Late being new fangled, so fancie did moue,
I was fast entangled in nets of blinde loue,
(Good friends, doe beleeue me) I chose out a trull,
Which daily doth giue me a shrewd crow to pull.
Fauour with her felowes raisde coales of desire,
Bewtie was the bellowes, that first blew the fire.
Thus was I enflamed, no reason was left me,
My senses were lamed, my wits were bereft me.
In hope of some fauour, I then fell awooing:
Such was her behauiour, she sought my vndoing,
Small is my promotion, most foolish, what ment I,
To yeelde my deuotion, to such a dame daintie?
Since loue first soiourned, such ease doe I feele,
As Yxion, turned about on the wheele.
Although by deseruing, she ought to be mine,
With Tantalus staruing, in griefe still I pine.
And through her controlling, my rest is as ill:
As Sisiphus rolling the stone vp the hill.
Thus is my state chaunged, deepe dolours do fill me:
My mirth is estraunged, good death come and kil me.
Whiles I heere in moning, the time out doe linger:
My griefe and my groning, is falne in my finger.
My finger, my finger, my finger, beleeue me:
Alas little finger, ful sore thou dost grieue me,
Was euer a finger perplext in such taking,
I thinke my poore finger will neuer leaue aking.
The cause of my sadnes, at length I coniecture:
Is loue with his madnes, that breedes this infecture.
I force not a pinne, it forth now is gotten:
Yet whole is the skinne, the flesh is not rotten.
I heard when it fel, now feele I no euil:
Dame daintie farewell, adew to the deuill.