The Lover’s sorrowful State maketh him write sorrowful Songs, but such his Love may change the same

MARVEL no more although

The songs, I sing, do moan;

For other life than woe,

I never proved none.

And in my heart also

Is graven with letters deep,

A thousand sighs and mo,

A flood of tears to weep.

How may a man in smart

Find matter to rejoice?

How may a mourning heart

Set forth a pleasant voice?

Play, who so can, that part,

Needs must in me appear

How fortune overthwart

Doth cause my mourning cheer.

Perdie there is no man,

If he saw never sight,

That perfectly tell can

The nature of the light.

Alas, how should I than,

That never taste but sour,

But do as I began,

Continually to lour.

But yet perchance some chance

May chance to change my tune,

And when such chance doth chance,

Then shall I thank fortune.

And if I have such chance,

Perchance ere it be long,

For such a pleasant chance,

To sing some pleasant song.