There to my selfe, I doe recount, How far my woes, my ioyes surmount, How Loue requiteth me with hate: How all my pleasures end in paine, (35) How hate doth say, my hope is vaine, How fortune frownes vpon my state.
And in this moode, charg’d with despaire, With vapored sighes, I dim the aire, +And to the Gods make this request: (40) That by the ending of my life, I may haue truce with this strange strife, And bring my soule to better rest.
A Counterloue. +
An eie, the plot, whereon Loue sets his gin, Beautie, the trap, wherein the heedles fall, (5) A smile, the traine, that drawes the simple in, Sweete words, the wilie instrument of all, Intreaties posts, faire promises are charmes, Writing, the messenger, that wooes our harmes.
Mistresse, and seruant, titles of mischaunce: (10) Commaundments done, the act of slauerie, Their coulors worne, a clownish cognisaunce, +And double dutie, pettie drudgerie, And when she twines and dallies with thy locks, Thy freedome then is brought into the stocks.
(15) To touch hir hand, hir hand bindes thy desire, To weare hir ring, hir ring is Nessus gift, +To feele hir brest, hir brest doth blowe the fire, To see hir bare, hir bare a balefull drift,