The Louer in distresse exclaymeth agaynst Fortune. +
H Ow can the criple get, in running race the game? Or hee in fight defend himselfe, whose armes are broken lame? How can th’imprisoned man whose legs be wrapt in chaynes, Thinke this his life a pleasant time, who knoweth nothing but |(paines? (5) So how can I reioyse, that haue no pleasant thing, That may reuiue my doulfull sprits, or cause mee for to singe. My legs be lame to goe, mine armes cannot embrace, My hart is sore, mine eyes bee blinde, for lacke of Fortunes grace. All this is Fortunes fault, that keepes these sences so, (10) Shee may aduaunce them if shee list, and rid them of this wo. It is her cruell will, alwayes on mee to lower, To kepe from mee her pleasant giftes, to make mee know her power Alas, alas, fie Fortune, fie: why art thou so vnkinde, To mee that fayne would bee thy sonne, and euer in thy minde? (15) Now doo I thee beseech, with pleasures mee to frayght, To temper this my wofull life, or els to kill mee strayght.
An other complaint on Fortune. +
I N doubtful dreading thoughts, as I gan call to minde, This world, and eke the pleasures al, that Adams children |(finde, A place of pleasant hew appeared to my thought Where I might see the wonderous works which nature |(for vs wrought. (5) All things of any price, approched to my sight, And still me thought that each man had, that was his most delight. The riche man hath his ioy: his riches to imbrace, So hath the huntesman his desire, to haue the Hart in chace. And other haue their sporte to see the Falcon flee, (10) And some also in Princes court: in fauor for to bee. The warring Knight at will, an horse doth run his race, And eke the louer, in his armes, his Lady doth embrace.