Of the fickle faithe of men.

THE thoughts of men, doe daiely chaunge,
As phansies breeds within their breasts:
And now their natuers are so straunge,
That fewer can find, where frendship rests
For double dealyng bears sutche swaie:
That honest meanyng doeth decaie.

The stedfast faithe that freends profeste,
Is fled from them, or little vsde:
Who hath a perfaite freende possest,
In whom he neuer was abusde.
Where one is founde a frende in deede:
A score there bee, that failes at neede.

A frende in woords, where deedes are dedde,
Is like a spryng, that water wants:
And thei that with, faire words are fedde,
Doe hope for fruite, on withred plants.
But who can iudge by vewe of eye:
Where deeds are dedde, and trothe doeth lye.

For barraine Trees, will blossoms beare,
As well as these, that fruite shall yeeld:
Whose barcke and branches seems as feare,
As any Tree, within the feeld.
As simply looks the subtell man,
As he that of, no falshed can.

The surest waie, that I can finde,
Is first to proue, and then to truste:
Wherein affection is not blinde,
For proof will sone, spie out the iuste.
And triall knowes, who means desaite,
And bidds the blout, beware the baite.

Without good proofe, be not to bolde,
If you my councell lists to take:
In painted woords, there is no holde,
Thei are but leau's, that winde doeth shake.
But where that woords, and deeds agree,
Accept that freende, and credite me:
For he that giu's, this councell here,
Hath bought his witte, and freendshipp dere.