- Alas! ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
- And made my self a motley to the view,
- Gor’d mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
- Made old offences of affections new;
- Most true it is, that I have look’d on truth
- Askance and strangely; but, by all above,
- These blenches gave my heart another youth,
- And worse essays prov’d thee my best of love.
- Now all is done, save what shall have no end:
- Mine appetite I never more will grind
- On newer proof, to try an older friend,
- A god in love, to whom I am confin’d.
- Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
- Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.