Classic Poem

CLXXXVI

When that I call unto my mind
The time of hope that once I had,
The great abuse that did me blind
Doth force me always to be sad.
Yet of my grief I feign me glad
But am assured I was too bold
To trust to such a slipper hold.

I thought it well, that I had wrought,
Willing forthwith so to ensue.
But he that seeks as I have sought
Shall find most trust oft-times untrue,
For least I recked that most I rue:
Of that I thought myself most sure
Is now the want of all my cure.

Amidst my wealth I did not reck,
But soon, alas, ere that I wist,
The time was come that, all too weak,
I had no power for to resist.
Now am I proof to them that list
To flee such woe and wrongful pain
As in my heart I do sustain.

For feigned faith is always free
And doth incline to be unjust,
That sure I think there can none be
Too much assured without mistrust.
But hap what may to them that must
Sustain such cruel destiny
With patience for remedy.

As I am one which by restraint
Abides the time of my return
In hope that fortune by my plaint
Will slake the fire wherewith I burn
Since no ways else may serve my turn,
Yet for the doubt of this distress
I ask but right for my redress.