When that I call unto my mynde

When that I call unto my mynde
The tyme of hope that ons I hade.
The great abuse that ded me blinde
Dothe force me allwaies to be sad.
Yet of my greef I fayne me glad ;
But on assured I was to bolde
To trust to such a slipper holde.

I thought yt well that I had wrought,
Willing forthwith so to ensue,
But he that sekis as I have sought.
Shall finde most trust oft tymes untrue,
For lest I reckte what most I rue;
Of that I thought my help most sure
Ys no we the wante of all my cure.

Amiddes my welthe I ded not reke.
But sone alas ere that I wiste.
The tyme was come that all to weake,
I had no powre for to resiste ;
Nowe am I prof to them that liste
To flee such woo, and wrongfull paine.
As in my hert I do sustayne.

For faynid faithe is alwaies free.
And dothe inclyne to be onjuste,
That sure I thinck there can none bee
To moche assurid without mistruste ;
But hap what maye, to them that muste
Enflame suche cruell destenye
Wythe patiens for remedy e.

As I am on, livith bye restrainte
Abides the tyme of my retorne,
Yn hope that fortune bye my playnle
Wyll slake the (ire wherewith I bourne ;
Sins no waies eles maye serve my torne,
Yet for the dowt of this distresse,
I aske but ryght for my redresse.