In faythe methynkes yt ys no ryght

In faythe methynkes yt ys no ryght
To hate me thus for lovyng ye.
So fayre a face, so full of spyght.
Who wold have thowght suche crueltye;
But syns ther is no remedye,
That by no meanes ye can me love,
I shall you leve and other prove.

Ffor yff I have for my good wyll
No reward eles but cruelltye.
In faythe thereoff I can no skyll
Sythe that I lovyd ye honestlye;
But take hede I wyll tyll I dye
Or that I love so well agayn,
Syns women use so muche to fayn.