Whan you lacke that which is true lovers deserte;
I tell you this your selfe to converte,
For lytle know ye of this payne ywys,
To lyve with him in whome no pleasure is.
Where that is love, there can be no lacke;
Fye on that love for the land or substaunce,
For it must nedes right soone abacke
Whan that youth hath no joye nor pleasaunce
In the party with natures suffisaunce;
Than wyll you, for the sinne of averiche,