Aftir þat heruest inned had hise sheues,
And that the broun sesoun of Mihelmesse
Was come, and gan the trees robbe of her leues,
That grene had ben and in lusty freisshenesse,
And hem into colour of gelownesse
Had died and doun throwen vndirfoote,
That chaunge sanke into myn herte roote.
For freisshly brougte it to my remembraunce
That stablenesse in this worlde is ther noon
Ther is noþing but chaunge and variaunce
Howe welthi a man be or wel begoon,
Endure it shal not. He shal it forgoon.
Deeth vndirfoote shal him þriste adoun
That is euery wigtes conclucioun,
Wiche for to weyue is in no mannes mygt,
Howe riche he be, stronge, lusty, freissh and gay
And in the ende of Nouembre, vppon a nigt,
Sigynge sore, as I in my bed lay,
For this and oþir þougtis wiche many a day,
Byforne, I tooke, sleep cam noon in myn ye,
So vexid me the þougtful maladie.
Was come, and gan the trees robbe of her leues,
That grene had ben and in lusty freisshenesse,
And hem into colour of gelownesse
Had died and doun throwen vndirfoote,
That chaunge sanke into myn herte roote.
For freisshly brougte it to my remembraunce
That stablenesse in this worlde is ther noon
Ther is noþing but chaunge and variaunce
Howe welthi a man be or wel begoon,
Endure it shal not. He shal it forgoon.
Deeth vndirfoote shal him þriste adoun
That is euery wigtes conclucioun,
Wiche for to weyue is in no mannes mygt,
Howe riche he be, stronge, lusty, freissh and gay
And in the ende of Nouembre, vppon a nigt,
Sigynge sore, as I in my bed lay,
For this and oþir þougtis wiche many a day,
Byforne, I tooke, sleep cam noon in myn ye,
So vexid me the þougtful maladie.
(Thomas Hoccleve, My Compleinte)