O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.