Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other

A carelesse man, scorning and describing, the suttle v∣sage of women to∣warde their lo∣uers.

VVRapt in my carelesse cloke, as I walkt to and fro: I se, how loue cā shew, what force ther reigneth in his bow And how he shoteth eke, a hardy hart to wound: And where he glanceth by againe, that litle hurt is found. For seldom is it sene, he woundeth hartes alike. The tone may rage, when tothers loue is often farre to seke. All this I see, with more: and wonder thinketh me: How he can strike the one so sore, and leaue the other free. I see, that wounded wight, that suffreth all this wrong: How he is fed with yeas, and nayes, and liueth all to long. In silence though I kepe such secretes to my self: Yet do I see, how she somtime doth yeld a looke by stelth: As though it seemd, ywys I will not lose thee so, When in her hart so swete a thought did neuer truely grow. Then say I thus: alas, that man is farre from blisse: That doth receiue for his relief, none other gaine but this. And she, that fedes him so, I fele, and finde it plain: Is but to glory in her power, that ouer such can reign. Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinkes, that he, A weried man is fully bent, such fansies to let flie: Then to retain him still, she wrasteth new her grace, And smileth lo, as though she would forthwith the man embrace; But when the proofe is made, to try such lookes withall: He findeth then the place all voyde, and freighted ful of gall. Lord what abuse is this: who can such women praise? That for their glory do deuise, to vse such craftie wayes, I, that among the rest do sit, and marke the row, Finde, that in her is greater craft, then is in twenty mo. Whose tender yeres, alas, with wyles so well are sped: What will she do, when hory heares are powdred in her hed?