Die not before thy day, poor man condemned
But lift thy low looks from the humble earth
Kiss not despair and see sweet hope condemned:
The hag hath no delight, but moan for mirth
O fie poor fondling, O fie poor fondling
Fie, be willing to preserve thyself from killing:
Hope thy keeper glad to free thee
Bids thee go and will not see thee
Hie thee quickly from thy wrong
So she ends her willing song