THE LOUER THAT FLED LOUE, NOW FOLOWES IT WITH
SOMETIME I fled the fire, that me so brent,
By sea, by land, by water, and by winde;
And now the coales I folow, that be quent,
From Dover to Cales, with willing minde.
Lo how desire is both forth sprong, and spent;
And he may see, that whilome was so blinde,
And all his labour laughes he now to scorne,
Meashed in the breers, that erst was onely torne.
THE LOUER HOPETH OF BETTER CHAUNCE.
He is not dead, that somtime had a fall,
The sunne returnes, that hid was under clowde,
And when fortune hath spit out all her gall,
I trust, good luck to me shal be alowed.
For I have sene a ship in hauen fall,
After that storme hath broke both maste and shroud; The willow eke, that stoupeth with the winde, Doth rise againe, and greater wood doth binde.
THE LOUER COMPARETH HIS HART TO THE OUER-
CHARGED GONNE.
THE furious gonne, in his most raging yre,
When that the boule is rammed in too sore,
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Crackes in sunder, and in the ayer do rore
The sheuered peces: so doth my desire,
Whose flame encreaseth ay from more to more;
Which to let out, I dare not loke, nor speake;
So inward force my heart doth all to breake.
THE LOUER SUSPECTED OF CHANGE, PRAIETH THAT IT BE NOT BELEUED AGAINST HIM.
ACCUSED though I be, without desert,
Sith none can proue, beleue it not for true :
For never yet, since that you had my hert,
Intended I to false, or be vntrue.
Sooner I would of death sustain the smart,
Than breake one word of that I promised you;
Accept therfore my seruice in good part:
None is aliue, that can il tonges eschew.
Hold them as false, and let not vs depart,
Our frendship old in hope of any new;
Put not thy trust in such as vse to fayn,
Except thou minde to put thy frend to payn.
THE LOUER ABUSED RENOUNCETH LOUE.
My loue to scorn, my seruice to retaine,
Therin me thought you vsed crueltie,
Since with good wyll I lost my libertie,
Might never wo yet cause me to refraine;
But only this, which is extremitie,
To geue me nought (alas) not to agree
That as I was, your man I might remaine:
But since that thus ye list to order me,
That would have been your seruant true and fast,
Displease you not, my doting time is past,
And with my losse to leaue I must agree;
For as there is a certaine time to rage,
So is there tyme such madnes to asswage.
THE LOUER PROFESSETH HIMSELFE CONSTANT.
WITHIN my brest I neuer thought it gaine
Of gentle mindes the fredome for to lose,
Not in my hart sank neur such disdaine,
To be a forger, faultes for to disclose.
Nor I can not endure the truth to glose,
No set a glosse vpon an earnest paine,
Nor I am not in nomber one of those,
That list to blow retreate to euery traine.
THE LOUER SENDETH HIS COMPLAINTES AND TEARES TO SUE FOR GRACE.
PASSE forth my wonted cryes,
Those cruel eares to pearce,
Which in most hatefull wyse,
Do still my plaintes reuerse.
Do you, my teares, also
So wet her barrein hart,
That pitie there may grow,
And crueltie depart.
For though hard rockes among
She semes to haue ben bred,
And of the tigre long
Bene nourished and fed.
Yet shall not nature change,
If pitie once win place;
Whom as vnknowen and strange
She now away doth chase.
And as the water soft,
Without forcing or strength,
Where that it falleth oft,
Hard stones doth perce at length:
So in her stony hart,
My plaintes at last shall graue,
And rigour set apart,
Wynne graunt of that I craue.
Wherfore, my plaintes, present
Stil so to her my sute,
As ye through her assent,
May bring to me some frute.
And as she shall me proue,
So bid her me regarde,
And render loue for loue,
Which is a just rewarde.
THE LOUERS CASE CANNOT BE HIDDEN HOWEVER HE
YOUR lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rolde,
Your sight fixed so fast,
Alwayes one to beholde :
Though hide it faine ye woulde,
It plainely doth declare,
Who hath your hart in hold,
And where good will ye bare.
Fayne would ye finde a cloke, Your brenning fire to hide, Yet both the flame and smoke, Breakes out on every side. Ye cannot loue so guide, That it no issue winne: Abrode nedes must it glide, That brens so hotte within.
Four cause your self do wink,
Ye judge all other blinde,
And secret it you think,
Which euery man dothe finde.
In wast oft spende ye winde,
Your self in loue to quit;
For agues of that kinde,
Wyll show who hath the fit.
Your sighes you fet from farre,
And all to wry your wo;
Yet are ye ner the narre,
Men are not blinded so.
Depely oft swere ye, No;
But all those othes are vaine,
So well your eye doth shew,
Who puttes your hart to paine.
Thinke not therfore to hide, That still it self betrayes,
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