Oh, let mee not serve so, as those men serve 
Whom honours smoakes at once fatten and sterve; 
Poorely enrich't with great mens words or lookes; 
Nor so write my name in thy loving bookes 
As those Idolatrous flatterers, which still 
Their Princes stiles, with many Realmes fulfill 
Whence they no tribute have, and where no sway. 
Such services I offer as shall pay 
Themselves, I hate dead names: Oh then let mee 
Favorite in Ordinary, or no favorite bee. 
When my Soule was in her owne body sheath'd, 
Nor yet by oathes betroth' d, nor kisses breath'd 
Into my Purgatory, faithlesse thee, 
Thy heart seem'd waxe, and steele thy constancie: 
So, carelesse flowers strow'd on the waters face, 
The curled whirlepooles suck, smack, and embrace, 
Yet drowne them; so, the tapers beamie eye 
Amorously twinMing, beckens the giddie flie, 
Yet burnes his wings; and such the devill is, 
Scarce visiting them, who are intirely his 
When I behold a streamer which, from the spring, 
Doth with doubtfull melodious murmuring, 
Or in a speechlesse slumber, calmely ride 
Her wedded channels bosome, and then chide 
And bend her browes, and swell if any bough 
Do but stoop downe, or kisse her upmost brow: 
Yet, if her often gnawing kisses winne 
The traiterous banke to gape, and let her in, 
She rusheth violently, and doth divorce 
Her from her native, and her long-kept course, 
And rores, and braves it, and in gallant scorne, 
in flattering eddies promising retorne, 
She flouts the channell, who thenceforth is drie 
Then say I; that is shee, and this am I. 
Yet let not thy deepe bitternesse beget 
Carelesse despaire in mee, for that will whet 
My minde to scorne; and Oh, love dull'd with paine 
Was ne'r so wise, nor well arm'd as disdaine. 
Then with new eyes I shall survay thee,' and spie 
Death in thy cheekes, and darknesse in thine eye. 
Though hope bred faith and love: thus taught, I shall 
As nations do from Rome, from thy love fall. 
My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly 
I will renounce thy dalliance: and when I 
Am the Recusant, in that resolute state, 
What hurts it mee to be' excommunicate?