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| Songe |
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| Hee is starke mad who ever saies [f. 77v] |
| That he hath been in loue, an hower, |
| Yett not yt love so soone decaies |
| But yt it can ten, in less space devoure; |
| Who will beleeve me, if I sweare |
| That I haue had the plague a yeare? |
| Who would not laugh at me if I should say |
| I sawe a flaske of powder burne a day? |
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| Ah what a trifle is a harte, |
| If once into loues hands it comes, |
| All other greifes allow a part |
| To other greifes, and aske themselues but some; |
| They come to vs, but vs loue drawes, |
| He swallowes vs, and never chawes, |
| By him, as by Chaind shott, whole ranks doe die. |
| Hee is the Tiran pike, our harts the frye.| |
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| If twere not soe what did become |
| Of my harte, when I first sawe thee? |
| I brought a hart into the roome |
| But from the roome I carried none wth me; |
| If it had gone to thee I know |
| Myne would haue taught thy hart to showe |
| More pitty to me; But loue, Alas,
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[CW: At] |