Strike deep agate glance and mind aglow,

Delicate stare seeming strange may know

Yesterday's saturnine wanes tomorrow's woe

Seize not scarlet fever so scruple ear and breath

Entwine no tongue in thy teeth to beget

Such thorns so sharp upone thy ray of crest

And scorn such covet rooted deep in rest

For fear it doth spring rose bed ever sweet

Whilst wake hath only half sword to sheath

Yet so airy the soul and fiery the gait

Upon soil grow vines green in hue

Such sour-seeming fate is hearts implore.