The Louer in vtter dispaire of his Ladies returne, in eche respect compares his estate with Troylus

MY case with Troylus may compare,
For as he felt both sorrow and care:
Euen so doe I most Miser Wight,
That am a Troylus outright.
As ere he could atchieue his wish,
He fed of many a dolefull dish,
And day and night vnto the Skies
The sielie Troian kest his eies,
Requesting ruth at Cresids hande
In whome his life and death did stande:
So night and day I spent in wo,
Ere she hir pittie would bestow
To quight me from the painefull plight
That made me be a Martir right.
As when at last he fauour sounde,
And was recured of his wounde,
His grutching griefes to comfort grue,
And torments from the Troian flue:
So when my Ladie did remooue
Hir rigour, and began to looue
Hir Vassell in such friendly sort,
As might appeere by outward port:
Then who began to ioy but I
That stoode my Mistresse hart so nie?
Then (as the Troian did) I soong,
And out my Ladies vertues roong
So lowde, as all the world could tell
What was the meaning of the Bell.
And as that pleasaunt taste of ioy
That he endured had in Troy,
From swéete to sower did conuart,
When Cresida did thence depart:
So my forepassed pleasures arre
By spitefull Fortune put a farre
By hir departure from this place,
Where I was woont to view hir face.
So Angelike that shone in sight
Surpassing Phoebes golden light.
As when that Diomed the Gréeke
Had giuen the Troian Foe the gléeke.
And rest him Cresids comely hue
Which often made his hart to rue,
The wofull Troylus did lament,
And dolefull dayes in mourning spent:
So I bereft my loouing Make,
To sighes and sobbings mée betake,
Repining that my fortune is
Of my desired Friend to misse,
And that a guilefull Greeke should bée
Estéemde of hir in such degrée.
But though my fortune frame awrie,
And I dispoylde hir companie
Must waste the day and night in wo,
For that the Gods appointed so:
I naythelesse will wish hir well
And better than to Cresid fell.
I pray she may haue better hap
Than beg hir bread with Dish and Clap,
As shée the sielie Miser did
When Troylus by the Spittle rid.
God shield hir from the Lazars lore
And lothsome Leapers stincking sore,
And for the loue I earst hir bare
I wish hir as my selfe to fare:
My selfe that am a Troian true
As shée full well by triall knue.
And as King Priams worthie Sonne
All other Ladies séemde to shonne
For loue of Cresid: so doe I
All Venus Dearlings quight defie,
In minde to loue them all aleee,
That leaue a Troian for a Greeke.