THE COMPLAINT OF A DESERTED LOVER.

1 How should I

Be so pleasant,
In my semblant,'
As my fellows be?'

2 Not long ago,

It chanced so,

As I did walk alone;

I heard a man,

That now and than

Himself did thus bemoan⚫

3 Alas!' he said,

'I am betray'd,

And utterly undone,

Whom I did trust,

And think so just,

Another man hath won.

4 My service due,

And heart so true,

On her I did bestow;

I never meant

For to repent,

In wealth, nor yet in woe.

5 Each western wind

Hath turned her mind,

And blown it clean away;

Thereby my wealth,
My mirth and health

Are driven to great decay.

1 'Semblant:' appearance.

THAT FAITH IS DEAD, AND TRUE LOVE

DISREGARDED.

1 WHAT should I say!

Since Faith is dead,

And Truth away
From you is fled?
Should I be led

With doubleness?
Nay! nay! Mistress.

2 I promis'd you,

And you promis'd me,

To be as true,

As I would be.

But since I see

Your double heart,
Farewell my part!

3 Thought for to take,
It is not my mind;

But to forsake

[One so unkind;]
And as I find,

So will I trust;
Farewell, unjust!

4 Can ye say nay,
But that you said

That I alway
Should be obey'd?
And thus betray'd,
Or that I wist!
Farewell, unkiss'd!

THE LOVER COMPLAINETH

THAT HIS FAITHFUL HEART AND TRUE MEANING HAD
NEVER MET WITH JUST REWARD.

1 GIVE place! all ye that doth rejoice,
And love's pangs hath clean forgot.
Let them draw near and hear my voice
Whom love doth force in pains to fret;
For all of plaint my song is set,

Which long hath serv'd and nought can get.

2 A faithful heart so truly meant,
Rewarded is full slenderly;

A steadfast faith with good intent
Is recompensed craftily;
Such hap doth hap unhappily
To them that mean but honestly.

3 With humble suit I have essayed
To turn her cruel hearted mind;
But for reward I am delayed,

And to my wealth her eyes be blind.
Lo! thus by chance I am assign'd

With steadfast love to serve the unkind.

4 What 'vaileth truth, or steadfastness,
Or still to serve without repreef!
What 'vaileth faith or gentleness,
Where cruelty doth reign as chief!
Alas! there is no greater grief
Than for to love, and lack relief.

5 Care doth constrain me to complain Of love, and her uncertainty,

Which granteth nought but great disdain,
For loss of all my liberty.

Alas! this is extremity,

For love to find such cruelty.

6 For love to find such cruelty, Alas! it is a careful lot;

And for to void such mockery

There is no way but slip the knot! The gain so cold, the pain so hot! Praise it who list, I like it not.

THE FORSAKEN LOVER

CONSOLETH HIMSELF WITH REMEMBRANCE OF PAST HAPPINESS.

1 SPITE hath no power to make me sad, Nor scornfulness to make me plain.

It doth suffice that once I had,

And so to leave it is no pain.

2 Let them frown on that least doth gain,
Who did rejoice must needs be glad;
And though with words thou ween'st to reign
It doth suffice that once I had.

3 Since that in checks thus overthwart,
And coyly looks thou dost delight;
It doth suffice that mine thou wert,
Though change hath put thy faith to flight.

4 Alas! it is a peevish spite,

To yield thyself and then to part; But since thou force thy faith so light, It doth suffice that mine thou wert.