To a fickle and vnconstant Dame, a friendly warning

WHat may I thinke of you (my Fawlcon frée)
That hauing hood, lines, buets, bels of mée,
And woonted earst when I my game did spring
To flie so well and make such nimble wing,
As might no Fowle for weightnesse well compare
With thée, thou wert a Bird so passing rare:
What may I déeme of thée (fayre Fawlcon) now,
That neyther to my lure nor traine wilt bow.
But this that when my back is turnde and gon,
Another giues thée rumpes to tyre vpon.
Well wanton well, if you were wise in déede
You would regard the fist whereon you féede.
You would the Horse deuouring Crow refuse,
And gorge your selfe with fleshe more fine to chuse.
I wishe thée this for woonted olde good will
To flie more high, for feare the stowping will
Bréede him, that now doth kéepe thée, out of loue
And thinke his Fawlcon will a Bussard proue.
Which if he deeme, or doe suspect at all,
He will abate thy flesh, and make thée fall.
So that of force thou shalt enforced bée
Too doe by him as nowe thou dost by mée:
That is to leaue the Kéeper, and away,
Fawlcon take héede, for this is true I say.