Euen so of all the vowels, I and V,
Are dearest vnto me, as doth ensue.
SONNET. XX.
Ut now my Muse toyld with continuall care,
Begins to faint, and slacke her former pace,
Expecting fauour from that heauenly grace,
That maie (in time) her feeble strength repaire.
Till when (sweete youth) th'essence of my soule,