Is that the way, to end my wearie worke? By quicke dispatch, to lessen long turmoyle: Well well, though losse in lingering wontes to lurke, And I a foole, most fitte to take the foyle. (60) Yet proofe from promise, neuer shall recoyle, My wordes with deedes, and deedes with wordes shall wende: Till she or hers, gainsay that I intende.
Art thou so fonde? not fonde, but firmely fast, Why foole, her frendes, wote how thy will is bent: (65) Yet thou like dolt, whose witte and sence is past, Seest not what frumpes, do follow thy entent. Ne know, how loue in few of scorne is lent, Adue, for sighes such follie should preuent: Well well, their scoffes with scornes might be repayed. (70) If my requestes, were fully yead or nayed. Wel well, let these with wisedomes prayse be wayed: And in your chest of chiefest secretes layed.
FINIS. My lucke is losse.
48. What ioye to a contented mynde. +
T He fayth that fayles, must needes be thought vntrue, The frend that faignes, who holdeth not vniust: Who likes that loue, that chaungeth still for new, Who hopes for truth, where troth is voyde of trust. (5) No faith, no frend, no loue, no troth so sure, But rather fayles, then stedfastly endure.
What head so stayed? that altereth not intent, what thought so sure? that stedfast did remaine, what witte so wise? that neuer needes repent: (10) what tongue so true? but sometime wontes to fayne, what foote so firme? that neuer treades awrie, what sooner dimde? then sight of clearest eye.
What hart so fixt? but soone enclines to chaunge,