Should I the treasure of my life betake,
To thought-toss'd breath whose babling might it marre,
Words with affection wing'd might flee too farre,
And once sent forth can neuer be brought backe:
Nor will I trust mine eyes, whose partiall lookes
Haue oft conspir'd for to betray my mind,
And would their light still to one obiect bind,
While as the fornace of my bosome smokes:
No, no, my loue, and that which makes me thrall,
Shall onely be entrusted to my soule,
So may I stray, yet none my course controule,
Whil'st though orethrowne, none triumphs for my fall:
My thoughts while as confin'd within my brest,
Shall onely priuie to my passions rest.