So many loues haue I neglected
    Whose good parts might moue mee,
That now I liue of all reiected ;
    There is none will loue me.
Why is mayden heate so coy ?
    It freezeth when it burneth,
Looseth what it might inioy,
    And, hauing lost it, mourneth.

Should I then wooe, that haue beene wooed,
    Seeking them that flye mee ?
When I my faith with teares haue vowed,
    And when all denye mee,
Who will pitty my disgrace,
    Which loue might haue preuented ?
There is no submission base
    Where error is repented.

O happy men, whose hopes are licenc'd
    To discourse their passion,
While women are confin'd to silence,
    Loosing wisht occasion.
Yet our tongues then theirs, men say,
    Are apter to be mouing :
Women are more dumbe then they,
    But in their thoughts more rouing.

When I compare my former strangenesse
    With my present doting,
I pitty men that speake in plainenesse,
    Their true hearts deuoting ;
While wee with repentance iest
    At their submissiue passion.
Maydes, I see, are neuer blest
    That strange be but for fashion.