THAT PATIENCE ALONE CAN HEAL THE WOUND INFLICTED BY ADVERSITY.

1 PATIENCE of all my smart!

For Fortune is turn'd awry:
Patience must ease my heart,

That mourns continually.
Patience to suffer wrong
Is a Patience too long.

2 Patience to have a nay,
Of that I most desire;
Patience to have alway,

And ever burn like fire.
Patience without desart
Is grounder of my smart.

3 Who can with merry heart

Set forth some pleasant song,
That always feels but smart,

And never hath but wrong?
Yet Patience evermore
Must heal the wound and sore.

4 Patience! to be content,

With froward Fortune's train!
Patience, to the intent

Somewhat to slake my pain:

I see no remedy,

But suffer patiently.

5 To plain where is none ear,

My chance is chanced so;

For it doth well appear

My friend is turn'd my foe:
But since there is no defence,
I must take Patience.

THE LOVER,

HOPELESS OF GREATER HAPPINESS, CONTENTETH HIMSELF

WITH ONLY PITY.

1 THOUGH I cannot your cruelty constrain,
For my good will to favour me again;
Though my true and faithful love

Have no power your heart to move,
Yet rue upon my pain!

2 Though I your thrall must evermore remain,
And for your sake my liberty restrain;
The greatest grace that I do crave
Is that ye would vouchsave

To rue upon my pain!

3 Though I have not deserved to obtain
So high reward, but thus to serve in vain,
Though I shall have no redress,
Yet of right ye can no less,
But rue upon my pain!

4 But I see well, that your high disdain

Will no wise grant that I shall more attain;
Yet ye must grant at the last
This my poor, and small request;
Rejoice not at my pain!

THAT TIME, HUMBLENESS, AND PRAYER,
CAN SOFTEN EVERYTHING SAVE HIS LADY'S HEART.

1 PROCESS of time worketh such wonder,
That water which is of kind so soft,
Doth pierce the marble stone asunder,
By little drops falling from aloft.

2 And yet an heart that seems so tender,
Receiveth no drop of the stilling tears
That alway still cause me to render,
The vain plaint that sounds not in her ears.

3 So cruel, alas! is nought alive,

So fierce, so froward, so out of frame,
But some way, some time may so contrive
By means the wild to temper and tame.

4 And I that always have sought, and seek
Each place, each time for some lucky day,
This fierce tiger, less I find her meek,
And more denied the longer I pray.

5 The lion in his raging furour

Forbears that sueth, meekness for his [boot]; And thou, alas! in extreme dolour,

The heart so low thou treads under thy foot.

6 Each fierce thing, lo! how thou dost exceed, And hides it under so humble a face!

And yet the humble to help at need

Nought helpeth time, humbleness, nor place.

THAT UNKINDNESS HATH SLAIN HIS

POOR TRUE HEART.

IF in the world there be more woe
Than I have in my heart;
Whereso it is, it doth come fro',

And in my breast there doth it grow,

For to increase my smart.

Alas! I am receipt of every care;

And of my life each sorrow claims his part.

Who list to live in quietness

By me let him beware.

For I by high disdain

Am made without redress;

And unkindness, alas! hath slain

My poor true heart, all comfortless.

THE DYING LOVER COMPLAINETH

THAT HIS MISTRESS REGARDETH NOT HIS SUFFERINGS.

1 LIKE as the swan towards her death Doth strain her voice with doleful note; Right so sing I with waste of breath,

I die I die! and you regard it not.

2 I shall enforce my fainting breath,
That all that hears this deadly note,
Shall know that you dost cause my death,
I die! I die! and you regard it not.

3 Your unkindness hath sworn my death,
And changed hath my pleasant note
To painful sighs that stop my breath.
I die! I die! and you regard it not.

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4 Consumeth my life, faileth my breath, Your fault is forger of this note; Melting in tears a cruel death.

I die! I die! and you regard it not.

5 My faith with me after my death
Buried shall be, and to this note
I do bequeath my weary breath
I die! and you regard it not.

To

cry,

THE CAREFUL LOVER COMPLAINETH, AND THE HAPPY LOVER COUNSELLETH.

АH! Robin!

Jolly Robin!

Tell me how thy leman doth?

And thou shalt know of mine.
• My lady is unkind, perdie!'
Alack, why is she so?

• She loveth another better than me,
And yet she will say, no.'

RESPONSE.

I find no such doubleness;

I find women true.

My lady loveth me doubtless,

And will change for no new.

LE PLAINTIF.

Thou art happy while that doth last,
But I say as I find;

That woman's love is but a blast,

And turneth like the wind.

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