1584.
¶Somtimes I spend the night to end,
in dolors and in woe:
Somtime againe vnto my pain,
my chiefest ioy doth grow.
When as in minde, thy shape I finde,
as fancie doth me tell:
Whome now I knowe, as proofe doth show
I loued thee ouer wel.
¶How oft within my wreathed arme,
desired I to folde:
Thy Christall corps, of whom I ioyed,
more dearer than of golde.
But now disdaine, dooth breede my paine,
and thou canst not denie:
But that I loued thee ouer well:
that caused me die.
[¶]The hound that serues his Maisters will,
in raunging here and there,
The moyling Horse, that labours still,
his burthen great to beare:
In lew of paine, receiues againe,
of him which did him owe:
As Natures heast, wiles most and least
them thankefull for to showe.
¶The Lyon and the Tyger fierce,
as Nature doth them binde:
For loue, like loue repay againe:
in Stories we doo finde:
Those beasts and birds both wild and tame,
of frendships lore can tell:
But thy reply, willes me to die,
that loued thee ouer well.
¶Therfore, my deare and Darling faire,
ensample take by those,
Which equally with loue againe,
