Than wolde I thynke / my lady wolde resorte
Vnto dame mercy / my payne to consyder
God knoweth all / I wolde we were togyder
Though in meane season / of grene grasse I fede
It wolde not greue me / yf she knewe my heuynesse
My trauayle is grete / I praye god be my spede
To resyste the myght / of myn enmyes subtylnesse
Whiche awayte to take / me by theyr doublenesse
My wysdome is lytel / yet god may graunt me grace
Them to defende / in euery maner of cace