Classic Poem

The fyrst sorowe.

THe fyrst sorowe that these women haue
Is or theyr husbandes be layde in graue
And that is duble in this maner wyse
This man full sycke in deadly paynes lyse
Many a daye, nygh to the houre of deth
His eyene dymmeth, and very shorte is his breth
The flewme ratleth in his brest and throte
His powlces beten, his tounge is roughe and hote
Phisicions forsake him euery chone
Whan that they se his money almost gone
Than this pore woman that so greatly toyled
Wrappy n ge, and warminge w it h many a hand defoyled
Doth hym beholde, and seeth he wyll dye
The holy candell she lyghteth hym by
And so he lyeth consumyng to his ende
This wyfe then that busely doth hym tende
Seing hym lye to longe in that case
With droppes and markes in euery place
Consyderyng her good, that is gretly spente
And the candell well nygh wasten and brent
She loketh on the candell wyth a dolefull gost
Alas seyth she, thou arte gone almost
Now shall I for go thy company
Whan thou arte gone, I ensure perfytely
To my lyues ende I wyll haue no mo
For thy sake, I haue the loued so
Alas good woman full wo arte thou
But what wylt thou do wyth hym now
Bury hym, alas thou arte ther to full loth
But though that she be neuer so wrothe
It must be done, and so this good woman
Ordreth all thynges so well as she can
For his buryenge; and other seruyce
So cometh the prestes and other lyke wyse
As the mourners, and executours
Torche berers, kynsfolke and neyghbours
Than is the corps layd on the bere
Or in a coffyn as the guyse is here
Than this pore widow clothed all in blacke
Of sorow be sure she doth nothyng lacke
From her chamber she cometh a downe
Than for great fere to fall in a swowne
Vpon he she bereth some confeccion
As powder of peper, or a red onyon
And whan she cometh ther th e corps doth lye
Her handes she wryngeth pyteously
Out out alas, what shall I do forth on
Wolde god I were by thy graue anon
This sorow is longe, what shal me now betyde
I beseche Iesu thy soule in heauen may bide.