Lament my losse, my labor, and my payne

Lament my losse, my labor, and my payne.
All ye that here mye wofull playnte and crye;
If ever man myght ons your hert constrayne
To pytie wordes of right, yt shuld be I,
That sins the tyme that youthe in me ded rayne,
My pleasaunte yeres to bondage did aplye,
Wiche as yt was I purposed to declare
Wherebye my frendes hereafter maye be ware.

And if perchaunce some reders list to muse,
What menith me so playnlye for to wright.
My good entente the fawte of that shall skuse,
Wiche meane nothing, but trulye to end)rght
The crafte and care, the greef and long abuse
Of lovers la we, and eke for punisshmente mighte,
Wiche though that man oft tymesbye paynis doth kno,
Lyttle theye wot wiche wayes the gylis doth grow !

Yet well ye kno, that will renne my smart
Thus to reherse the paynes that I have past,
My hand doth shake, my pen skant doth his parte.
My boddye quakes, my wyttis begynne to waste,
Twixt heate and colde, in fere I fele my herte
Panting for payne, and this, as all agaste
I do remayne, skant wotting what I wryght
Perdon me then, kyndelye, tho I endite.

And patientely, O reader, I the praye
Take in good parte this worke as yt ys mente,
And greve thee not with ought that I shall saye,
Sins with good will this boke abrode ys sente,
To tell men howe in youthe I ded assaye
What love ded mene, and nowe I yt repente.
Yet moving me my frendes might well be ware,
And kepe them free from all such payne and care.