In polished form of well refined pen
The age to come would say this poet lies
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
Such is my love, to thee I so belong
You are my all the world, and I must strive
That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live
What strained touches rhetoric can lend
Nay if you read this line, remember not
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
That you your self may privilage your time
As I by yours, y’have passed a hell of time
~
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