Yf theis my humble lynes thy presence to to boldely wronge;
so to unmaske my love with woordes inferior to mythoughtes;
conceave withall his resteles passion that hath causde the same.
whose worthy choyse, butt weves his wracke if chaunce do nill thereto
nott fortunes favors butt thy lovely selfe my love affectes,
nott searche of heigher happe, thy sweete asspect my lyffe contents:
whose chearefull grace fyrste gave the hope, whereto my harte lent faythe:
And love that kepes noe meane, by yeldinge shewes in proces grew
to hoote desire; wherewith yff I displease thy haute dysdaynes;
So muste I still dyspleasinge bee, a faulte by fates decreede.
and yett confesse I muste thy porte; my ventorous fancye stayes,
untyll agayne with courrage freshe, thy beautye whetts my harte.

What mighte itt bee that so my lykinge to presumption guydes
yf thow demaunde, those eyes; my fatall planetts as I deame
were leaders firste off my to proude attempte yff any bee:
Thy burnyshte curled tresse (which I dyd more then neede beholde)
yntanglede mee, whilste that thy snow white breste my daseled sence
dyd ravysh quite. And then thy daynty handes (alas to mordringe faire).
(of which I longe to be embraste) in me the wounde dyd launce.
my lyfe tendes to thy love; as barke unto his wisshede porte,
my harte unto thy foote: as falconne to the lure doth stoope.
yff humble speache may oughte avayle to bende a gentle mynde,
lett me. O lett mee, possesse an yeldinge eare, unto a loyall tonge:
procure by thy hyghe grace, that my dispayres to wynde may torne.

And lett my trewe desires to the become as wellcome guestes,
so shall my single love (my deare) thoughe I nott deare to thee;
acoaste thy steppes. and way mate the where so on earthe thowe rome
and soner my sadd Soole to fleetinge aire shalbee trans formede,
then any saynte save thee; within my secrett breste be shrinede.
both daye and nyghte howe sweetely languysh I for thy sweet sake,
butt moste when unto mee; my golden dreames thy Image faire presents.
O blysfull nights soo gladsome seasons unto happie men
with claspinge armes that freely may embrace their ladyes lymmes,
butt loathsome unto those; whom shadowes off delyghte doth feade,
And only taste in wishe, the sugrede Joyes off wantinge will.

yff thy harde hartte unto my happe no harbour will afforde
Nor that thy frendely thought vouchafe to sojorne with my faythe;
yett so to croune. the dullsett hope wherewith I flue soo hye;
eaven att thy fote; my lyffe and loyaltye I will dyscharge.
Whereby percase my trewthe by yeldinge upp my lateste breathe,
shall credytt wynne for that which I soo longe have wastede winde.
and cruell then; when tys to late. to rescue losse of lyfe,
to see the body quaylde that breathinge earste helde thee soo deare;
yff those thyne eyes; shall shedd butt one repentant teare
as ruynge of the deade, which all undone thy harte coulde wishe;
ynoughe is me, the heyer off all my toyle ys francklye payde;
for with that syghte my freed Soule; shall gladdlye pearce the skies.