Classic Poem

When mine eynen misteth
And mine eren sisseth
And my nose coldeth
And my tunge foldeth
And my rude slaketh
And mine lippes blaketh
And my mouth grenneth
And my spotel renneth
And myn her riseth
And myn herte griseth
And mine handen bivieth
And mine feet stivieth--
Al too late, al too late,
Whenne the bere is at the gate!
Thenne I shal flit
From bedde to flore,
From flore to here,
From here to bere,
From bere to pit,
And the pit fordit.
Thenne lith myn hous uppe myn nese;
Of al this world ne give ich a pese!