If floods of tears could cleanse my follies past
And smokes of sighs might sacrifice for sin;
If groaning cries might salve my fault at last
Or endless moan for error pardon win
Then would I cry weep sigh and ever moan
Mine errors faults sins follies past and gone.

I see my hopes must wither in their bud;
I see my favours are no lasting flower.
I see that words will breed no better good
Than loss of time and light`ning but at hours.
Thus when I see then thus I say therefore
That favours hopes and words can blind no more.