| Sonnet |
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| When I complayne I doo butt fayne |
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| Sonnett |
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| Yee heavye sighes drawne with my latest breath |
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| Sonnett |
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| Some will commend and prayse their mistres crisped hayre |
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| To shunne the fury off the hoote Sunnebeame |
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| Iff this be love, to fyxe the Eyes onn grownde |
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| From your fayre eyes the kendlynge sparks were sent |
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| Sonnet |
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