| |
| WHERE shall I have at mine own will, | |
| Tears to complain? where shall I fet | |
| Such sighs, that I may sigh my fill, | |
| And then again my plaints repeat? | |
| For, though my plaint shall have none end, | 5 |
| My tears cannot suffice my woe: | |
| To moan my harm have I no friend; | |
| For fortune’s friend is mishap’s foe. | |
| Comfort, God wot, else have I none, | |
| But in the wind to waste my wordes; | 10 |
| Nought moveth you my deadly moan, | |
| But still you turn it into bordes. | |
| I speak not now, to move your heart, | |
| That you should rue upon my pain; | |
| The sentence given may not revert: | 15 |
| I know such labour were but vain. | |
| But since that I for you, my dear, | |
| Have lost that thing, that was my best; | |
| A right small loss it must appear | |
| To lose these words, and all the rest. | 20 |
| But though they sparkle in the wind, | |
| Yet shall they shew your falsed faith; | |
| Which is returned to his kind; | |
| For like to like, the proverb saith. | |
| Fortune and you did me avance; | 25 |
| Methought I swam, and could not drown: | |
| Happiest of all; but my mischance | |
| Did lift me up, to throw me down. | |
| And you with her, of cruelness | |
| Did set your foot upon my neck, | 30 |
| Me, and my welfare, to oppress; | |
| Without offence your heart to wreck. | |
| Where are your pleasant words, alas? | |
| Where is your faith? your steadfastness? | |
| There is no more but all doth pass, | 35 |
| And I am left all comfortless. | |
| But since so much it doth you grieve, | |
| And also me my wretched life, | |
| Have here my truth: nought shall relieve, | |
| But death alone, my wretched strife. | 40 |
| Therefore farewell, my life, my death; | |
| My gain, my loss, my salve, my sore; | |
| Farewell also, with you my breath; | |
| For I am gone for evermore. | |
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