Tis The Times' Plague, When Madmen Lead

Too Early Seen Unknown, And Known Too Late!

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

Now No Way Can I Stray; Save Back To England, All The World's My Way.

I'll Be At Charges For A Looking-glass And Entertain A Score Or Two Of Tailors To Study Fashions To Adorn My Body: Since I Am Crept In Favor With Myself, I Will Maintain It With Some Little Cost.

His Steeds To Water At Those Springs On Chaliced Flowers That Lies; And Winking Mary-buds Begin To Ope Their Golden Eyes: With Every Thing That Pretty Is, My Lady Sweet, Arise.