¶Another to his Cynthia.
MY thoughts are wing'd with hopes, my hopes with loue,
Mount loue vnto the Moon in clearest night:
And say, as she doth in the heauens moue,
On earth so waines and wexeth my delight.
And whisper this but softly in her eares:
Hope oft doth hang the head, and trust shed teares
And you my thoughts that some mistrust doe carrie,
If for mistrust my Mistresse doe you blame:
Say, though you alter, yet you doe not varie.
As she doth change, and yet remaine the same.
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,
And loue is sweetest, seasoned with suspect.
If she for this, with cloudes doe maske her eyes,
And make the heauens darke with her disdaine:
With windie sighs dispierce them in the skies,
Or with thy teares dissolue them into raine.