‘By our first strange and fatal interview, By all desires which thereof did ensue, By our long starving hopes, by that remorse Which my words’ masculine persuasive force Begot in thee, and by the memory Of hurts, which spies and rivals threaten’d me, I calmly beg. But by thy father’s wrath, By all pains which want and divorcement hath, I conjure thee; and all the oaths which I And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy Here I unswear, and overswear them thus, Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous. Temper, oh fair Love! love’s impetuous rage, Be my true mistress still, not my feign’d Page; I’ll go, and, by thy kind leave, leave behind Thee, only worthy to nurse in my mind. Thirst to come back; oh, if thou die before, My soul from other lands to thee shall soar. Thy (else Almighty) beauty cannot move Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love, Nor tame wild Boreas’ harshness; thou hast read How roughly he in pieces shiver’d Fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov’d. Fall ill or good, ’tis madness to have prov’d Dangers unurg’d: Feed on this flattery, That absent lovers one with th’ other be. Dissemble nothing, not a boy; nor change Thy body’s habit, nor mind; be not strange To thyself only. All will spy in thy face A blushing, womanly, discovering grace. Richly cloth’d apes are called apes, and as soon Eclips’d as bright we call the moon the moon. Men of France, changeable cameleons, Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions, Love’s fuellers, and the rightest company Of players, which upon the world’s stage be, Will quickly know thee.... O stay here! for thee England is only a worthy gallery, To walk in expectation; till from thence Our greatest King call thee to his presence. When I am gone, dream me some happiness, Nor let thy looks our long hid love confess, Nor praise, nor dispraise me; nor bless, nor curse Openly love’s force, nor in bed fright thy nurse With midnight startings, crying out, Oh, oh, Nurse, oh, my love is slain, I saw him go O’er the white Alps alone; I saw him, I, Assail’d, fight, taken, stabb’d, bleed, fall, and die. Augur me better chance, except dread Jove Think it enough for me to have had thy love.’