Dear, though from me your gratious looks depart, And of that comfort do myself bereave, Which both I did deserve and did receive, Triumph not over much in this my smart.
Nay, rather they which now enjoy thy heart For fear just cause of mourning should conceive, Lest thou inconstant shouldst their trust deceive Which like unto the weather changing art.
For in foul weather birds sing often will In hope of fair, and in fair time will cease, For fear fair time should not continue still; So they may mourn which have thy heart possessed For fear of change, and hope of change may ease Their hearts whom grief of change doth now molest.
X
If ever any justly might complain Of unrequited service, it is I; Change is the thanks I have for loyalty, And only her reward is her disdain; So as just spite did almost me constrain, Through torment her due praises to deny, For he which vexed is with injury By speaking ill doth ease his heart of pain.
But what, shall torture make me wrong her name?
No, no, a pris"ner constant thinks it shame, Though he (were) racked his first truth to gainsay.
Her true given praise my first confession is; Though her disdain do rack me night and day, This I confessed, and will deny in this.