The changing seasons are not more changefull
Then my mistresse; neither more vengefull 
Is the wooing autumn wind that seduceth 
A singing mood afore it blasteth 
With bitter colde, angry and disdainfull.
Her scorne is lyke a scorpion sting 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 most carefull.
Her scorne doth make my harte most woefull,
And so my smartyng heart despiseth 
          The changing seasons.