APOCALYPTIC BIRTH
Ere borne in April
Our good blood in prickled veil,
On hypocritical anvil
Was over-struck to wail
But then, out of bounds, we sail
...
Scaping the earth's dreary womb
Horror be flung strong in gloom
As the light of the scythe slain,
And we of conjuntive fane,
In our dear lord, reign
The pride of our lord Jesu
Of us mote to charity glue
For victory's moon lay blue
And the tetther of our pacing,
Allured whilst defiling
Ancientness is ougraved.So help you,
For in time, our lord Jesu
Wilt your malady sue!
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