The Lover complaineth that Faith may not avail without the Favour of Fantasy

IF Fancy would favour,

As my deserving shall;

My Love, my Paramour,

Should love me best of all.

But if I cannot attain

The grace that I desire,

Then may I well complain

My service, and my hire.

Fancy doth know how

To further my true heart;

If Fancy might avow

With Faith to take part.

But Fancy is so frail

And flitting still so fast,

That Faith may not prevail

To help me, first nor last.

For Fancy at his lust,

Doth rule all but by guess;

Whereto should I then trust

In truth or steadfastness.

Yet gladly would I please

The fancy of her heart,

That may me only ease

And cure my careful smart.

Therefore, my Lady dear,

Set once your Fantasy

To make some hope appear,

Of steadfast remedy.

For if he be my friend,

And undertake my woe,

My grief is at an end

If he continue so.

Else Fancy doth not right

As I deserve and shall,

To have you day and night,

To love me best of all.