Marvaill no more all tho

Marvaill no more all tho
The songes I sing do mone,
For other liff then wo
I never proved none.

And in my hert also
Is graven with lettres diepe :
A thousand sighes and mo
A flod of teres to wepe.

How may a man in smart
Fynde matter to rejoyse ?
How may a morning hert
Set forth a pleasaunt voise ?

Play who that can that part :
Nedes must in me appere
How fortune, over thwart,
Doeth cause my morning chere.

Perdy there is no man
If he never sawe sight,
That perfaictly tell can
The nature of the light.

Alas how should I then
That never tasted but sowre;
But do as I began
Continuelly to lowre.

But yet perchaunce some chaunce,
May chaunce to chaunge my tune :
And when suche chaunce doeth chaunce
Then shall I thanck Fortune.

And if I have chaunce,
Perchaunce ere it be long ;
For such a pleasant chaunce
To syng some pleasant song.