And I have leave to go, of her goodness

Behold love, thy power how she despiseth: My great pain, how little she regardeth The holy oath, whereof she taketh no cure Broken she hath: and yet she bideth sure Right at her ease, and little she dreadeth.

What should I say? Since Faith is dead, And Truth away From you is fled?

Forget not yet the tried intent Of such a truth as I have meant; My great travail so gladly spent, Forget not yet!

And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! for shame! To save thee from the blame Of all my grief and grame. And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay!

My lute, awake! perform the last Labour that thou and I shall waste, And end that I have now begun; For when this song is sung and past, My lute, be still, for I have done.

Can ye say nay, But that you said That I alway Should be obeyed? And thus betrayed, Or that I wist!