XIII.
Aye me, that love should natures workes accuse!
Where cruell Laura still her beautie viewes,
River, or cloudie jet, or christall bright,
Are all but servants of her selfe-delight.

Yet her deformed thoughts she cannot see,
And thats the cause she is so sterne to mee.
Vertue and duetie can no favour gaine:
O griefe, a death, to live and love in vaine!