But my excuse is good; love first by fate
Is crost, controulde,[1909] and sundered by fell hate.
Franke Goursey is my love, and he loves me;
But both our mothers hate and disagree; 100
Our fathers like the match and wish it don;
And so it had, had not our mothers come;
To Oxford we concluded both to go;
Going to meete, they came; we parted so;
My mother followed me, but I ran fast, 105
Thinking who went from hate had need make hast;