I graunt you well / all that whiche you saye But tell me who it is / that ye loue so sure I promyse you that I wyll not bewraye Her name truely to ony creature Pyte it is / you sholde suche wo endure I do perceyue / she is not ryght ferre hence Whiche that ye loue / withouten neclygence
Surely madame / syth it pleaseth your hyghnesse And your honour to speke so nobly It is your grace / that hath the intresse In my true herte / with loue so feruently Ryght longe ago / your beaute sodanly Entred my mynde / and hath not syth dekayde With feruent loue / moost wofully arayde
{ A}nd is it I / that is cause of your loue { y}f it so be I can not helpe your payne It sholde be harde / to gete to your aboue Me for to loue / I dyde not you constrayne { y}e knowe what I am / I knowe not you certayne I am as past your loue to specyfy Why wyll ye loue where is no remedy
A madame you are cause of my languysshe ye maye me helpe / yf that it to you please To haue my purpose / my herte dooth not menysshe Thoughe I was seke / ye knewe not my dysease I am not hole / your mercy maye me ease To proue what I am / the holy goost werke styll My lyfe and deth / I yelde nowe to your wyll
Fortune me thynke / is meruaylous fauorable To you by getynge / of this ryall floure Hauynge this swerde / and shelde so profytable In mortall daungers / to be your socoure But as touchynge your loue and fauoure I can not graunt / neyther fyrst ne last ye knowe what I am / ye knowe my loue is past
Madame the floure / the swerde and shelde also Whiche fortune gate me / are not halfe so dere As your persone the cause of my wo Whose grace and beaute / shyneth so ryght clere That in my herte your beaute doth appere Nothynge is past / but that fortunes pleasure May call it agayne / in the tyme future
I denye not but that your dedes do shewe By meruaylous prowes / truely your gentylnesse To make you a carter / there were not afewe But tho by crafte / whiche thought you to oppresse To accombre them selfe applye the besynesse yet thynke not you / so soone to se a cradle I graunt you loue / whan ye were golden sadle
Madame truely / it is oft dayly sene Many a one dooth trust / his fortune to take From an other man / to make hym blynde I wene Whiche blyndeth hym / and dooth his pompe aslake Often some hye / do fall alowe and quake Ryght so maye they / whiche dyde fyrst prepence My wo and payne for all theyr yll scyence