Thy rosye cheeke oft changing in my sight,
Yet still was red to see the Lawn so white:
The little Taper which should give the Light,
Me thought waxt dim, to see thy Eye so bright.
Again,
Your Love and Hate is this, I now do prove you,
You Love in Hate, by Hate to make me love you.
And to the Countess of Bedford, one of his great Patronesses;
Sweet Lady yet, grace this poore Muse of mine,
Whose Faith, whose Zeal, whose Life, whose All is thine.