NO sooner LAURA mine appears to me;
But that a dainty dye, or blushing red,
In both our faces showeth for to be.
But who, alas, doth mine so overspread?
O'er-fervent LOVE doth draw this shadow pure;
Like cunning'st Painter, long for to endure.
Who painteth hers? Disdain, with pencil hard;
Which turneth all my sweetness into sour.
So that all my designs are quickly marred;
Except LOVE bind Love, by his awful power,
In Faith's firm bands. Too high th' exchange will grow.
When love, for hate; and not for like, shall go.