Sonet 6.

Deare though from me youre gratiouse lookes depart
And of that comfort doe my selfe bereaue
Which both I did deserue and did receaue
Triumph not overmuch in this my smarte.

Nay rather they which now enioy thy heart
For feare iust cause of mourning should conceaue
Least thow inconstant shouldst theyre trust deceaue
Which like vnto the weather changing art.

For in foule weather byrds sing often will
In hope of fayre and in fayre tyme will cease
For feare fayre tyme should not continue still.

So they may mourne which haue thy heart possest
For feare of change and hope of change may ease
Theyre hearts whome griefe of change doth now molest.