If love now reigned as it has been
And were rewarded as it has seen,
Noble men then would surely ensearch
All ways whereby they might it reach.
But envy reigns with such disdain
And causes lovers outwardly to refrain,
Which puts them to more and more,
Inwardly, most grievous and sore:
The fault in whom I cannot set,
But let them tell who love does get.
To lovers I put now sure this case:
Which of their loves does get them grace?
And unto them which doth it know
Better than do I, I think it so.