The Louer seeing himselfe abusde, renounceth Loue

THough men account it shame
and folly to repent,
Or grutcht good will that was bestowde
when nought saue faith was ment:
Yet can they not denie
but if the knot be burst,
Then may we shew our selues vnkinde
that friendly were at furst.
He runnes an endlesse race
that neuer turnes againe,
And he a fonded Louer is
that wastes his loue in vaine.
Nought can he iudge of hues,
that can not sée when Guile
In place of friendship cloakes hir selfe
in forme of forged wile.
And he that plainely sées
the Trap before his eie
And will not shun from perill, tis
no matter though he die.
I tell my tale by proufe
I speake it not by rot,
To loue a subtile Lasse of late
was fallen to my lot.
On whome I set such store
such comfort and delight,
As life it was to sée hir face,
a death to want hir sight.
So I might doe the thing
that might abridge hir smart,
And bannish all annoy that grue
by froward fortunes Art:
What daunger would I dread?
or perill séeme to shun?
None that is here bylow on earth
or subiect to the Sun.
To shew my selfe a Friend
to hir, I was my Foe:
She was the onely Idoll whome
I honorde here belowe.
This is (thought I) the same
that was Vlysses wife:
Who in the absence of hir Make
did leade a dolefull life.
Or else tis she at least
whome Tarquyn did enforce
By beastly rape with piercing sworde
so to for doe hir Corse.
But such is hir abuse
so frowarde eke hir grace,
As loue it may no longer last
since friendship hides his face.
I did not well aduise
I built on sincking Sande.
And when I thought she looude me best
shee bore me but in hande.
Where I had thought a Porte
and Hauen sure to bée:
There founde I hap and dreadfull death,
as gazers on may sée.
As Mouse that treades the trap
in hope to finde repast,
And bites the bread that bréedes his bane
and is intrapped fast:
Like was my dolefull case
that fed vpon my wo,
Till now Repentance willes mée all
such fansies to forgo.
And (thanked be good hap)
now once againe I fleete
And swim aloft, that sanck of late
fast hampred by the féete.
Now is my fortune good
so Fortune graunt it last:
And I as happie as the best
now stormie cloudes are past,
I finde the bottom firme
and stable where I passe,
There are no haughtie Rocks at hande
ne yet no ground of Glasse.
Good Ancor holde I haue
so I may vse it still,
I am no more a bounden Thrall
but frée I liue at will.
But that which most torments
my minde, and reaues my ioy.
Is, for I serude a fickle Wench
that bred mée this annoy,
But Gods forgiue my guilt
and time mispent before
And I will be a sillie Sot
of Cupids crue no more.