SONG: 30 by THOMAS WYATT

If fancy would favor
As my deserving shall,
My love, my paramor,
Should love me best of all.
But if I cannot attain
The grace that I desire,
Then may I well complain
My service and my hiere.
Fancy doethe knowe how
To fourther my trew hert
If fancy myght avowe
With faith to take part.
But fancy is so fraill
And flitting still so fast,
That faith may not prevaill
To helpe me furst nor last.
For fancy at his lust
Doeth rule all but by gesse,
Whereto should I then trust
In trouth or stedfastnes?
Yet gladdely would I please
The fancy of her hert,
That may me onely ease
And cure my carefull smart.
Therefore, my lady dere,
Set ons your fantasy
To make som hope appere
Of stedfastnes remedy.
For if he be my frend
And undertake my woo,
My greif is at at ende
If he continue so.
Elles fancy doeth not right,
As I deserve and shall
To have you daye and nyght,
To love me best of all.

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