The Lover hopeth of better Chance

HE is not dead, that sometime had a fall,

The sun returns, that hid was under cloud,

And when fortune hath spit out all her gall,

I trust, good luck to me shall be allowed:

For I have seen a ship in haven fall,

After that storm hath broke both mast and shroud:

The willow eke, that stoopeth with the wind,

Doth rise again, and greater wood doth bind.