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Faction that ever dwells,
In court where wits excells,
hath set defiance,
Fortune and love hath sworne,
That they were never borne,
of one aliance.

Fortune sweares, weakest harts
The booke of Cupids arts
Turne with hir wheele,
Sences themselves shall prove
Venture hir place in love
Aske them that feele.

This discord it beget
Atheist that honour not
Nature thought good,
Fortune should ever dwell
In court where wits excell
Love keepe the wood.

So to the wood went I
With love to live and die
Fortune forlorne,
Experience of my youth
Made mee thinke humble truth
In desert borne.

My faint is deere to mee,
And Jone hirselfe is shee
Jone faier and true,
Jone that does ever move,
Passions of love with love
Fortune adiew.

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