Fortune, my foe, why dost thou frown on me?

And will thy favours never better be

Thou, I say, forever breed my pain.

And wilt thou not restore my joys again?

Fortune hath wrought my grief

and great annoy.

Fortune hath

I have falsely Stole my love

My love and joy, whose

height do make me glad.

Such great misfortunes never young men have.

Ah, still is sure that thou so sore afraid,

Mourn not, my dear, nor be not so dismayed.

But you can not, with all our power and skill,

Then pulls my heart to sing dearly to thee.

Precede the formal life again to thee,

My life and love shall not

with my heart upon thy life to stay.

Oh, June shall never end till

the theme of wisdom.