1584.
¶The dismall day hath had his wil,
And iustice seekes my life to spill:
Reuengement craues by rigorous law,
Whereof I little stood in awe:
The dolefull doom to end my life,
Bedect with care and worldlie strife:
And frowning iudge hath giuen his doome.
O gentle death thou art welcome:
The losse of life, I do not feare,
Then welcome death, the end of care.
¶O prisoners poore, in dungeon deep,
Which passe the night in slumbring sleep:
Wel may you rue your youthful race.
And now lament your cursed cace.
Content your selfe with your estate,
Impute no shame to fickle fate:
With wrong attempts, increase no wealth,
Regard the state of prosperous health:
And think on me, when I am dead:
Whom such delights haue lewdly led.
¶My friend and parents, where euer you be
Full little do you thinke on me:
My mother milde, and dame so deer:
Thy louing childe, is fettred heer:
Would God I had, I wish too late,
Been bred and borne of meaner estate:
Or else, would God my rechlesse eare,
Had been obedient for to heare,
Your sage aduice and counsel true:
But in the Lord parents adue.
¶You valiant hearts of youthfull train,
Which heard my heauie heart complain:
A good example take by me,
Which runne the race where euer you be:
trust not too much to bilbow blade,
