So let hir loue, and so be still denied, Who she so loued.
T He brainsicke race that wanton youth ensues, +Without regard to grounded wisdomes lore, As often as I thinke thereon, renues The fresh remembrance of an ancient sore: (5) Reuoking to my pensiue thoughts at last, The worlds of wickednes that I haue past.
And though experience bids me bite on bit, And champe the bridle of a better smacke, Yet costly is the price of after wit, +(10) Which brings so cold repentance at hir backe: And skill that’s with so many losses bought, Men say is little better worth than nought.
And yet this fruit I must confesse doth growe Of follies scourge: that though I now complaine (15) Of error past, yet henceforth I may knowe To shun the whip that threats the like againe: For wise men though they smart a while, had leuerTo learne experience at the last, than neuer.
T Hose eies which set my fancie on a fire, +Those crisped haires, which hold my hart in chains, Those daintie hands, which conquer’d my desire, That wit, which of my thoughts doth hold the rains.
(5) Those eies for cleernes doe the starrs surpas, Those haires obscure the brightnes of the Sunne, Those hands more white, than euer Iuorie was, That wit euen to the skies hath glorie woon.
O eies that pearce our harts without remorse, (10) O haires of right that weares a roiall crowne,