A lover of late was I,
For Cupid would have it soe,
The boy that hath never an eye,
As every man doth know.
I sighed, and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught and called me ****.

Then knew not I what to doe
When I saw itt was in vaine
A lady oe coy to wooe,
Who gave me the asse so plaine.
Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe and beare with mee.

An I were as faire as shee,
Or shee were as kind as I,
What payre cold have made, as wee,
Soe prettye a sympathye?
I was as kind as she was faire,
But for all this wee cold not paire.

Paire with her that will, for mee!
With her I will never paire
That cunningly can be coy,
For being a little faire.
The asse Ile leave to her disdaine,
And now I am myselfe againe.