Ye gladly would haue me to make you some toy,
And yet will not tel me wherof I should write:
The strangenes of this doth breed me anoy,
And makes me to seeke what things to endite.
If I should write rashly what comes in my braine,
It might be such matter as likes you not best,
And rather I would great sorow sustayne,
Then not to fulfill your lawfull request.
Two dangers most doubtful oppresse me alike,
Ne am I resolued to which I might yeelde,
Wherfore by perforce I am foretd to seeke,
This slender deuice to serue for my shield.
Since nothing yee geue me to busie my brayne,
Nothing but your nothing of me can yee craue.
Wherfore now receiue your nothing agayne,
Of nothing, but nothing, what els would yee haue.