Askyht vengeauns of thi mys.
Thu xalt be cursyd on the grounde,
Unprophitable where so thou wende,
Bothe veyn and nowthty and nothyng sounde,
With what thing thou medele thou xalt it shende.
Caym. Alas! in whoo now am I wounde,
Acursyd of God, as man unkende;
Of any man yf I be founde,
He xal me slo, I have no ffrende,
Alas and weleaway!