The changing seasons are not more changefull
Then my mistresse; neither more vengefull
Is the wooing autumn wind that sedvceth
A singing mood afore it blasteth
With bitter colde, angry and disdainfull.
Her scorne is lyke a scorpion stinge painfull
In my sad heart wich bleedeth for banefull
Her who presently nowe observeth
          The changing seasons.
Her cruell scorne capricious entiseth
My heart to dispaire; itt dispaireth
Dailye and dieth from disese carefull.
Her scorne doth make my harte most woefull,
And so my smartyng heart despiseth
          The changing seasons.