Ah, fool! faint heart fair lady ne'er could win.

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.

What though the sea with waves continuall Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all ; Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought : For whatsoever from one place doth fall Is with the tyde unto another brought : For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.

All for love, and nothing for reward.