"O my Vitullia! Let me write that down!
O sweet Vitullia! Nature made thee sweet!
O kind Vitullia! Truth hath the surest ground!
I'll weep or laugh, so that our hearts may meet!"
Love is not always merry, nor still weeping:
A drop of each, Love's joys are sweets in sleeping.
"Her name, in golden letters, on my breast I'll 'grave!
Around my temples, in a garland wear!
My Art shall be, her favour for to have!
My Learning still her honour high to rear!