I curst thee oft, I pittie now thy case,
Blind hitting Boy, since shee that thee and me
Rules with a becke, so tyranniseth thee,
That thou must want or foode or dwelling place;
For Shee protests to banish thee her face.
Her face (ô Love) a roge thou then should’st bee,
If Love learne not alone to love and see,
Without desire to feede on further grace.
Alas poore wagge, that now a Scholler art
To such a Schoole-mistris, whose lessons new
Thou needes must misse, and so thou needes must smart;
Yet deere, let me this pardon get of you,
So long though he from booke mich to desire.
Till without Fuell, thou can make hote fire.