It may be good, like it who list

It may be good, like it who list.
But I do dowbt who can me blame :
For oft assured, yet have I myst.
And now again I fere the same ;
The wyndy wordes, the les quaynt game,
Of soden chaunge maketh me agast;
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

Alas I tred an endles maze
That seketh to accorde two contraries ;
And hope still and nothing hase
Imprisoned in libertes ;
As oon unhard, and still that cries :
Alwaies thursty, and yet nothing I tast ;
For dred to fall I stond not fast.

Assured, I dowbt I be not sure ;
And should I trust to suche suretie,
That oft hath put the prouff in ure,
And never hath founde it trusty?
Nay Sir in faith it were great foly.
And yet my liff thus I do wast,
For dred to fall I stond not fast.