fol. 189rUyche
day me cumeth tydinges
threo,For wel swithe sore beoth heo:The on is that ich schal heonne;That other, that ich noth hwenne;line5The thridde is my meste kare —That ich not hwider ich scal fare.
fol. 189rEach day three musings come to me,And they’re of great sorrow:One is that I’ll go from hence;The other, that I don’t know when;line5The third is my greatest care —That I don’t know whither I will fare.