I that in heill was and gladnèss
Am trublit now with great sickness
And feblit with infirmitie:
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Our plesance here is all vain glory,
This fals world is but transitory,
The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee:
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
The state of man does change and vary,
Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,
Now dansand mirry, now like to die:
Now dansand mirry, now like to die:
He takis the knichtis in to the field
Enarmit under helm and scheild;
Victor he is at all mellie:
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
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