Whilst I am rosed by thorns adorned
And the leaves shall spark my hate
Give me one rose that blossoms scorn
Whilst I weep in coffins as beau late
As trees can kiss my bosom by feud
Though I have no heart to begin tales
That shall sobre even the highest lewd
Sluts that cast themselves upon whales.
If you enjoy their company then, recall then
That I expect nothing more nor less given,
I shall take all I can, even simple word when
The smiles and laughter from your heaven
Brows my art consecrate my priestly defect,
Now chance my hairs of dyes: red and black,
Mine eyes of similar contours green and black,
I have no art to give, nor science to reason,
But I give my art as base and my science as high
Till evidence shall discredit me from all season
Whence my remaining school of love shall lie:
I would accept a thousand flogs my dear 
To accept even a minute of company near,
That I may give composure to sentiment here,
Till dark grows and my art grows harder, fear
Not my demon self, but it is yours nonetheless,
Whilst the night rises, so shall my push on less.
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