Worldes blis ne last no throwe;
it went and wit awey anon.
The langer that ich hit iknowe,
the lass ich finde pris tharon;
for al it is imeind mid care,
mid serwen and mid evel fare,
and atte laste povre and bare
it lat man, wan it ginth agon.
Al the blis this heer and thare
bilucth at ende weep and mon.

Mon, wi seestu thot ant herte
on worldes blisse that nout ne last?
wy tholestu that te so ofte smerte
for thin that is unstedefast?
thu likest huni of thorn iwis,
that seest thi loue on worldes blis
for ful of bitternes hit is.
ful sore thu mikt ben ofgast,
that here despendes heikte amis,
wer-thurh ben in-to helle icast.

An no god ben unforgulde,
ne no quete ne worth unboukt;
wanne thu list, mon, undur molde
thu shalt hauen as tu hauest wrokt.
bithenc the wel forthi, hic rede,
ant clanse the of thine misdede,
that he the helpe at thine nede,
that so dure hus haued iboukt,
ant to heuene blisse Iede
that euere lest ant faileth nout