The Lover waxeth wiser, and will not die for Affection

YET was I never of your love aggrieved,

Nor never shall while that my life doth last:

But of hating myself, that date is past;

And tears continual sore have me wearied:

I will not yet in my grave be buried;

Nor on my tomb your name have fixed fast,

As cruel cause, that did the spirit soon haste

From th’ unhappy bones, by great sighs stirred.

Then if a heart of amorous faith and will

Content your mind withouten doing grief;

Please it you so to this to do relief:

If otherwise you seek for to fulfil

Your wrath, you err, and shall not as you ween;

And you yourself the cause thereof have been.