With fyres flamynge, and manyfolde tourment
Can nat suche folys, theyr synnes cause to stent
O sleuthfull fole say why doste nat thou call
Unto thy mynde that this worldes wretchydnes
Is full of sorowe moche more bytter than gall
Uoyde of all ioy, all pleasour and swetnes
Why settest thou so moche by frayle delyciousnes
On vayne pleasours, whiche shall sothly decay
Lyke as the sone meltyth the snowe away
Man note my wordes and gyue to them credence