[Both sing, Give a leg, as is before.
2 What, though thou hast not hit
The top of thy desire,
Time is not so far spent as yet
To cause thee to retire.
Arise, and ease thyself of pain,
And make thee strong to fight again_.
SING BOTH.
Let not thy foes rejoice;
Let not thy friends lament;
Let not thy lady's rueful voice
In sobs and sighs be spent;
Thy faith is plight, forget it not,
Twixt her and thee to knit the knot.
SING.
_Give a leg, &c.
This is no deadly wound:
It may be cured well.
See here what physic we have found
Thy sorrows to expel.
[Wit lifting himself up, sitting on the ground.
The way is plain, the mark is fair,
Lodge not thyself in deep despair_.
WIT.[412]
What noise is this, that ringeth in my ears,
Her noise that grieveth my mishap with tears?
Ah, my mishap, my desperate mishap,
On[413] whom ill-fortune poureth down all mishap at a clap,
What shall become of me, where shall I hide my head?
O, what a death is it to live for him that would be dead?
But since it chanceth so, whatever wight thou be,
That findeth me here in heavy plight, go, tell her this from me.
Causeless I perish here, and cause to curse I have.
The time that erst I lived to love, and now must die her slave,
The match was over-much for me, she understood,
Alas, why hath she this delight to lap in guiltless blood?
How did I give her cause to show me this despite,
To match me where she wist full well I should be slain in fight?
But go, and tell her plain, although too late for me,
Accursed be the time and hour, which first I did her see.
Accursed be the wight, that will'd me first thereto,
And cursed be they all at once, that had therewith to do.
Now get thee hence in haste, and suffer me to die.
Whom scornful chance and lawless love have slain most traitorously.
RECREATION.
O noble Wit, the miracle of God and eke of Nature:
Why cursest thou thyself and every other creature?
What causeth thee thine innocent dear lady to accuse?
Who would lament it more than she to hear this woful news?
Why wilt thou die, whereas thou may'st be sure of health?
Whereas thou seest a plain pathway to worship and to wealth.
Not every foil doth make a fall, nor every soil doth slay;
Comfort thyself: be sure thy luck will mend from day to day.