Will turne eche blysse vnto a blast, Which lasteth but a stounde. Of youth the lusty floure, (10) Which whylome stoode in price: Shall vanish quite within an houre, As fire consumes the ice. Where is become that wight, +For whose sake Troy towne: (15) Withstode the grekes till ten yeres fight, Had rasde their walles adowne. Did not the wormes consume, Her caryon to the dust? Did dreadfull death forbeare his fume(20) For beauty, pride, or lust?
The louer not regarded in ear-
nest sute, being become wi-
ser, refuseth her profred
D O way your phisike I faint no more, The salue you sent it comes to late: You wist well all my grief before, And what I suffred for your sake. (5) Hole is my hart I plaine no more, A new the cure did vndertake: Wherfore do way you come to late. For whiles you knew I was your own, So long in vaine you made me gape, (10) And though my fayth it were well knowne, Yet small regard thou toke therat, But now the blast is ouerblowne. Of vaine phisicke a salue you shape, Wherfore do way you come to late. (15) How long or this haue I bene faine, To gape for mercy at your gate, Untill the time I spyde it plaine, That pitie and you fell at debate. For my redresse then was I faine: (20) Your seruice cleane for to forsake.