| And would you faine the reason know |
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| O never to be moved |
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| Long have mine eies gaz'd with delight |
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| If Love loves truth, then women do not love |
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| Shadowes before the shining sunne do vanish |
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| Could my heart more tongues imploy |
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| Whether away my sweetest deerest? |
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| To My Worthy Friend, Mr. John Mounson, Sonne and Heyre to Sir Thomas Mounson, Knight and Baronet |
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| Hide not, sweetest Love, a sight so pleasing |
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| Leave prolonging thy distresse |
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