When in hir necke you did love ditties peepe,
Nay, (more foole I) oft suffred you to sleepe,
In lillies nest where Loves selfe lies a long,
What? doth high place ambitious thoughts augment?
Is saucines reward of curtesie?
Cannot such grace your silly selfe content,
But you must needes with those lips billing be?
And through those lips drinke Nectar from that tung,
Leave that Syr Phipp lest off your necke be wrung.
High way since you my chiefe Pernassus be,