Not the dead or lost, I revile
That I lament and mourn sore;
Neither regret him gone to exile,
This sun I shall see no more;
Do I cry for and show pities,
I groan for the land and sea;
Kingdoms, nations and great cities,
In dirts, I spue and wallow as he;
Overwhelmed by wine and knows nuffin
Even as bitter as a man would wail,
Upon her lover laying in coffin;
The pain like my foot ceiled anail,
Woe to you, priests yet to come;
For temples are polluted with vices,
Prophets craft dreams, deception of some;
They deceive, seeing nothing, divining lies;
Whilst I weep, its because of thee,
O ye maidens and maids not born;
For the evils your eyes shall see,
The land which you would tread upon;
Is spoiled with lewdness and nudity,
Where they shall press your breast;
To bruise you of your virginity,
Hew you down as twigs from its crest;
Do not come, do not come!
I will do these things for you;
Men full of great shrewd and wisdom,
Thus write much books or few;
Your wits would naught bring;
And your discovery be laughed at,
Come not with summer nor the spring;
Go you other world, divert your path,
Serpents, wolfs, the land is not save,
Mankind shall spike you as vampire;
Stoning you to bare bed of grave,
Cease, burn you up with fire;
Have you not heard or been told
Worse which silent ones have seen?
Those buried beneath belly of sandcold
O hide till every chapts turn green,
Till the blue heaven yield black
And stars give no lit but dark
I Know not why I lament for thee
My burdens beas that set for conceived donkey
And like from my heart its flesh is torn,
Although I shall receive no thing in return.