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Beſhrew that heart that makes my heart to groane
For that deepe wound it giues my friend and me;
I’ſt not ynough to torture me alone,
But ſlaue to ſlauery my ſweet’ſt friend muſt be.
Me from my ſelfe thy cruell eye hath taken,
And my next ſelfe thou harder haſt ingroſſed,
Of him,my ſelfe,and thee I am forſaken,
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be croſſed :
Priſon my heart in thy ſteele boſomes warde,
But then my friends heart let my poore heart bale,
Who ere keepes me,let my heart be his garde,
Thou canſt not then vſe rigor in my Iaile.
   And yet thou wilt,for I being pent in thee,
   Perforce am thine and all that is in me.

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