A Newe Ballade of a Louer / Extollinge His Ladye

My loue is set so suer,
And fixed on thee so:
That by no meanes I can abstaine,
My faythfull loue to showe,
My wounded harte theirfore:
To thee for helpe doth crye:
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

Although the Gods were bent,
With greedie mynde to slaye:
My corpes with cruell panges of death,
And lyfe to take awaye.
yet should my faythfull harte,
At no tyme from thee flye:
Show loue therfore for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

Although the Sun were bent,
To burne me with his beames:
and that mine eyes throw greuos pags,
Should send forth bloudy streames.
yet would I not for sake,
But styll to thee wolude crye:
To showe me loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though ech sterre were tournd,
Vntyll a fiery darte:
And were all ready bent with payne,
To perce throwe out my harte.
yet coulde I not forsake,
To loue thee faythfullye,
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though eche foule were formde,
A Serpent fell to be:
My corps to slay wt bloudy wouds,
And to deuower me.
yet would I be thine owne,
To loue full hartelye:
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though the Lyon were,
with gapinge gredye Iawe:
Readye with rygorus raggye teeth,
My fleshe to teare and gnawe,
yet woulde I be thine owne,
To serue most earnestlye:
Extend thy loue, for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though the fishes all,
That swymes in surginge sease:
should swallowe me wt gredy mouth
yet could thee not apease.
My earnest harte to thee,
To loue entyerlye:
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though the earth would gape,
And swallowe me there in:
And that I should tormentyd be,
In hell with euery fyn.
yet would I be thy owne,
To saue or els to spyll:
Show me therfore lyke loue againe
Or els thou dost me kyll.