The fouler hydes as closely as he may

The net where caught the sillie byrd should be

Least that the threatning prison it should see

And so for feare be forst to flye away

My Ladie so the while she doth assay

In curled knotts fast to entangle me

Puts on her vayle to th’end I should not flee

The golden net wherein I am a pray

Alas (most sweete) what need is of a nette

To catch a byrd which is allreadie tame

Sith with youre hand alone yow may it gette

For it desires to fly into the same

What needs such arte my thoughts then to intrap

When of them selues they flye into youre lap.