Spight hathe no power to make me sadde

Spight hathe no power to make me sadde,
Nor scornefulnesse to make me playne,
Yt doth suffise that ons I had,
And so to leve yt is no payne.

Let theim frowne on that leste dothe gaine,
Who ded rejoyse must nedes be glad,
And tho with wordis thou wenist to rayne
Yt doth suffise that ons I had.

Sins that in chekes thus overthwarte
And coylye lookis thou dpste delight,
Yt doth suffise that myne thou warte,
Tho change hath put thye faith to flight.

Alas, it is a pevishe spight
To yelde thiself and then to parte.
But sins thou seiste thie faith so light
Yt doeth suffise that myne thou warte.

And sins thye love doth thus declyne,
And in thye herte suche hate doeth grow,
Yt doeth suffise that thou warte myne,
And with good will I quite yt so.

Some tyme my frend, farewell my foo,
Sins thou change I am not thyne.
But for relef of all my woo
It doeth suffise that thou warte myne.

Prayeng you all that heris this song
To judge no wight, nor none to blame ;
Yt dothe suffise she dothe me wrong
And that herself doth kno the same

And tho' she chaunge it is no shame
Theire kinde it is and hathe bene long ;
Yet I proteste she hath no name,
Yt dothe suffise she doth me wrong.