To his Friend that refusde him without cause why but onely vpon delight of chaunge

YOu showe your selfe to bée
a Woman right by kinde:
You lyke and then mislyke againe
where you no cause doe finde.
I can not thinke that loue
was planted in your brest,
As did your flattring lookes declare,
and periurde tongue protest.
Thou swarste alone that I
thy fansie did subdue,
Then why should frensie force thée now
to show thy selfe vntrue?
Fie faithlesse woman fie,
wilt thou condemne the kinde
Bicause of iust report of yll
and blot of wauering minde?
Too playne it now appeares
that lust procurde thy loue,
Or else it would not so decay
and causelesse thus remoue.
I thought that I at first
a Lucrece had subdude,
But nowe I finde that fansie fonde
my senses did delude
I déemde that I had got
a Fawlcon to the fist,
Whome I might quickly haue reclaimde,
but I my purpose mist.
For (oh) the worser hap
my Fawlcon is so frée,
As downe shée stoupes to straungers lure
and forceth least of mée.
Good shape was yll bestowde
vpon so vile a Kite,
That Haggard wise doth loue to liue
and doth in chaunge delight.
Yéeld me thy flanting Hood,
shake off those Belles of thine,
Such checking Bussards yll deserue
or Bell or Hood so fine.
With Fowles of baser sort
how can you brooke too flie,
That earst your Nature did to Hawkes
of stately kinde applie?
If want of pray enforste
this chaunge thou art too blame:
For I had euer traines in store
to make my Fawlcon game.
I had a Tassell eke
full gentle by his kinde,
Too flie with thée in vse of wing
the greater ioy to finde.
No, doubtlesse wanton lust
and fleshly fowle desire
Did make thée loath my friendly lure,
and set thy hart on fire
Too trie what mettall was
in Bussards to be founde
This, this was it that made thée stowpe
from loftie gate to grounde.
Wherefore if euer luck
doe let me light on thée,
And Fortune graunt me once againe
thy keeper for to bée:
Thy diet shall be such,
thy tyring rumpes so bare,
As thou shalt know thy kéeper well,
and for none other care.
Meanewhile on carren féede,
thy hungrie gorge to glut:
That all thy lust in daylie chaunge
and diet new dost put.
Diseases must of force
such féeding fowle ensue:
No force to me, thou wert my Bird,
But (Fawlcon) now adue.