THE LOVER SHEWETH HOW HE IS FORSAKEN OF SUCH AS HE SOMETIME ENJOYED. 1 THEY flee from me, that sometime did me seek, With naked foot stalking within my chamber: Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild, and do not once remember, That sometime they have put themselves in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range Busily seeking in continual change. 2 Thanked be Fortune, it hath been otherwise Twenty times better; but once in special, In thin array, after a pleasant guise, When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall, And she me caught in her arms long and small, And therewithal so sweetly did me kiss, And softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?' 3 It was no dream; for I lay broad awaking: But all is turn'd now, through my gentleness, And I have leave to go of her goodness; THE LOVER TO HIS BED, WITH DESCRIBING OF HIS UNQUIET STATE. 1 THOU! restful place, renewer of my smart, Thou! labours' salve, increasing my sorròw, Thou! body's case, and troubler of my heart, Forgetter of pain, rememberer of my woe, 2 The frost, the snow may not redress my heat, 3 But all for nought, I find no better ease In bed or out: this most causeth my pain, My heart once set, I cannot it refrain; THE LOVER COMPLAINETH THAT HIS LOVE DOTH NOT PITY HIM. 1 RESOUND my voice, ye woods, that hear me plain; Both hills and vales causing reflexion; And rivers eke, record ye of my pain, Which have oft forc'd ye by compassion, As judges, lo, to hear my exclamation: Among whom ruth, I find, yet doth remain; Where I it seek, alas, there is disdain. 2 Oft, ye rivers, to hear my woful sound Have stopp'd your course: and plainly to express Many a tear by moisture of the ground, The earth hath wept to hear my heaviness: Which causeless I endure without redress. The hugy oaks have roared in the wind: Each thing, methought, complaining in their kind. 3 Why then, alas, doth not she on me rue? Or is her heart so hard that no pity May in it sink, my joy for to renew? O stony heart, who hath thus framed thee So cruel, that art cloaked with beauty! That from thee may no grace to me proceed, But as reward, death for to be my meed! THE LOVER COMPLAINETH HIMSELF 1 WHERE shall I have, at mine own will, 2 For, though my plaint shall have none end, For fortune's friend is mishap's foe. 3 Comfort, God wot, else have I none, But in the wind to waste my words; 1 'Fet:' Fetch.-Bordes:' Jests. 4 I speak not now to move your heart, That you should rue upon my pain; The sentence given may not revert: I know such labour were but vain. 5 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. 6 But though they sparkle in the wind, Yet shall they shew your falsèd faith, Which is return'd unto his kind; For like to like, the proverb saith. 7 Fortune and you did me advance; 8 And you with her, of cruelness, 9 Where are your pleasant words, alas! 10 But since so much it doth you grieve, Have here my truth: nought shall relieve, 11 Therefore farewell, my life, my death; A RENOUNCING OF HARDLY ESCAPED 1 FAREWELL the heart of cruelty; 2 Of force I must forsake such pleasure; 3 I fare as one escap'd that fleeth, 4 In joyful pain, rejoice my heart, THE LOVER TAUGHT, MISTRUSTETH ALLUREMENTS. 1 Ir may be good, like it who list; But I do doubt: who can me blame? |