Complaint to His Purse

To you, my purse, and to none other wight
Complain I, for you be my lady dear!
I am so sorry, now that you be light;
For certain, but you make me heavy cheer,
Me were as lief be laid upon my bier;
For which unto your mercy thus I cry:
Be heavy again, or else might I die!

Now voucheth safe this day, or be it night,
That I of you the blissful sound may hear,
Or see your colour like the sun bright,
That of yellowness had never peer.
You be my life, you be mine heart's steer, 
Queen of comfort and of good company:
Be heavy again, or else might I die!

You, purse, that be to me my life's light
And saviour, as done in this world here,
Out of this town help me through your might,
Since that you will not be my treasurer;
For I am shaved as nigh as any friar.
But yet I pray unto your courtesy:
Be heavy again, or else might I die!

     Envoy to Henry IV

O conqueror of Brutus Albioun, 
Which that by line and free election
Be very king, this song to you I send;
And you, that may all our harms amend,
Have mind upon my supplication!