4YEt hath the morning sprinckled throwt the clowdes,

5But halfe her tincture and the soyle of night stickes stil

6vpon the bosome of the ayre: yet sleepe doth rest my

7loue for Natures debt, and through her windowe, and this

8dim twee-light, her maide, nor any waking I can see. This

9is the holy Greene my wifes close walke, to which not a-

10ny but her selfe alone hath any key, onelye that I haue

11clapt her key in waxe, and made this counterfeite, to the

12which I steale accesse, to work this rare & politike deuice:

13Faire is my wife and yong and delicate, although too re-

14ligious in the purest sorte, but pure religion being but

15mental stuffe and sence indeed, al for it selfe, is to be doub-

16ted, that when an obiect comes fit to her humour she wil

17intercept religious letters sent vnto her minde, and yeelde

18vnto the motion of her bloud, heere haue I brought then

19two rich agots for her, grauen with two poses of mine own

20deuising, for Poets Ile not trust, nor friends, nor any: shee

21longs to haue a child, which yet alas I cannot get, Yet long

22as much as she, and not to make her desperate, thus I write

23in this faire iewell though it simple be, yet tis mine owne

24that meaneth well in nought, tis spare, not of children, loue

25with the longest, when man is at the weakest, god is at strō-

26gest, I hope tis plain, & knowing in this other that I write,

27God will reward her a thousand fold, that takes what age

28can and not what age would, I hope tis prety & pathetical:

29Wel, euen here lie both together til my loue arise and let her

30thinke you fall out of the skies, I wil to bed againe. Exit.