[sig. Piiiv]
And oft alone my hart to ease, (120) I would bewaile with wofull voyce My life, my state, my misery, And curse my selfe & al my daies. Thus wrought I with my fantasie, And sought my helpe none other waies. (125) Saue sometime to my selfe alone, When farre of was my helpe God wot: Lowde would I crye: My life is gone, My dere, if that ye helpe me not. Then wisht I streight, that death might end (130) These bitter panges, and al this grief For nought, methought, might it amend. Thus in dispaire to haue relief, I lingred forth: tyl I was brought with pining in so piteous case: (135) That al, that sawe me, sayd, methought: Lo, death is painted in his face. I went no where: but by the way I saw some sight before mine eyes: That made me sigh, and oft times say: (140) My life, alas I thee despyse. This lasted well a yere, and more: Which no wight knew, but onely I: So that my life was nere for lore: And I dispaired vtterly. (145) Til on a day, as fortune would: (For that, that shalbe, nedes must fal) I sat me down, as though I should Haue ended then my lyfe, and al. And as I sat to write my playnt, (150) Meanyng to shew my great vnrest: With quaking hand, and hart full faint, Amid my plaintes, among the rest, I wrote with ynk, and bitter teares: I am not myne, I am not mine: (155) Behold my life, away that weares: And if I dye the losse is thine. Herewith a little hope I caught: That for a whyle my life did stay. But in effect, all was for naught. (160) Thus liued I styl: tyl on a day