That he his fault and fowle offence may see,
For death shall make my fame immortall bee:
And whiles the Sunne which in the heauens doth shine,
The shame is his, and honor shall be mine.
Alas, I mourne not for my selfe alone,
Nor for the fame of my Forefathers olde,
’Tys Angelike, that causeth me to mone,
’Tys she that filles my brest with fansies colde,
’Tys shee more worth, than was the fliece of golde,
That mooues my minde and breedes sutch passions straunge,