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 favors are no lasting flowers, 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 favors hopes and words, can blind no more.
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