Once knit the lynck, that loue may last, then shal my dollorscease (30) It lyes in thee, and wilt thou not, the yeelding wight release? O would to God, it lay in mee, to cure such greefe of thine: Thou shouldst not long, be voyd of helpe, if twere in power of ||(mine, But I would run, & range in stormes, a thousand miles in payne: Not fearing foyle, of freends to haue, my countenance+ whole agayn (35) And wilt thou then, all mercylesse, more longer torment mee? In drawing backe, sith my good helpe, is only whole in thee? Then send mee close, the hewing knife, my wider wound to stratch: And thou shalt see, by wofull greefe of life a cleane dispatch. When thou shalt say, and prooue it true, my hart entirely lou’d, (40) Which lost the life, for countnance sweet from whom hee neuer mou’d Write then vpon my wofull Tombe, these verses grauen aboue, Heere lyes the hart, his truth to trie, that lost his life in loue. Loe, saue or spill, thou mayst mee now, thou sitst in iudgment hie, Where I poore man, at Bar doo stand, and lowd, for life doo cry. (45) Thou wilt not bee, so mercylesse, to slea a louing hart: Small prayse it is to conquer him, that durst no where to start, Thou hast the sword, that cut the wound, of my vnholpen payne: Thou canst and art, the only helpe, to heale the same agayne. Then heale the hart, that loues thee well, vntill the day hee dye: (50) And firmely fast thy loue on him, thats true continually, In thee my wealth, in thee my woe, in thee too saue or spill: In thee mee lyfe, in thee my death, doth rest to worke thy will. Let vertue myxt, with pitty great, and louing mercy saue Him, who without thy salue, so sicke, that hee must yeeld to graue, (55) O salue thou then, my secret sore, sith health in thee dooth stay: And graunt with speed, my iust request, whose want works my decay Then shal I blesse, the pleasant place, where once I tooke thy gloue, And thanke the God, who giues thee grace, to graunt me loue for loue.