Lord who createdest man in wealth and store
Thought foofishly he lost the same
Decaying more and more and more
Till he became most poore with thee
O let me rise as larks harmonisiously
And sing this day thy victoris
Then shall the fall furter, now!
My tender age in sorrows did beginne
And still with sickness and shame
Thou didst so punish sinne
That I became most thinne with thee
O let me combine
And fell this day thy victorie
