Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,
Nor nought[179] would conserue me here in my place, 90
In manus tuas, Domine, my spirite vp I yelde,
Humbly[180] beseching thé, God, of thy[181] grace!
O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbrace
Benyngly now to pray for me also;
For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,
Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!
[155] Of the death, &c.] From the ed. by Kynge and Marche of Certaine bokes compyled by Mayster Skelton, n. d.—collated with the same work, ed. Day, n. d., and ed. Lant, n. d.; with Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’s Workes, 1568; occasionally with the Mirrour for Magistrates, 1587 (in the earlier eds. of which the poem was incorporated), and with a contemporary MS. in the possession of Miss Richardson Currer, which last has furnished a stanza hitherto unprinted.
[156] This world, &c.] MS.: