The Lamentation of the vvofull man, hauinge for entire Loue no goodvvyll.
THe time that I began, to enter first to life,
Woulde God the sisters three had cut the threade with fatale knife
Wolde God that death had béen, with arowes readie bente,
To pearce the wofull harte of mine, whiche now with care is spente.
Then should I not at all, haue folowed fancies lewre,
Whose outwarde showe of suger sweet, is mirt with poyson sowre:
As now I am constrainde, by destnie sure I thinke,
That still doth finde but bitter tast, yet cannot choose but drinke.
Thus I God knowes full oft a heauie harte do beare,
••hen out wardly I seeme to shew a mery carelesse cheare,
Desembling eke my case, in hope of happier day,
But aye from time to time I finde nought els but my decay.
I pine in secret flanies, like ware consumde with fyre,
I wishe, but alwaies wante my will, lo this mine only hier:
What Paps did geue hir foode, that nought regardes my wo?
What Tiger fearce alas coulde hate, the harte that loued hir so.