Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/482

 There is no striving To cross his intent; There is no contriving His plots to prevent; But if once the message greet him That his True Love doth stay, If Death should come and meet him, Love will find out the way!

392. Phillada flouts Me

O what a plague is love! How shall I bear it? She will inconstant prove, I greatly fear it. She so torments my mind That my strength faileth, And wavers with the wind As a ship saileth. Please her the best I may, She loves still to gainsay; Alack and well-a-day! Phillada flouts me.

At the fair yesterday She did pass by me; She look'd another way And would not spy me: I woo'd her for to dine, But could not get her; Will had her to the wine— He might entreat her.