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