The Lover rejoiceth against Fortune that by hindering his suit had happily made him forsake his Folly

IN faith I wot not what to say,

Thy chances been so wonderous,

Thou Fortune, with thy divers play

That makest the joyful dolorous,

And eke the same right joyous.

Yet though thy chain hath me enwrapt,

Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.

Though thou has set me for a wonder,

And seekest by change to do me pain:

Men’s minds yet mayst thou not so order;

For honesty, if it remain,

Shall shine for all thy cloudy rain.

In vain thou seekest to have me trapped;

Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt.

In hindering me, me didst thou further;

And made a gap, where was a stile:

Cruel wills been oft put under;

Weening to lour, then didst thou smile:

Lord, how thyself thou didst beguile,

That in thy cares wouldst me have wrapt?

But spite of hap, hap hath well hapt.