Alas, ’tis true, I have goner here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gor’d mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is dear,
Made old offenses of affections new;
Most true it is that I have look’d on truth
Askaunce 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, have 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 heave the best
Even to they pure and most loving breast.