No sooner Laura mine appeares to mee,
But that a daintie Dye, a blushing Red,
In both our faces sheweth for to bee:
But who (alas) doth mine so over-spred?
Ore-fervent love doth draw this shadow pure,
Like cunningst Painter long for to endure.
Who painteth hers? Disdaine with pencill hard,
Which turneth all my sweetnes into sower:
So that all my designes are quickly mard,
Except Love bind love (by his awfull power)
In Faiths firme bands: too hie th'exchange will grow,
When love for hate, and not for like shall goe.