Browse Carols: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z # This Was The Tenour Of Her Talkynge This was the tenour of her talkynge Timor mortis conturbat me. I asked that byrde what she ment I am a musket fayre and gent For fere of dethe I am all shent Timor mortis conturbat me Whan I shall dye I know no day Contrey nor place I can not say Wherfore this songe synge I may. Timor mortis conturbat me. Jesu chryste whan he sholde dye To his father gan he crye Father he sayd in trynyte Timor mortis conturbat me. All chrysten people beholde and se This worlde is but a vanyte For therin is but necessyte Timor mortis conturbat me. Wake or slepe, eat or drynke Whan I on my last ende do thynke For great fere my soule doth synke Timor mortis conturbat me. Browse Carols: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #