Which example may justly be a sufficient warning for all young Men to beware the feigned fidelity of unconstant Maidens. ALL youthful wights at liberty, whom Love did never thrall; I wish that my decay may be a warning to you all! That have a sore, bred in my breast, although it be not strange; Yet will it bring me to the grave, without some sudden change. For I, by suit, have servèd one two years and somewhat more, And now I can no longer serve; my heart it is so sore. Which heart I let to Usury, through greedy fond desire; Not doubting to receive home twain, when I would them require. But if that every Usurer had such good hap as I, There would not be so many men would use this usury. My Debtor hath deceivèd me; for she is from me fled: And I am left among the briars to bring a fool to bed. So that I silly [_innocent_] man remain each day in doubtful case: For Death doth daily lie in wait to 'rest me with his mace. And cast me into prison strong, the door is made of grass: And I might bless my hour of birth, if it were come to pass. For, lo, my careful choice doth choose to keep me still in thrall; And doth regard my love no more than stone that lies in wall. Whereby I see that women's hearts are made of marble stone: I see how careless they can be, when pensive men do moan. I sowed both pure and perfect seed on fair and pleasant ground; In hope, though harvest brought some pain, some profit might be found. But now the harvest ended is; and for my faithful seeds, And all my pain[s] and labour past, I have nought else but weeds. I thrust my hand among the thorns, in hope the rose to find: I pricked my hand, and eke my heart; yet left the rose behind. Not I, but many more I know in love do lack relief: But I, as cause doth me compel, do wail my pain and grief. I doubtless cannot be the first that Love hath put to pain: Nor yet I shall not be the last that Women will disdain. If I, poor wretch, should think upon the pains that I have past; Or if I could recount the cares that she hath made me taste: Into despair it would me drive, and cleave my heart in twain; Or else bereave me of my wits, to think upon the pain. I never spent one day in joy, my careful heart doth know; Since first I lent my love to her, by whom my grief doth grow. There are no greater pains assigned for damnèd ghosts in hell, Than I do suffer for her sake, that I do love so well. The price that I have paid for love, not many men would give: But I my bargain shall repent as long as I do live.