With pounding heart I write this verse
For I am smit with desire for thee
Oh lovely lady what I would give
To make your eyes see only me

Your humble servant though I be
My feelings for you stifle so
I envy the rushes on the floor
That they should feel your dainty feet

The arrow in my breast does twist
When I am near your lovely form
So many Gallants hold your hand
Their false smiles, they bandy around

All I can offer is my beating heart
But never dare speak of my love for you
Ever fearful lest my eyes divulge
Dear madam what will become of me?

Not I a lord with banter and charm
Doublet and Hose of my Lady's colours
Uncouth, ungainly though I may be
My heart is stabbed with love for thee

This parchment under my trestle does lay
To guard with my life if needs must be
Your humble serving lad, my lady, am I
Written this day, third June of 1649