| FAIR is my love, but not so fair as fickle; | |
| Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty; | |
| Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle; | |
| Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty: | |
| A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her, | 5 |
| None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. | |
| Her lips to mine how often hath she join’d, | |
| Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! | |
| How many tales to please me hath she coin’d, | |
| Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! | 10 |
| Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, | |
| Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. | |
| She burn’d with love, as straw with fire flameth; | |
| She burn’d out love, as soon as straw outburneth; | |
| She fram’d the love, and yet she foil’d the framing; | 15 |
| She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning. | |
| Was this a lover, or a lecher whether? | |
| Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. |