Nat ded but qwyk, that now is hens.
Ageyn deth is no resystens,
Alas! myn hert is woundyrly wo,
Whan that I thynke of his absens,
That ȝe ȝourself in herte lovyd so.
Primus consolator. Whan we have mynd of his sore dethe,
He was to us so gentyl and good,
That mend of hym oure hertes sleth,
The losse of hym doth marre oure mood.
Secundus consolator. Be bettyr neybore nevyr man stood,