Mount, love, unto the moone in cleerest night,
And say, as she doth in the heavens move,
In earth so wanes and waxes my delight:
And whisper this, but softly, in her eares,
Hope oft doth hang the head, and trust shed teares.
"And you, my thoughts, that some mistrust do cary,
If for mistrust my mistresse do you blame,
Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary,
As she doth change, and yet remaine the same.
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,