My Chastity's The Jewel Of Our House,

Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry.

The Gods Are Just, And Of Our Pleasant Vices Make Instruments To Plague Us.

Ruin Has Taught Me To Ruminate, That Time Will Come And Take My Love Away. This Thought Is As A Death, Which Cannot Choose But Weep To Have That Which It Fears To Lose.

The Seasons Change Their Manners, As The Year Had Found Some Months Asleep And Leapt Them Over.

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.