As loue and hate / ye knowe your selfe the trouthe
yf I sholde hate you / deth I were worthy playne
Than had you cause / with me to be wrothe
To deserue dyspleasure / my herte wolde be lothe
Wherfore fayre lady / I yelde at this hower
To your mekenes / my herte my loue and power
¶ Pucell.
I thynke you past all chyldy ygnoraunce
But gladde I am / yf prudence be your guyde
Grace cometh often after gouernaunce