[from the Edition of 1599]

Sonet 1

The worlds faire Rose, and Henries frosty fire, Iohns tyrannie; and chast Matilda’s wrong, Th’inraged Queene, and furious Mortimer, The scourge of Fraunce, and his chast loue I song; Deposed Richard, Isabell exil’d, The gallant Tudor, and fayre Katherine, Duke Humfrey, and old Cobhams haplesse child, Couragious Pole, and that braue spiritfull Queene; Edward, and that delicious London Dame, Brandon, and that rich dowager of Fraunce, Surrey, with his fayre paragon of fame, Dudleys mishap, and vertuous Grays mischance;
  Their seuerall loues since I before haue showne,
Now giue me leaue at last to sing mine owne.

Sonet 2

To the Reader of his Poems

    Into these loues who but for passion lookes,
    At this first sight, here let him lay them by,
    And seeke elsewhere in turning other bookes,
    Which better may his labour satisfie. 
    No far-fetch’d sigh shall euer wound my brest,
    Loue from mine eye, a teare shall neuer wring,
    Nor in ah-mees my whyning Sonets drest,
    (A Libertine) fantasticklie I sing;
    My verse is the true image of my mind,
    Euer in motion, still desiring change,
    To choyce of all varietie inclin’d,
    And in all humors sportiuely I range;
      My actiue Muse is of the worlds right straine,
      That cannot long one fashion entertaine.

Sonet 3

    Many there be excelling in this kind,
    Whose well trick’d rimes with all inuention swell,
    Let each commend as best shall like his minde,
    Some Sidney, Constable, some Daniell. 
    That thus theyr names familiarly I sing,
    Let none think them disparaged to be,
    Poore men with reuerence may speake of a King,
    And so may these be spoken of by mee;
    My wanton verse nere keepes one certaine stay,
    But now, at hand; then, seekes inuention far,
    And with each little motion runnes astray,
    Wilde, madding, iocond, and irreguler;
      Like me that lust, my honest merry rimes,
      Nor care for Criticke, nor regard the times.

Sonet 5

    My hart was slaine, and none but you and I,
    Who should I thinke the murder should commit? 
    Since but your selfe, there was no creature by
    But onely I, guiltlesse of murth’ring it. 
    It slew it selfe; the verdict on the view
    Doe quit the dead and me not accessarie;
    Well, well, I feare it will be prou’d by you,
    The euidence so great a proofe doth carry. 
    But O, see, see, we need enquire no further,
    Vpon your lips the scarlet drops are found,
    And in your eye, the boy that did the murther,
    Your cheekes yet pale since first they gaue the wound. 
      By this, I see, how euer things be past,
      Yet heauen will still haue murther out at last.