The second sorow.

THe seconde sorow that these wyues do make
Is when iiii men the corps on the m do take
Toward the chyrche, and the prestes do syng
This wofull wydow al waye folowyng
With bedes in hande, in mournynge hood
God knoweth yf syghes do her any good
Now thinketh she, here haue I much to do
And haply thys wydowe hath a shorte sho
That streyneth her toes, and doeth hurte her fote
Than thynketh she, I be shrew the hearte rote
Of the horeson sowter, it greueth me so
And to the churche we haue ferre to go
Or els she is laced in her new blacke gowne
That for straytnes she is lyke to swone
Or els it may fortune so that she
Hath in her som lose infyrmyte
Or els the wynde doth waste the waxe to sore
And she knowes well that she must pay therfore
But whan they nyghe vnto the churche be
Who soroweth nowe: for sothe none but she
I can suppose, beyng so nere the place
Where he must rest, this is a heuy case
Who sygheth now, alas this pore woman
For I am sure that she woulde be as than
As farre home warde, but she dothe take in worthe
This heuy chaunce, and wofully goeth forthe
And to her selfe al pryuely doth saye
What remedy all is wel on the waye
Well a way, than sayd the executour
That ledeth her, why make ye this dolour
I you ensure that ye do God displease
So for to fare, but it were more ease
For the soule, to saye som good oreyson
Nothynge can helpe your lamentacyon
Alas syr she sayeth, ye saye of certaynete
But yet my heart can not so serue me
And therewithall she doeth wepe so fast
That her heart tikleth as it would brast
O kynde womane I blame the not at all
Thou woulde hym haue in christen buryall