For want of will, in wo I playne

For want of will, in wo I playne.
Under colour of sobernesse :
Renewyng with my sute my payne,
My wanhope with your stedfastnesse.
Awake therfore of gentlenesse :
Regard at length I you require
The sweltyng paynes of my desire.

Betimes who geveth willingly,
Redoubled thankes aye doth deserve ;
And I that sue unfaynedly
In frutelesse hope, alas, do sterve;
How great my cause is for to swerve :
And yet how stedfast is my sute
Lo here ye see, where is the frute?

As hounde that hath his keper lost,
Seke I your presence to obtayne,
In which my hart deliteth most,
And shall delight though I be slayne.
You may release my band of payne.
Lose then the care that makes me crye
For want of helpe or els I dye.

I dye, though not incontinent,
By processe yet consumingly
As waste of fire which doth relent,
If you as wilfull wyll denye.
Wherfore cease of such cruehye.
And take me wholy in your grace,
Which lacketh will to change his place