Whyles I haue ought, by God, thou shalt not lacke,
And yf nede be, a bolde worde I dare cracke.
Nay, naye, be sure, whyles I am on your syde,
Ye maye not fall, truste me, ye maye not fayle; 170
Ye stonde[271] in fauoure, and Fortune is your gyde,
And, as she wyll, so shall our grete shyppe sayle:
Thyse lewde cok wattes[272] shall neuermore preuayle
Ageynste you hardely, therfore be not afrayde:
Farewell tyll soone; but no worde that I sayde.
DREDE.