So I to you commende my faith, and eke my ioye, (30) I hope you will not be so false, as Cressed was to Troye: For if I be vntrue, her Lazars death I wish, And eke in thee if thou be false, her clapper and her dish.
FINIS. R. L.
Beyng in trouble, he writeth thus. +
I N terrours trap, with thraldome thrust, Their thornie thoughtes, to tast and trie: In conscience cleare, from cause vniust, With carping teares did call and crie. (5) And sayd O God, yet thou art he, That can and will deliuer me. Bis. +
Thus trembling there, with teares I trod, To totter tide, + in truthes defence: With sighes and sobbes, I sayd O God, (10) Let right not haue this recompence. Least that my foes, might laugh to see, That thou wouldest not deliuer me. Bis.
My soule then to repentaunce ranne, My ragged clothes all rent and torne: (15) And did bewaile the losse it wanne. With lothsome life, so long forlorne, And sayd O God, yet thou art he, that can and will deliuer me. Bis.
Then comfort came, with clothes of ioy, (20) whose seames were faithfull stedfastnesse: And did bedecke the naked boe, that earst was full of wretchednesse. And sayd be glad, for God is hee: that shortly will deliuer thee.
FINIS. W. Hunnis.