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My wit, enthralled by beauty, but not my Muse,
Her painted beauty deceives my nature gifted wit,
Her meaning full goading, two folds, words infuse,
Nothing exposes smile, cunning on her brows sit
How can I write her cunning and pretty lies?
Promise breaker since her birth, her birth defect,
Carrying thirty years on the head not make not wise,
But from her sweet tongue all sweet promise reflect,
Your false promise o Rose let me fairly write,
But you believe in not me, you think me unfair,
And love proves faithless that wastes my might,
But I always shun from your cunning, if I care,
Let me permit to debunk your sweet lying tongue,
In rimes for the future lovers who are still young
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