I hate the day, because it lendeth lightTo see all things, but not my love to see.

Yet gold all is not, that doth gold seem,Nor all good knights, that shake well spear and shield:The worth of all men by their end esteem,And then praise, or due reproach them yield.

Hark, how the cheerful birds do chaunt their lays, and carol of love's praise.

Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought