At moost myschief

At moost myschief
I suffre greif
For of relief,
Syns I have none ;

My lute and I,
Continuelly,
Shall us apply
To sigh and mone.

Nought may prevaill,
To wepe or waill,
Pitie doeth faill,
In you, Alas !

Morning or mone.
Complaint or none.
It is all one,
As in thys case.

Ffor crueltie,
Moost that can be.
Hath soveraynte.
Within your hert ;

Which maketh bare,
All my welfare ;
Nought do you care
How sore I smart :

No Tigres hert.
Is so pervert,
Withoute desert
To wreke his Ire ;

And you me kyll
For my good will,
Lo how I spill
For my desir !

Ther is no love
That can ye move.
And I can prove.
None other way ;

Therfore I must
Restrain my lust,
Banisshe my trust.
And welth away.

For in myschief,
I suffer greif,
For of relief,
Syns I have none,

My lute and I
Continually,
Shall us apply
To sigh and mone.