Now on bard hethe he lith.
With leves and gresse he him writh:
He that had castells and tours,
Rivers, forests, frith with flowrs.
Now thei it commence to snewe and freze,
This king mot make his bed in mese:
He that had y-had knightes of priis,
Bifore him kneland and leuedis,
Now seth he no thing that him liketh,
Bot wild wormes bi him striketh: