Classic Poem

I wende to dede, knight stithe in stoure,
Thurghe fight in felde I won the flowr.
No fightes me taught the dede to quell:
I wende to dede; sooth I yow tell.

I wende to dede, a king iwisse;
What helpes honor or worldes blisse?
Dede is to man the kinde way.
I wende to be clad in clay.

I wende to dede, clerk ful of skill,
That couth with worde men mar and dill.
Soon has me made the dede an ende.
Bes ware with me! to dede I wende.