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| Ad Solem |
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| Busy old foole, vnruly sonne* [f. 81v] |
| Why dost thou thus |
| Through windowes and Curtens* call on vs? |
| Must to thy motions, lovers seasonns runne? |
| Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe Chide |
| Late schoolboies, and sowre prentices. |
| Goe tell courte hunsmen,* that the king will ride, |
| Call Country Ants, to harvest offices. |
| Love all alike, noe season knowes, nor clime, |
| Nor houres, daies, moneths, wch are the rags of tyme.| |
|
| Thy beames so reverend and stronge |
| Why shouldst thou thinke? |
| I Could ecclipse, and cloud them wth a winck |
| But yt I would not loose her sight so longe; |
| If her eyes haue not blinded thine |
| Looke, and to morrow late tell me, |
| Wheather both Indyes of spice, and mine |
| Be wheare thou lefts them, or lie here wth me. |
| Aske for those kinges, whom thou sawest yesterday |
| And thou shalt heare, All heare in one bed laye.| |
|
| She is all states, And all princes I |
| Nothing else is.
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[CW: Princes] |