Had I one sutor swore himselfe loue-sicke,
Another for his Mistris sake would die,
A third thorow _Cupids_ power growne lunaticke,
A fourth that languishing past hope did lye:
And so fift, sixt, and seauenth in loues passion,
My Maiden-head for them should ner'e change fashion.
_Aeneas_ told many a cogging tale,
To Dido that renowned worthy Queene,
And _Iason_ with his flatterings did preuaile,
Yet falser knaues in loue were neuer seene:
And at this instant hower, as they were then,
The world aboundeth with deceitfull men.
_Doll_.
_Iane_, thats too true, for to you all I sweare,
How I was bobd by one tis shame to tell,
A smoother fellow neuer wench did heare,
And as I liue, I thought he lou'd me well:
Heere you shall fee one of his cunning letters,
Which still I keepe, & meane to shew his betters.
In Romane hand, on guilded paper writ,
Pray _Dorothy_ read you it to the rest,
But whether his owne head inuented it,
Or robd some printed Booke, I doe protest:
I cannot tell, but his owne name is to it,
Which proues he takes vpon him for to doe it.
* * * * *
The Loue Letter.
_The truest heart, shall nought but falshood cherish,
The mildest man, a cruell tyrant prooue,
The water drops, the hardest flint shall perish,
The hilles shall walke, and massie earth remooue:
The brightest Sun shall turne to darkesome clowde,
Ere I prooue false, where I my loue haue vowde.
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