Of goodlier Orchards or of brauer Trees
Than I haue planted; yet thou wilt not graunt
My simple sute; but like the honey Bees
Thou suckst the flowre till all the sweet be gone;
And lou'st mee for my Coyne till I haue none.
Leave Guendolen (sweet hart) though she be faire
Yet is she light; not light in vertue shining:
But light in her behauiour, to impaire
Her honour in her Chastities declining;
Trust not her teares, for they can watonnize,