You have my leave to wooe, and wayt upon her.

Moreover (to her credit) I confesse,

This Motto falsly saith, her Ficklenesse

Is like the Moones: For, she hath frown'd on mee

Twelve Moones, at least; and, yet, no Change I see.

Vntill the Steele, the Flint shall smite,
It will afford nor Heat, nor Light.