SONG: 102 by THOMAS WYATT

Farewell, all my welfare,
My shoe is trod awry;
Now I may cark and care
To sing lullay by by.
Alas, what shall I do thereto?
There is no shift to help me now.
Who made it such offence
To love for love again?
God wot that my pretence
Was but to ease his pain;
For I had ruth to see his woe.
Alas, more fool, why did I so?
For he from me is gone
And makes thereat a game,
And hath left me alone
To suffer sorrow and shame.
Alas, he is unkind doubtless
To leave me thus all comfortless.
It is a grievous smart
To suffer pains and sorrow;
But most it grieved my heart
He laid his faith to borrow:
And falsehood hath his faith and truth,
And he forsworn by many an oath.
All ye lovers, perdy,
Have cause to blame his deed,
Which shall example be
To let you off your speed;
Let never woman again
Trust to such words as men can fain.
For I, unto my cost,
Am warning to you all
That they whom you trust most
Soonest deceive you shall;
But, complaint cannot redress
Of my great grief the great excess.

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