Written with a Diamond on her Window at Woodstock

The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy, And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy; For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb, Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.

When I was fair and young, then favor graced me. Of many was I sought their mistress for to be. But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore: Go, go, go, seek some other where; importune me no more.

No crooked leg, no bleared eye, No part deformed out of kind, Nor yet so ugly half can As is the inward suspicious mind.

Never think you fortune can bear the Where virtue's force can cause her to obey.

Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt! Witnes this present prisonn, whither

Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid? Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed. It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill To force my heart to think thee any ill. No Fortune base, thou sayest, shall alter thee?

I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate.