Feare to offend, well worthie to appeare:
Care shining in mine eyes, faith in my spright,
These things are left me by my onely deare.
But thou Desire, because thou wouldst have all:
Now banisht art, yet alas how shall?
Love still a Boy, and oft a wanton is,
Schoolde only by his Mothers tender eye:
What wonder then if he his lesson misse,
When for so soft a rod deare play he trye.
And yet my starre, because a sugred kisse,