(95) With Larum bel and open crie, the world should throughly know. +
The complaint of a woman Louer, +
To the tune of, Raging loue. +
T Hough wisdom wold I should refrain, My heaped cares here to vnfold: Good Ladies yet my inward paine, So pricketh me I haue no holde: (5) But that I must my griefe bewray, Bedewed in teares with doleful tunes, That you may heare, and after say, Loe, this is she whom loue consumes. ¶ My grief doth grow by my desire. (10) To fancie him that stormes my woe: He naught regards my flaming fire, Alas why doth he serue me so? Whose fained teares I did beléeue, And wept to heare his wailing voice, (15) But now, alas, too soon I preeue, Al men are false, there is no choice. ¶ Had euer woman such reward, At anie time for her goodwill? Had euer woman hap so hard, (20) So cruelly for loue to spill? What paps (alas) did giue him food, That thus vnkindly workes my wo? What beast is of so cruell moode, to hate the hart that loues him so. +(25) ¶ Like as the simple Turtle true, In mourning groanes I spend the day.