Boece and Troilus and Criseyde

Carmina qui quondam studio florente peregi.

Allas! I, weping, am constreined to biginnen vers of sorowful matere, that whylom in florisching studie made delitable ditees. For lo! rendinge Muses of poetes endyten to me thinges to be writen; and drery vers of wrecchednesse weten my face with verray teres. At the leeste, no drede ne mighte overcomen tho Muses, that they ne weren felawes, and folweden my wey, that is to seyn, whan I was exyled; they that weren glorie of my youthe, whylom weleful and grene, comforten now the sorowful werdes of me, olde man. For elde is comen unwarly upon me, hasted by the harmes that I have, and sorow hath comaunded his age to be in me. Heres hore ben shad overtymeliche upon myn heved, and the slake skin trembleth upon myn empted body. Thilke deeth of men is weleful that ne cometh not in yeres that ben swete, but cometh to wrecches, often y-cleped.

Allas! allas! with how deef an ere deeth, cruel, torneth awey fro wrecches, and naiteth to closen wepinge eyen! Whyl Fortune, unfeithful, favorede me with lighte goodes, the sorowful houre, that is to seyn, the deeth, hadde almost dreynt myn heved. But now, for Fortune cloudy hath chaunged hir deceyvable chere to me-ward, myn unpitous lyf draweth a-long unagreable dwellinges in me. O ye, my frendes, what or wherto avauntede ye me to ben weleful? for he that hath fallen stood nat in stedefast degree.