Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial like.

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,
A cripple soon can find a halt;

But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.

What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
"Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then."

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear.

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,

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In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.

How sighs resound

Through heartless ground,

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody

fight!

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The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

Think women seek to strive with men
To sin, and never for to saint:

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She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
"Fie, fie, fie," now would she cry;
"Tereu, tereu!" by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain!
None takes pity on thy pain.

Senseless trees they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee.
King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.

[Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.]

Whilst as fickle Fortune smil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd.
Every one that flatters thee

Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind;

Faithful friends are hard to find:

But if store of crowns be scant,

No man will supply thy want.

If that one be prodigal,

Bountiful they will him call, And with such-like flattering,

Pity but he were a king!" If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice: If to women he be bent, They have at commandement: But if Fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown; They that fawn'd on him before Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, he will weep; If thou wake, he cannot sleep; Thus of every grief in heart He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flatt'ring foe.