My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, 
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, 
My crop of corn is but a field of tares, 
And all my good is but vain hope of gain; 
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun, 
And now I live, and now my life is done. 

My tale was heard and yet it was not told, 
My [bad word] is fallen and yet my leaves are green, 
My youth is spent and yet I am not old, 
I saw the world and yet I was not seen; 
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun, 
And now I live, and now my life is done. 

I sought my death and found it in my womb, 
I looked for life and saw it was a shade, 
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb, 
And now I die, and now I was but made: 
My glass is full, and now my glass [bad word]  
And now I live, and now my life is done.