Amour

A fayre lady I haue vnto her spoken That I loue best / and she dooth not it knowe Though vnto her / I haue my mynde broken Her beaute clere / dooth my herte ouerthrowe Whan I do se her / my herte booth sobbe I trowe Wherfore fayre lady / all dysparate of conforte I speke vnknowen / I must to wo resorte