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The louer for want of his desyre, sheweth his death at hand.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The louer for want of his desyre, sheweth his death at hand.

As Cypres tree that rent is by the roote,
As branch or slyppe bereft from whēce it growes
As well sowen seede for drought that can not sproute
As gaping ground that raineles can not close
As moules that want the earth to do them bote
As fishe on lande to whom no water flowes,
As Chameleon that lackes the ayer so sote.
As flowers do fade when Phebus rarest showes,
As salamandra repulsed from the fyre:
So wanting my wishe I dye for my desyre