Wer'T Granted Me To Choose, How I Would End My Dayes; Since I This Life Must Loose, It Should Be In Your Praise; For There Is No Bayes Can Be Set Aboue You. S' Impossibly I Loue You, And For You Sit So Hie, Whence None May Remoue You In My Cleere Poesie, That I Oft Deny You So Ample Merit. The Freedome Of My Spirit Maintayning (Still) My Cause, Your Sex Not To Inherit, Vrging The Salique Lawes; But Your Vertue Drawes From Me Euery Due. Thus Still You Me Pursue, That No Where I Can Dwell, By Feare Made Iust To You, Who Naturally Rebell, Of You That Excell That Should I Still Endyte, Yet Will You Want Some Ryte. That Lost In Your High Praise I Wander To And Fro, As Seeing Sundry Waies: Yet Which The Right Not Know To Get Out Of This Maze.