Out, traytor Absence, dar'st thou counsell me From my deare captainesse to run away, Because in braue array heere marcheth she, That, to win mee, oft shewes a present pay?...
Walking in bright Phoebus' blaze, Where with heat oppressed I was, I got to a shady wood, Where green leaves did newly bud; And of grass was plenty dwelling, Decked with pied flowers sweetly smelling....
My mistress lowers, and saith I do not love: I do protest, and seek with service due, In humble mind, a constant faith to prove; But for all this, I cannot her remove...