Breake now my heart and dye, Oh no, she may relent.
Let my despaire prevayle, stay, hope is not spent.
Should she now fixe one smile on thee, where were despaire?
The losse is but easie which smiles can repayre.
A stranger would please thee, if she were as fayre.

Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes as shee,
The more is my despayre, alas she loves not me:
But cannot time make way for love through ribs of stelle?
The grecian inchanted all parts but the heele,
At last a shafte daunted which his hart did feele.