Who taught thee first to sigh, alas, my heart?
Who taught thy tongue the woeful words of plaint?
Who filled thine eyes with tears of bitter smart?
Who gave thee grief and made thy joys so faint?
Who first did print with colours pale thy face?
Who first did break thy sleeps of quiet rest?
Above the rest in Court, who gave thee Grace?
Who made thee strive in virtue to be best?
In constant troth to bide so firm and sure,
To scorn the world, regarding but thy friend,
With patient mind each passion to endure,
In one desire to settle to thy end?
Love then thy choice, wherein such faith doth bind,
As nought but death may ever change thy mind.