In faith I wot not well what to say

In faith I wot not well what to say,
Thy chaunces ben so wonderous ;
Thou Fortune, with thy dyvers play.
That causeth joyfull dolours;
And eke the same right joyus ;
Yet though thy chayn hathe me en wrapt,
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well hapt !

Though thou me set for a wounder.
And sekest thy chaunge to do me payn ;
Mens mynd yet may thou not order :
And honeste, and it remayne.
Shall shyne for all thy clowdy rayn;
In vayn thou sekest to have trapped.
Spite of thy hap, hap hath well happed !

In hindering thou diddest fourther.
And made a gap where was a stile ;
Cruell willes ben oft put under;
Wenyng to lowre thou diddist smyle.
Lorde ! how thy self thou diddist begiie,
That in thy cares wouldest me have lapped !
But spite of thy hap, hap hath well happed !