Your lokes so often cast

Your lokes so often cast,
Your eyes so frendly rolde,
Your sight fixed so fast,
Alwayes one to behold :
Though hyde it fain ye would :
It plainly doth declare
Who hath your hart in hold.
And where good will ye bare.

Fayn would ye finde a cloke
Your brennyng fire to hyde :
Yet both the flame and smoke
Breakes out on every side :
Yee can not love so guide
That it to issue winne.
Abrode nedes must it glide,
That brens so bote within.

For cause your self do wink
Ye judge all other blinde :
And secret it you think
Which every man doth finde.
In wast oft spend ye winde
Your self in love to quit :
For agues of that kinde
Will show, who hath the fit.

Your sighes yow fet from farre
And all to wry your wo :
Yet ar ye nere the narre,
Men ar not blinded so.
Depely oft swere ye no :
But all those othes ar vaine.
So well your eye doth showe
Who puttes your hert to paine.

Thinke not therfore to hide
That still it selfe betrayes,
Nor seke meanes to provide
To darke the sunny daies;
Forget those wonted waies :
Leave of such frowning chere :
There will be found no stayes -
To stoppe a thing so clere.