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The forward violet thus did I chide,
Sweet theefe whence didſt thou ſteale thy ſweet that ſmels
If not from my loues breath, the purple pride,
Which on thy ſoft cheeke for complexion dwells?
In my loues veines thou haſt too groſely died,
The Lillie I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marierom had ſtolne thy haire,
The Rofes fearefully on thornes did ſtand,
Our bluſhing ſhame,an other white diſpaire:
A third nor red,nor white,had ſtolne of both,
And to his robbry had annext thy breath,
But for his theft in pride of all his growth
A vengfull canker eate him vp to death.
   More flowers I noted,yet I none could ſee,
   But ſweet,or culler it had ſtolne from thee.

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