1 Were my heart as some mens are, thy errours would not moue me:
But thy faults I curious finde and speake, because I loue thee:
Patience is a thing diuine, and farre I grant aboue mee.
2 Foes sometimes befriend vs more, our blacker deedes obiecting,
Then th'obsequious bosome guest, with false respect affecting:
Friendship is the glasse of Truth, our hidden slaines detecting.
3 While I vse of eyes enioy, and inward light of reason,
Thy obseruer will I be, and censor, but in season :
Hidden mischiefe to conceale in State, and Loue is treason.
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