If scalding sighes my faith may testifie,
And brinish teares of Love may warrant bee:
Both th'one and th'other thou hast seene with eye:
Then what wouldst have (hard Harted) more of mee?
But thou (perhaps) though much I have endured,
Wouldst yet be better of my faith assured.
Then with thine eyes into my brest doo peere,
(Which for the nonce I leave to open sight)
And that which now thou doubtst, see shalt thou cleere;
Ah, marke it then, and view what showes so bright.
But too too cruell art thou and precise,

As Sacrifice unto a Goddesse bright
My hart I offered with Devotion great,
Thinking that She Loves Temple had been right.
But what unwares I spide not then in heate,
I (warie) now discerne her for to bee
Of Hell below the rightest crueltee.
I was deceivd, I doo confesse: That smile,
That wanton smile that bred in me delight,
Hid in those lips so faire did mee beguile:
O Beautie false, O crueltie most right.
Flee flee (my Hart) flee then if thou be wise,
Thy hurt, my burning heate, her trecheries.

White art thou like the mountaine snow to see,
I blacke like to the burned coale doo show:
Then give some of thy purest white to mee,
And Ile some of my Blacke on thee bestow.
So will wee these two Contraries unite
Together, which so joynd will show more faire:
Lets both then make this change for our delight,
Unlesse to kill mee thou doo little care.
But why of white or blacke talke I to thee?
My blood not blacke tis, which thou faine wouldst see.

My Mistres seemes but browne (say you) to mee.
Tis verie true, and I confesse the same:
Yet love I her, although that browne she bee,
Because to please me she is glad and faine.
I loved one most Beautiful before,
Whom now (as Death) I deadly doo abhore,
Because to scorne my service her I found,
I gave her ore, and chose to mee this same:
Nor to be faithfull (thinke I) I am bound
To one in whom no kindnes doth remaine:
This is the cause, for Browne and Pittifull,
I left a faire, but yet a faithlesse Trull.

Unbare that Ivorie hand, hide it no more,
For though it death brings to my tender hart,
To see it naked, where is beauties store,
And where moyst Pearle with Azure doth impart:
Yet feare I not to dye in this sweet wise,
My fancie so to see't, is set on fire:
Then leave that Glove, most hatefull to mine eyes,
And let me surfet with this kinde Desire;
So that my lookes may have of them their fill,
Though hart decay, Ile take it for none ill.

My Mistres (writing) as her hand did shake
The Pen did dash, which on her gowne did spurt:
One drop more higher than the rest did take,
And to presume to touch her Brest it durst.
Upon her daintie bosome it did light,
Wherewith she blusht, in show like damaske Rose:
Presumptuous Blacke, how dar'dst thou tuch that White,
Wherein a world of gladsome pleasure growes?
Yet (spite of envie) hapt it for the best,
To the white more grace, more bewtie twas to th'brest.

Love this faire Lasse (said Love) once unto mee,
I lov'd her; love her now (saith he) no more,
When thousand darts within my brest there bee,
And if I love her, he mee threatneth sore:
He saith himselfe is falne in love with her,
And that himselfe fore others hee'l prefer.
His sense is this, He in her beauteous eyes,
Hath found such Amours as nere like were seene:
But thinkes he this shall serve, in cunning wise
To make mee leave, he cousning me so cleene?
In spite of him Ile love, sith hart doth gree
With Love in love, as Rivall for to bee.

The Heavens begin with thunder for to breake
The troubled Aire, and to the coloured Fields
The Lightning for to spoyle their pride dooth threat,
Each thing unto the furious Tempest yeelds.
And yet me thinkes within mee I doo heare
A gentle voyce hard at my hart to say,
Feare nothing thou, but be of merrie cheere,
Thou onely safe fore others all shalt stay:
To save thee from all hurt, thy Shield shall bee,
The shadow of the conquering Laurall Tree.

Gold upon gold mine onely Joy did plate,
Whilst she did dresse her head by christall Glasse:
But whilst she lookt on it, it sodaine brake;
So (as amazde thereat) much grievd she was.
To whom I said; To grieve thus tis in vaine,
Since what is broke, whole cannot be againe.
Looke stedfastly with both thine eyes on mee,
Who have my hart (through Love) a glasse new made:
She on my face lookt, and her selfe did see:
Wherewith (contented throughly) thus she said,
Most happie I, since for to dresse my hed,
For broken glasse, of whole one I am sped.

The snow-white Swan betokens brightsome Day,
The cole-blacke Crow of darkie Night is signe,
Thou Day or Night bring unto mee still may
With those bright lampes, those glistering stars of thine:
But (cruell thou) thy hart is bent so hard,
As I that Sunne can never see with eyes
(That wishd for Sun); from these my lights debard,
Nor ought discerne, but mists in foggie wise.
Then since I live in woe and (blinde) naught see,
A Crow not Swan thou still shalt be to mee.