I

Colin my dear and most entire beloved, My muse audacious stoops her pitch to thee, Desiring that thy patience be not moved By these rude lines, written here you see; Fain would my muse whom cruel love hath wronged, Shroud her love labours under thy protection, And I myself with ardent zeal have longed That thou mightst know to thee my true affection. Therefore, good Colin, graciously accept A few sad sonnets which my muse hath framed; Though they but newly from the shell are crept, Suffer them not by envy to be blamed, But underneath the shadow of thy wings Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things.