The Crow makes warre with the Cameleon,
And being hurt to th'Laurell straight doth flie,
And through the frute he findeth thereupon
Is heald of hurt, findes food, and lives thereby.
Love the Cameleon is, the Crow am I,
And battell wage with him unto the death:
He wounds me deadly, whereupon I hie
To thee (my Laurall ) to restore my breath.
Thou me reviv'st, such vertue's in thee rife,
As thou at once doost give me food and life.