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.