And do seeke wayes to ende, and finish all my woe.
This penaunce which I beare by yelding to thy hest
Great store of ioyes shall heape, and bring my mynde to rest.
And when I am at ease amids my pleasaunt happes,
Then shall I see thee fall, and snarld in Fortune’s trappes.
Then shall I see thee ban and cursse the wicked time,
Wherin thou madest me gulp such draught of poysoned wine.
Of which thy mortall cup, I am the offerd wight,
A vowed sacrifice to that thy cruell spight.
Wherefore my hoping heart doth hope to see the day,