orn vp wit[=h] hope, and the[=n]e anon daunger
Me drawet[=h] aback, and sait[=h] it shal not be
For where as I of myne aduersite
Am bolde somwhyle mercy to requyre
Thenne comet[=h] dispair & gynnet[=h] me to lere
A newe lesson to hope ful the contrary
They be so diuerse they wil do me varye
And thus I stand dismayed in a traunce
For whan that hope were likly me tauaunce
For drede I tremble & dar one word not speke
And yf hit so be, that I not out breke
To telle the harmes that greuen me so sore
But in my self encrece them more and more
And to be slayn fully me delyte
When of my det[=h] she is nothing to wyte
For but yf she my constreynt plainly knewe
How shold she euer, on my peynes rue

Thus oft tyme wit[=h] hope I am meuyd
To tel her a[=ll], how I am greuyd
And to be hardy on me for to take
To axe mercy, but drede dot[=h] me the[=n]e awake
And than wanhop answert[=h] me agayn
That better were than she haue disdayn
To dye attones vnknowe of ony wight
And ther wit[=h] a[=ll] biddet[=h] hope anon right
Me, to be bold and prayen her of grace
And fit[=h] alle vertues be portreyd in her face
Hit were not sittyng, that pyte were behynde
And right anon wit[=h]yn my self I fynde
A newe plee brought on me wit[=h] drede
That me so maset[=h] that I see no spede
Be cause he sait[=h] that stonyet[=h] al my blood
I am so symple and she is so good
Thus hope & drede in me wyl not sece
To plete and stryue my harmys to encrece
But at hardest yet or I be dede
Of my distresse sit[=h] I can no rede
But stande do[=m] styl as ony stone
To fore the goddesse I wil me haste ano[=n]
And compleyne wit[=h] oute more sermo[=n]

Thoug[=h] det[=h] be fyn and ful conclusion
Of my request, yet I wyl assaye
And right anon me thought I saye
This woful man as I haue memorye
Ful lowly entre in to an oratorye
And knelid a doun in ful humble wyse
To fore the goddesse and gan anon deuyse
His pitous quarel wit[=h] a doleful chere
Sayng right this as ye sha[=ll] here

.The compleynt of the man.

Redresse of sorow O Citherea
That wit[=h] the stremys of thy playsaunt hete
Gladest the mounte of al Cirrea
Where thou hast chosen thy paleys and sete
Whos bright beames ben wesshen and wete
In the ryuer of Elycon the welle
Haue now pyte of that I shal you telle

And not desdayne ye of your benygnyte
My mortal woo O lady myn goddesse
Of grace and bounte & mercyful pyte
Benygnely to helpe and to redresse
And thaug[=h] so be I can not we