I.

Who hath eer felt the change of love, And known those pangs that losers prove, May paint my face without seeing me, And write the state how my fancies be, The loathsome buds grown on Sorrows tree.

But who by hearsay speaks, and hath not fully felt What kind of fires they be in which those spirits melt, Shall guess, and fail, what doth displease, Feeling my pulse, miss my disease.

II.

O no! O no! trial only shows The bitter juice of forsaken woes; Where former bliss, present evils do stain; Nay, former bliss adds to present pain, While remembrance doth both states contain. Come, learners, then to me, the model of mishap, Ingulphed in despair, slid down from Fortunes lap; And, as you like my double lot, Tread in my steps, or follow not.

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