Deare Nan! I would not have thy Counsaile lost,
Though I last night had twise so much beene crost:
Well is a Passion to the Markett brought,
When such a Treasure of Advise is bought
With so much Drosse. And could'st thou mee assure
Each Vice of mine should meet with such a Cure,
I would Sin oft, and on my guilty brow
Weare ev'ry imperfection that I owe,
Open and visible. I should not hide
But bring my faultes abroad, to heare thee chide
In such a Note, and with a Quill so sage
It Passion tunes, and calmes a Tempest's rage.
Well I am charm'd; and promise to redresse
What, without Shrift, my follyes doe confesse
Against my self. Wherefore let mee entreat
When I fly out in that distemper'd heat
Which fretts mee into Fasts, Thou wilt reprove
That froward Spleene in Poitry and Love.
So though I loose my Reason in such fitts,
Thou'lt Rhime mee back againe into my Witts.