That decay'd worth, and prove the times past true.
Then he whose wit and verse goes now so lame,
With songs to her will the wild Irish tame.
Howe'r, I'll weare the black and white ribband,
20White for her fortunes, blacke for mine shall stand.
I doe esteeme her favours, not their stuffe;
If what I have was given, I have enough:
And all's well; for had she lov'd, I had had
All my friends hate; for now, departing sad