Of simple hartes through loues shot: By whom vnkind thou hast them wonne, Thinke not he + hath his bow forgot, (20) Although my lute and I haue done. Uengeaunce shall fall on thy disdaine That makest but game on earnest payne. Thinke not alone vnder the sunne Unquit to cause thy louers plain: (25) Although my lute and I haue done. May chance thee lie withered and olde. In winter nightes that are so colde, Plaining in vaine vnto the mone: +Thy wishes then dare not be tolde. (30) Care then who list, for I haue done. And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent To cause thy louers sigh and swowne. Then shalt thou know beaute but lent, (35) And wish and want as I haue done. Now cease my lute this is the last, Labour that thou and I shal wast And ended is that we begonne. Now is this song both song and past, (40) My lute be still for I haue done.
How by a kisse he found both
his life and death. +
N Ature that gaue the Bee so feate a grace, To finde hony of so wondrous fashion: Hath taught the spider out of the same place To fetche poyson by strange alteracion. +(5) Though this be strange, it is a straunger case, With one kisse by secret operacion, Both these at once in those your lipps to finde, In change wherof, I leaue my hart behinde.