Goe to bed sweete Muze take thy rest,
Let not thy soule bee so opprest
Though shee deny thee,
Whether shee deny thee,
Whether thy mind
Will ever prove unkinde:
O love is but a bitter-sweete Jest.

Muze not upon her smiling lookes,
Thinke that they are but baited hookes,
Love is a fancy,
Love is a Franzy,
Let not a toy
Then breed thee such annoy,
But leave to looke uppon such fond bookes.

Lerne to forget such idle toyes,
Fitter for youthes, and youthfull boyes,
Let not one sweet smile
Thy true one sweet smile
Thy true love beguile,
Let not a frowne
For ever cast thee downe,
Then sleepe and go to bed in these joyes.