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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.