University of Virginia Library

164. Death, the Port of Peace

Howe cometh al ye That ben y-brought
In bondes,—full of bitter besynesse
of erthly luste, abydynge in your thought?
Here ys the reste of all your besynesse,
Here ys the porte of peese, & resstfulnes
to them that stondeth In stormes of dys[e]se,
only refuge to wreches In dystrese,
and all comforte of myschefe & mys[e]se.