‘Many there were that did his picture get To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind, Like fools that in th’ imagination set The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d, And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them, Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. ‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand, Sweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart. My woeful self that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee-simple (not in part) What with his art in youth, and youth in art, Threw my affections in his charmed power, Reserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower. ‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did, Demand of him, nor being desired yielded, Finding myself in honour so forbid, With safest distance I mine honour shielded. Experience for me many bulwarks builded Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. ‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent The destin’d ill she must herself assay, Or force’d examples ’gainst her own content, To put the by-pass’d perils in her way? Counsel may stop a while what will not stay: For when we rage, advice is often seen By blunting us to make our wills more keen. ‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, That we must curb it upon others’ proof, To be forbode the sweets that seems so good, For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. O appetite, from judgement stand aloof! The one a palate hath that needs will taste, Though reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.” ‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”, And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; Heard where his plants in others’ orchards grew, Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; Thought characters and words merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. ‘And long upon these terms I held my city, Till thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid, Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, And be not of my holy vows afraid: That’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said, For feasts of love I have been call’d unto, Till now did ne’er invite, nor never woo. ‘“All my offences that abroad you see Are errors of the blood, none of the mind: Love made them not; with acture they may be, Where neither party is nor true nor kind, They sought their shame that so their shame did find, And so much less of shame in me remains, By how much of me their reproach contains. ‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen, Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, Or my affection put to th’ smallest teen, Or any of my leisures ever charmed: Harm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed; Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, And reign’d commanding in his monarchy.