To pricke them forth that will not hast, (5) Ah payned hart thou gapst for grace, Euen there where pitie hath no place. As easy it is the stony rocke, From place to place for to remoue, As by thy plaint for to prouoke: (10) A frosen hart from hate to loue, What should I say such is thy lot, To fawne on them that force the not. Thus maist thou safely say and sweare, That rigour raighneth and ruth doth faile, (15) In thanklesse thoughts thy thoughts do wear Thy truth, thy faith, may nought auaile, For thy good will why should thou so, Still graft where grace it will not grow. Alas pore hart thus hast thou spent, (20) Thy flowryng time, thy pleasant yeres. With sighing voyce wepe and lament: For of thy hope no frute apperes, Thy true meanyng is paide with scorne, That euer soweth and repeth no corne. (25) And where thou sekes a quiet port, Thou dost but weigh agaynst the winde, For where thou gladdest woldst resort, There is no place for thee assinde. Thy desteny hath set it so (30) That thy true hart should cause thy wo.
Of his maistresse. m. B. +
I N Bayes I boast whose braunch I beare, Such ioy therin I finde: That to the death I shall it weare, To ease my carefull minde. (5) In heat, in cold, both night and day, Her vertue may be sene: When other frutes and flowers decay. The bay yet growes full grene. Her berries fede the birdes full oft, (10) Her leues swete water make: