He remembereth the Promise his Lady once gave him of Affection, and comforteth himself with Hope

THAT time that mirth did steer my ship,

Which now is fraught with heaviness

And Fortune beat not then the lip,

But was defence of my distress,

Then in my book wrote my mistress;

‘I am yours, you may well be sure;

And shall be while my life doth dure.’

But she herself which then wrote that

Is now mine extreme enemy;

Above all men she doth me hate,

Rejoicing of my misery.

But though that for her sake I die,

I shall be hers, she may be sure,

As long as my life doth endure.

It is not time that can wear out

With me that once is firmly set;

While Nature keeps her course about

My love from her no man can let.

Though never so sore they me threat,

Yet am I hers, she may be sure;

And shall be while that life doth dure.

And once I trust to see that day,

Renewer of my joy and wealth,

That she to me these words shall say;

‘In faith! welcome to me myself!

Welcome my joy! welcome my health,

For I am thine, thou mayst be sure,

And shall be while that life doth dure.’

Aye me! alas! what words were these!

Incontinent I might find them so!

I reck not what smart or disease

I suffered, so that I might know

[After my passed pain and woe]

That she were mine; and might be sure

She should be while that life doth dure.