The Frute of reconciliation
The hatefull man that heapeth in his mynde,
Cruell revenge of wronges forepast and done,
May not (with ease) ye pleasaunt pathway finde,
Of friendly verse which I have now begone,
Unlesse at first his angry brest untwinde,
The crooked knot which canckred choller knit,
And then recule with reconciled grace.
Likewise I finde it sayde in holy write,
If thou entend to turne thy fearefull face,
To God above: make thyne agreement yet,
First with thy Brother whom thou didst abuse,
Confesse thy faultes, thy frowardnesse and all,
So that the Lord thy prayer not refuse.
When I consider this, and then the brall,
Which raging youth (I will not me excuse)
Did whilome breede in mine unmellowed brayne,
I thought it meete before I did assay,
To write in ryme the double golden gayne,
Of amitie: first yet to take away
The grutch of grief, as thou doest me constrayne,
By due desert whereto I now must yeeld,
And drowne for aye in depth of Lethes lake,
Disdaynefull moodes whom frendship cannot weelde:
Pleading for peace which for my parte I make
Of former strife, and henceforth let us write
The pleasant fruites of faythfull friends delight.
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