3 But yet thou hast both had and lost The hope, so long that hath thee fed, And all thy travail, and thy cost; Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead? 4 Some other hope must feed me new: If I have lost, I say what tho!' Despair shall not therewith ensue; For he is wretched that weens him so.' 5 The sun, the moon doth frown on thee; Thou hast darkness in daylight stead: As good in grave, as so to be; Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead? 6 'Some pleasant star may show me light; But though the heaven would work me woe, Who hath himself shall stand upright; And he is wretched that weens him so.' 7 Hath he himself that is not sure? His trust is like as he hath sped. Against the stream thou mayst not dure; Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead? 8 The last is worst: who fears not that He hath himself whereso he go: And he that knoweth what is what, Saith he is wretched that weens him so.' 9 Seest thou not how they whet their teeth, Which to touch thee sometime did dread? They find comfort, for thy mischief, Most wretched heart! why art thou not dead? 1 'Tho:' although. 10 What though that curs do fall by kind On him that hath the overthrow; All that cannot oppress my mind; For he is wretched that weens him so.' 11 Yet can it not be then denied, 12 Unhappy; but no wretch therefore! THE LOVER'S LUTE CANNOT BE BLAMED THOUGH IT SING OF HIS LADY'S UNKINDNESS. 1 BLAME not my Lute! for he must sound. For lack of wit the Lute is bound 2 My Lute, alas! doth not offend, Though that perforce he must agree Blame not my Lute! 3 My Lute and strings may not deny, But as I strike they must obey; Break not them then so wrongfully, But wreak thyself some other way; And though the songs which I indite Do quit thy change with rightful spite, Blame not my Lute! 4 Spite asketh spite, and changing change, And falsed faith must needs be known; 5 Blame but thyself that hast misdone, By thy desert their wonted way, 6 Farewell! unknown; for though thou break Blame not my Lute! THE NEGLECTED LOVER CALLETH ON HIS PEN TO RECORD THE UNGENTLE 1 My pen! take pain a little space 2 Remember oft thou hast me eased, And yet, my pen! thou canst no more. 3 A time thou had'st as other have As good leave off and write no more. 4 In worth to use another way; My pen! yet write a little more. 5 To love in vain, who ever shall, Of worldly pain it passeth all, As in like case I find; wherefore To hold so fast, and yet to fall! Alas! my pen, now write no more. 6 Since thou hast taken pain this space To follow that which doth me chace, And hath in hold my heart so sore, Now hast thou brought my mind to pass, My pen! I pri'thee write no more. THAT CAUTION SHOULD BE USED IN LOVE. 1 TAKE heed by time, lest ye be spied: Your loving eyes can it not hide, 2 For some there be of crafty kind, Though you show no part of your mind, Surely their eyes can ye not blind; Therefore, take heed! 3 For in like case theirselves hath been, And thought right sure none had them seen, But it was not as they did ween, Therefore, take heed! 4 Although they be of divers schools, 5 If they might take you in that trap, They would soon leave it in your lap; To love unspied is but a hap; Therefore, take heed! |