Clear or cloudie sweet as April showring,
Smooth or frowning so is her face to me,
Pleased or smiling like milde May all flowring,
When skies blew silk and medows carpets bee,
Her speeches notes of that night bird that singeth,
Who thought all sweet yet jarring notes outringeth.

Her grace like June, when earth and trees bee trimde,
In best attire of compleat beauties height,
Her love again like sommers daies bee dimde,
With little cloudes of doubtfull constant faith,
Her trust her doubt, like rain and heat in Skies,
Gently thundring, she lightning to mine eyes.

Sweet summer spring that breatheth life and growing,
In weedes as into herbs and flowers,
And sees of service divers sorts in sowing,
Some haply seeming and some being yours,
Rain on your herbs and flowers that truly serve,
And let your weeds lack dew and duly starve.

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