The Louer blames his Tongue that failed to vtter his sute in time of neede

FOrcause I still preferde the truth before
Shamelesse vntruth, and lothsome léesings lore,
I finde my selfe yll recompenst therefore
Off thée my Tongue.
For good desert and guiding thée aright,
That thou for aye mightst liue deuoide of spight,
I reape but shame, and lack my chiefe delight
For silence kept.
When happie hap by hap aduaunst my case,
And brought mée to my Ladie face to face,
Where I hir Corps in safetie might imbrace,
Thou heldst thy peace.
Thou madste my voyce to cleaue amids my throte,
And sute to cease vnluckylie (God wote)
Thou wouldst not speake, tho yu hadst quite forgote
My harts behest.
My hart by thée suspected was of guile,
For cause thou ceast to vse a louing stile,
And wordes to forge and frame with finest file
As Louers woont.
Thou madste my bloud fro paled face to start,
And flie to séeke some succor of the hart,
That wounded was long earst with dreadfull dart
Off Cupids Bowe.
And thou as colde as any Marble stone
When from my face the chillie bloud was gone,
Couldst not deuise the way to make my mone
By wordes appéere.
And (yée my teares) that woonted were to flowe
And streame adowne as fast as thawed Snowe,
Were stopt, as then yée had no powre to showe
A Louers sute.
My sighes that earst were woont to dim the Skie,
And cause a fume by force of flame to flie,
Were tho as slack, as Welles of wéeping drie
Too showe my Loue.
The hart that lay incombred all within
Had fainted quite had not by lookes ybin:
For they declarde the case my hart was in
By tongues vntroth.