That he of love shall have no report,
But loke hye his hart to transport,
And I my selfe shall him so assayle
That he in love shall nothyng prevayle.
On the fourth head, on the helmet crest
There was a stremer ryght white, large and long,
Wheron was written with vyse of the best,
My name is Variaunce, that ever among
The mynde of love doth chaunge with great wrong,
That a true lover can not be certayne