Or elles it wyll torne the to care

Be neuer taken in that fast snare

Proue or thou loue that is moost sure

And than thou in doubte shalt not endure.

 Beware byleue no flaterynge tonge

For flaterers be moost disseyuable

Though that they company with the longe

Yet at the ende they wyll be varyable

For they by reason are not fauorable

But euermore fals and double

And with theyr tonges cause of grete trouble

 This brytell worlde ay full of bytternes

Alway turnynge lyke to a ball

No man in it can haue no sykernes

For whan he clymmeth he hath a fall

O wauerynge shadowe bytter as gall

O fatall welth full soone at ende

Though thou ryght hy do oft assende

||

 Whan she to me had made relacyon

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