Ladie, thou seemest Fortune unto me
When I most wistly marke, how thou dost go
With golden tresses loose, (a joy to see)
Which gentle winde about thy eares doth blow:
And as thou her resemblest in this sort,
So doest thou in attire and all thy port.
Only thou wantest for thy swift right hand
The rolling wheele, and shadowing vaile to hide
Those eyes, which like controllers do command:
But if thou longst of these to be supplide,
Take me (thy prisoner) for to play this part,
For my Desire's the wheele, the Vaile's my HART.