Maydes are simple, some men say,
They, forsooth, will trust no men.
But should they mens wils obey,
Maides were very simple then.

Truth, a rare flower now is growne,
Few men weare it in their hearts ;
Louers are more easily knowne
By their follies, then deserts.

Safer may we credit giue
To a faithlesse wandring Iew
Then a young mans vowes beleeue
When he sweares his loue is true.

Loue they make a poore blinde childe,
But let none trust such as hee :
Rather then to be beguil'd,
Euer let me simple be.