Whiche bidd me fast, repent and praie:
Thei be of death the harbingers,
That doeth prepare and dresse the waie,
Wherefore I joye that you mai see,
Upon my head such heeres to bee.
Thei be the line that lead the length,
How farre my race was for to ronne:
Thei saie my yongth is fledde with strength,
And how old age is well begonne.
The whiche I feele, and you maie see,