I speake not, now, to moue your hart, That you should rue vpon my pain: (15) The sentence geuen may not reuert: I know, such labour were but vain. But sins that I for you (my dere) Haue lost that thing, that was my best: A right small losse it must appere, (20) To lese these wordes, and all the rest. But, though they sparkle in the winde: Yet, shall they shew your falsed faith: Which is returned to his kinde: For like to like: the prouerb saith, +(25) Fortune, and you did me auance. Me thought, I swam, and could not drown: Happiest of all, but my mischance Did lift me vp, to throw me down. And you, with her, of cruelnesse, (30) Did set your foote vpon my neck, Me, and my welfare to oppresse: without offence your hart to wreck. +Where are your pleasant wordes? alas: where is your faith? your stedfastnesse? (35) There is no more: but all doth passe: And I am left all comfortlesse. But sins so much it doth you greue, And also me my wretched life: Haue here my troth: Nought shall releue, (40) But death alone my wretched strife. Therfore, farewell my life my death, My gain, my losse: my salue my sore: +Farewell also, with you my breath: For, I am gone for euermore.