What now is thine,
      Was onely mine,
    And first to me was giuen;
      Thou laugh’st at mee,
      I laugh at thee,
    And thus we two are euen.

      But Ile not mourne,
      But stay my Turne, 50
    The Wind may come about, Sir,
      And once againe
      May bring me in,
    And help to beare you out, Sir.

A SKELTONIAD

    The Muse should be sprightly,
    Yet not handling lightly
    Things graue; as much loath,
    Things that be slight, to cloath
    Curiously:  To retayne
    The Comelinesse in meane,
    Is true Knowledge and Wit. 
    Not me forc’d Rage doth fit,
    That I thereto should lacke
    Tabacco, or need Sacke, 10
    Which to the colder Braine
    Is the true Hyppocrene;
    Nor did I euer care
    For great Fooles, nor them spare. 
    Vertue, though neglected,
    Is not so deiected,
    As vilely to descend
    To low Basenesse their end;
    Neyther each ryming Slaue
    Deserues the Name to haue 20
    Of Poet:  so the Rabble
    Of Fooles, for the Table,
    That haue their Iests by Heart,
    As an Actor his Part,
    Might assume them Chayres
    Amongst the Muses Heyres.
    Parnassus is not clome
    By euery such Mome;
    Vp whose steep side who swerues,
    It behoues t’ haue strong Nerues:  30
    My Resolution such,
    How well, and not how much
    To write, thus doe I fare,
    Like some few good that care
    (The euill sort among)
    How well to liue, and not how long.

THE CRYER

      Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre,
      But helpe me to a Cryer;
    For my poore Heart is runne astray
    After two Eyes, that pass’d this way. 
        O yes, O yes, O yes,
        If there be any Man,
        In Towne or Countrey, can
        Bring me my Heart againe,
        Ile please him for his paine;
    And by these Marks I will you show, 10
    That onely I this Heart doe owe. 
        It is a wounded Heart,
        Wherein yet sticks the Dart,
      Eu’ry piece sore hurt throughout it,
      Faith, and Troth, writ round about it: 
    It was a tame Heart, and a deare,
        And neuer vs’d to roame;
    But hauing got this Haunt, I feare
        ’Twill hardly stay at home. 
    For Gods sake, walking by the way, 20
        If you my Heart doe see,
    Either impound it for a Stray,
        Or send it backe to me.

TO HIS COY LOVE

A CANZONET