Fortune (cros frend to ever-conquring Love)
Our bodies (Ladie) hath devided farre,
But yet our constant minds she cannot move,
Which over strong for her devises are:
Woe's me, in England thou dost bide, and I
(Scarse shadow of my selfe) in Italy .
But let her doo her worst, and what is frail
And mortall seeke to seperate and undoo,
Yet what immortall is, she never shall:
A string too high for her to reach untoo.
In spite of envious seeds (by Malice sowne)
My hart shall ay be thine, and mine thine owne.