To Amy

How like the errors in me are still esteem'd. As both my faults and truths are loved by thee more or less. That thou who's made of all truths still is deem'd. And though my untutor'd tongue betrays my words. My love I do confess. Need thou not to forswear love's worst of wrongs. For there can live no love in error without the error of love belongs. Like the well-refined words that assist my pen. Excuseth not what dignity be a-top thy brow. Whence all but a verse of love be versed with sin. And lend what dream of dream's sweet love dost allow. To love youthful and o'erworn, thou shalt know it not. For all lively love is but an injurious blot.

 'Tis my deepest sorrow's from in my breast be tender'd. And with a thousand woe's of wounded leisure. With aught my suffer's taken by thou maiden-eye's hast render'd. For all thy vow's and vow's alone canst be no greater pleasure. So hath my attained self now the privilege to be conceal'd. Ah, thou who hast parted me of my grief. I in mine eye assured thee far too deserving for my woe's reveal'd. For thou art deem'd sweetest of sweet love's thief. The humble and the fair. Know'st thou vow to rob all love and me 

With which of both dost beauty wear. No praise in my name, for a worthier praise to you shalt be.