 | Poems (1872) |  |
65
XIII. LOUE THY CHOYSE.
Who taught the fyrst to syghe, alas my harte?Who taught thy tongue ye woefull wordes of playnte?
Who fylled your eyes with teares of bitter smarte?
Who gaue thee greefe and made thy ioyes to faynte?
Who fyrste did paynte with coulers pal thy face?
Who fyrste did breake thy sleeps of quiet rest?
Aboue the rest in Courte who gaue the grace?
Who made the stryue in honour to be beste?
In constante trouthe to byde so fyrme ād sure
To scorne the worlde, regarding but thye freendes?
With patient mynde eche passione to endure,
In one desyre to settle to the ende?
Loue then thy choyse wherin suche choyse thou bynde
As noughte but deathe maye euer change thye mynde.
| Poems (1872) | |