Blame not my lute for he must sownd
Of thes or that as liketh me.
For lake of wytt the lutte is bownd
To gyve suche tunes as plesithe me.
Tho my songes be sume what strange
And spekes such words as toche they change,
Blame not my lutte.
My lutte, alas, doth not ofend
Tho that perfors he must agre
To sownd such teunes as I entend
To sing to them that hereth me;
Then tho my songes be some what plain
And tocheth some that vse to fayn,
Blame not my lutte.
My lute and strynges may not deny
But as I strike they must obay;
Brake not them than soo wrongfully,
But wryeke thy selffe some wyser way;
And tho the songes whiche I endight
To qwytt thy chainge with Rightfull spight,
Blame not my lute.
Spyght askyth spight and changing change
And falsyd faith must nedes be knowne.
The faute so grett, the case so strange,
Of Right it must abrod be blown:
Then sins that by thyn own desartte
My soinges do tell how trew thou artt,
Blame not my lute.
Blame but thy selffe that hast mysdown
And well desarvid to have blame;
Change thou thy way so evyll bygown
And then my lute shall sownd that same;
But if tyll then my fyngeres play
By thy desartt their wontyd way,
Blame not my lutte.
Farewell, vnknowne, for tho thow brake
My strynges in spight with grett desdayn
Yet have I fownd owt for thy sake
Stringes for to strynge my lute agayne.
And yf perchance this folysh Ryme
Do make the blush at any tyme
Blame nott my lutte.