 | The Works of William Fowler
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LVI.
In serving yow I see my losse insewe,
and to my ruyne that I rin with speide;
I see that deathe, with terrour to my vewe,
dothe with her darte vnto my fall proceide;
I see I must dispaire to find remeid,
quhils pittie hathe no place nor plaints prevayle;
I see yow cruel, cairles of my deide,
and cairfullye your murder I conceale:
yet thow, curst, blist engendrer of my bayle,
extend thy grace at last and harte relent,
perpend my woes in ballances of zeale,
and trye my treuthe and my vnstaynd intent:
iff they be light, downe wey thame with a kiss,
the gayne wer great, and gever I wald bliss.
| The Works of William Fowler
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