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As faſt as thou ſhalt wane ſo faſt thou grow’st,
In one of thine,from that wich thou departeſt,
And that freſh bloud which youngly thou beſtow’ſt,
Thou maiſt call thine,when thou from youth conuerteſt,
Herein liues wiſdome,beauty,and increaſe,
Without this follie,age,and could decay,
If all were minded ſo,the times ſhould ceaſe,
And threeſcoore yeare would make the world away:
Let thoſe whom nature hath not made for ſtore,
Harſh,featureleſſe,and rude, barrenly perriſh,
Looke whom ſhe beſt indow’d,ſhe gaue the more;
Which bountious guift thou ſhouldſt in bounty cherriſh,
   She caru’d thee for her ſeale,and ment therby,
   Thou ſhouldſt print more,not let that coppy die.

Zie ook het online-facsimile van de oorspronkelijke uitgave (site helaas niet altijd bereikbaar).