Of a disdainfull persone.

DIsdaine in thee doeth spot thee mutche,
Whose blot I see, within thy browe,
No nother faulte, in thee I toutche:
Of vertues all, thou hast inowe,
Then let no braunche, of vice in thee,
In fecte the fruite of sutche a tree.

For swellyng hate, doeth purches foes,
And fretts the minde, with gnawyng thought,
And harmelesse lookes, embraseth those:
Whose loue for gold, can not be bought,
And courteous speeche, doeth freendship staie,
That froward woords, doeth cast awaie.

Thou seest the fire, consumes his heate,
With ragyng flames, that soone are gon,
The greene wood smoks, awaie with sweate:
And warms them not, that laies it on,
So thou with scorne, of angers mood,
But sinnes thy self, and doeth no good.

Thou seest also, the cankered knife,
With ruste and filth, defaced cleane,
What bale beginns, and breeds through strife:
Thou seest and knowst, now what I meane,
By this thou seest, whiche is moste meete,
The bitter gall, or Suger sweete.

When wrathe is spente, with ore long spight,
And no reuenge, thou haste thereby,
Then shalt thou lose, my freendship quight:
A faster freend, then shall I trye,
Now whiles thou haste, the choice of twoo,
Doe knitt the knott, or els vndoo.