Classic Poem

Man meye longe him lives wene,
Ac ofte him liyet the wreinch;
Fair weder ofte him went to rene,
And ferliche maket his blench.
Tharfore, man, thu thee bithench —
All shel falwi the grene.
Welawey! nis king ne quene
That ne shel drinke of dethes drench.
Man, er thu falle off thy bench,
Thu sinne aquench.

Ne may strong ne starch ne kene
Aglye dethes witherclench;
Yung and old and bright ansiene,
All he riveth an his streng.
Fox and ferlich is the wreinch,
Ne may no man thar toyenes,
Weylawey! ne iweping ne bene,
Mede, liste, ne leches dreinch.
Man, let sinne and lustes stench,
Well do, well thench!

Do by Salomones rede,
Man, and so thu shelt well do.
Do also he thee toghte and sede
What thin ending thee bringth to,
Ne sheltu nevere misdo.
Sore thu might thee adrede,
Weylawey! swich wenth well lede
Long lif and blisse underfo,
Thar deth luteth in his sho
To him fordo.

Man, why neltu thee bithenchen?
Man, why neltu thee bisen?
Of felthe thu ert isowe,
Weirmes mete thu shelt ben.
Here navest thu blisse days three,
All thy lif thu drist in wowe;
Welawey! deth thee shall dun throwen
Thar thu wenest heye stee.
In wo shall thy wele enden,
In wop thy glee.

Werld and wele thee bipecheth,
Iwis hie buth thine ifo;
If thy werld mid wele thee sliket
That is far to do thee wo.
Tharfore let lust overgon,
Man, and eft it shall thee liken.
Welawey! hu sore him wiket
Thar in one stunde other two
Wurch him pine evermo.
Ne do, man, swo!