My maiden-love drest in her grief. I, withal love-kindling borrow\'d. To thee who\'s treasoned by thou cupid thief. Though I know\'st in thou maiden\'s breast is more than sorrow\'d. Lest thou forgett\'st thy neglect stern\'d thus the tyrant chide. If not thou lips have deem\'d the putrid canker. Hast thou then the scorn\'d cheek of pride. Or in thou dark\'ning veins hast love\'s robbery perceived. And in thy sweet fragrant breath of well-refined youth. Art not thine eye\'s deceived. Or whether myself against love\'s wrongs, shalt thou be crown\'d with flattery\'s truth