Be alwaye meke / let wysdome be your guyde Aduenture for honoure / and put your selfe in preace Clymbe not to fast / lest sodenly ye slyde Lete god werke styll / he wyll your mynde encrece Begynne no warre / be gladde to kepe the peace Prepence no thynge / agaynst the honoure Of ony lady / by fraudolent fauoure Alas madame / vnto her than sayd I Aboue .xx. woulues / dyde me touse and rent Not longe agone / delynge moost shamefully That by theyr tuggynge / my lyfe was nere spent I dyde perceyue / somwhat of theyr entente As the trouthe is knowen / vnto god aboue My ladyes fader they dyde lytell loue Seynge theyr falshode / and theyr subtylte For fere of deth /where as I loued best I dyde dysprayse / to knowe theyr cruelte Somwhat to wysdome / accordynge to behest Though that my body had but lytell rest My herte was trewe vnto my ladyes blood For all theyr dedes I thought no thynge but good Some had wende the hous for to swepe Nought was theyr besom / I holde it set on fyre The inwarde wo in to my herte dyde crepe To god aboue / I made my hole desyre Saynge o good lorde of heuenly empyre Let the mount with all braunches swete Entyerly growe / god gyue vs grace to mete Soma had wened for to haue made an ende Of my bokes / before he hadde begynnynge But all vayne they dyde so comprehende Whan they of them lacke vnderstandynge Vaynfull was & is theyr mysse contryuynge Who lyst the trouthe of them for to enfuse For the reed and whyte they wryte full true Well sayd this lady I haue perceueraunce Of our bokes / whiche that ye endyte So as ye saye is all the cyrcumstaunce Vnto the hyghe pleasure of the reed and the whyte Which hath your trouth / and wyll you acquyte Doubte ye no thynge / but at the last ye maye Of your true mynde yet fynde a Ioyfull daye Forsothe I sayd / dysdayne and straungenesse I fere them sore / and fals reporte I wolde they were / in warde all doutles Lyke as I was / without conforte Than wolde I thynke / my lady wolde resorte Vnto dame mercy / my payne to consyder God knoweth all / I wolde we were togyder Though in meane season / of grene grasse I fede It wolde not greue me / yf she knewe my heuynesse My trauayle is grete / I praye god be my spede To resyste the myght / of myn enmyes subtylnesse Whiche awayte to take / me by theyr doublenesse My wysdome is lytel / yet god may graunt me grace Them to defende / in euery maner of cace Lerne this she sayd / yf that you can by wytte Of foes make frendes / they wyll be to you sure yf that theyr frendshyp / be vnto you knytte It is oft stedfast / and wyll longe endure yf alwaye malyce / they wyll put in vre No doubte it is / than god so hyght and stronge Ful meruaylously / wyl soone reuenge theyr wronge