Then if he thrive and I be cast away
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white
That I might see what the old world could say
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight
Toward thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go
Two loves I have of comfort and despair
To give full growth to that which still doth grow
As those gold candles fix’d in heaven’s air
When I have seen such interchange of state
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you
Such civil war is in my love and hate
And I by this will be a gainer too
He is contented thy poor drudge to be
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee