For schoolemen can no fowle defects supplye:
My sauce was sowre, though meate before was sweete,
Nowe Wolsey lackte both conning, wit, and spreete.
48.
A deepe conceyte of that, possest my heade,
So fell I sicke, consumde as some did thinke:
So tooke in haste my chamber, and my bed,
On which deuise, perhaps, the worlde might winke:
But in the heart sharpe sorrow so did sinke,
That gladnes sweete, (forsooke my senses all)