1 To sigh and to bee sad, To weepe and wish to die, It is not to be madd, If not hypocrisie, Men of this sorts Are womens sports. Beauties alluring lookes rob wise men of their reason, That they speake nought at all, or speake all out of season. 2 Haue all men eyes to see ? And haue none wit to know ? Blossomes commend no tree, Where neuer fruit did growe, Desire doth blind A louers mind. He sees and doth allow that vice in his beloued, From which no woman can be free or be remoued. 3 Let euerie thought of loue, Mixt with a world of feares, At last themselues remoue, Oh let consuming teares, Life blood distil'd No more be spil'd, Since all that scape the fall of womanish reiecting, Must yet be subiect to the pride of their neglecting.