The forsaken Louer laments that his Ladie is matched with an other

AS Menelaus did lament
When Helena to Troie went,
And to the Teucrian Guest applide
And all hir Countrie Friends defide:
Euen so I féele tormenting paine
To lurck in erie little vaine,
And ransack all my Corse, to sée
That shée hath now forsaken mee,
The faithfull Friend that she could finde:
But fickle Dames will to their kinde.
A simple chaunge in fayth it was
To leaue the Lyon for the Asse,
Such chopping will but make you bare
And spend your lyfe in carek and care,
You might haue taken better héede
Then left the Graine, and chose the wéede:
Your Haruest would the better beene
If you had to your Bargin séene,
But to recant it is to late,
Go too, a Gods name to your Mate,
Tis Muck that makes the Pot to play
As men of olde were woont to say,
And women marrie for the gaine
Though oft it fall out to their paine:
And as I gesse thou hast ydoon
When all thy twist is throughly spoon,
It will appéere vnto thy foes,
Thou pluckst a Nettle for a Rose:
In faith thy Friend would loth to sée
Thy curssed luck so yll to bée.