Die not before thy day

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