“ If rivall fooles taxe thee to'have lov'd a man, So foule, and course, as, Oh, I may seeme than, This shall say what I was: and thou shalt say, Doe his hurts reach mee? doth my worth decay? Or doe they reach his judging minde, that hee Should now love leffe, what hee did love to see? That which in him was faire and delicate, Was but the milke, which in loves childish state Did nurse it: who now is growne strong enough To feed on that, which to disus'd tafts seemes tough. ”
