More slipp’rie then the Eele: Changing as Weather-cocke on hie, +Or the Camelion on the die, +(20) Or Fortunes turning wheele.
Who would beleeue thou wert so free, To blaze me thus each houre? My Shepheardesse, thou liu’st in me, My soule doth onely dwell in thee, (25) And euery vitall power. Pale Atropos my vitall string Shall cut, and life offend: The streames shall first turne to their spring. +The world shall end, and euery thing, (30) Before my loue shall end.
This loue that thou didst promise me, Shepheard, where is it found? The word and faith I had of thee, O tell me now, where may they be, (35) Or where may they resound? Too soone thou did’st the title gaine Of giuer of vaine words: Too soone my loue thou did’st obtaine, Too soone thou lou’dst Diana in vaine, (40) That nought but scornes affords.