i'll be her Løve

When in the chironcle of wasted time, when i behold the violet past prime, I'll beg her love, but she is own: with objects manifold: each several stone. That better is by evil still made better, But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are: the stained taste of violated troth, this bastard graff shall never come to growth: But shoot not at me in your waken°d hate, Past reasons hated, as a swallow'd bait, 'Ay'me ,' J••Seth ', young and so unkind, whilst i thy babe chase thee afar behind, O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly. but things removed that hidden in thee lies, Thou usure, that's a put'st forth all to use, Though my grass blood be stain°d with this abuse, Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems: Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes: Unlocked the treasure of this happy state, for me, i am the mistress of fate,