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Against his tong that failed to vtter his sutes.

Because I still kept thee fro lyes, and blame,
And to my power alwayes thee honoured,
Unkind tongue, to yll hast thou me rendred,
For such desert to do me wreke and shame.
In nede of succour most when that I am,
To aske reward: thou standst like one afraied,
Alway most cold: and if one word be sayd,
As in a dreame, vnperfit is the same.
And ye salt teares, agaynst my wyll eche nyght,
That are wyth me, when I would be alone:
Then are ye gone, when I should make my mone.
And ye so ready sighes, to make me shright,
Then are ye slacke, when that ye should outstart.
And onely doth my loke declare my hart.