The abused Lover bewails the time that ever his Eye beheld her to whom he had given his faithful Heart

ALAS! poor man, what hap have I,

That must forbear that I love best!

I trow, it be my destiny,

Never to live in quiet rest.

No wonder is though I complain;

Not without cause ye may be sure;

I seek for that I cannot attain,

Which is my mortal displeasure.

Alas! poor heart, as in this case

With pensive plaint thou art opprest;

Unwise thou were to desire place

Whereas another is possest.

Do what I can to ease thy smart,

Thou wilt not let to love her still;

Hers, and not mine I see thou art;

Let her do by thee as she will.

A careful carcass full of pain

Now hast thou left to mourn for thee,

The heart once gone, the body is slain,

That ever I saw her woe is me;

Mine eye, alas! was cause of this,

Which her to see had never his fill;

To me that sight full bitter is,

In recompense of my good will.

She that I serve all other above

Hath paid my hire, as ye may see;

I was unhappy, and that I prove,

To love above my poor degree.