For my sones that ben forlorn,
That wilde bestes hath awei born,
I not nouth where to wone;
To wheche lond mai i fle,
How longe schal i on lyve be,
Sorewes comen gret wone.
Of Job i well bethenke me,
That long in welthe hadde be,
And fel sone in care;
Ihū Crist for love of The,