If love now reynyd as it hath bene
And war rewardit as it hath sene,
Nobyll men then wold suer enserch
All ways wherby thay myght it rech;
But envy reynyth with such dysdayne,
And causith lovers owtwardly to refrayne,
Which puttes them to more and more
Inwardly most grevous and sore;
The faut in whome I cannot sett;
But let them tell which love doth gett.
To lovers I put now suer this cace -
Which of ther loves doth get them grace?
And unto them which doth it know
Better than do I, I thynk it so.
