarmit under helm and scheild; Victor he is at all mellie:— Timor Mortis conturbat me.

heill] health. bruckle] brittle, feeble. slee] sly. dansand] dancing. sicker] sure. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes. mellie] mellay.