The Primrose

Ask me why I send you here

This sweet Infanta of the year?

Ask me why I send to you

This Primrose, thus be-pearled with dew?

I will whisper to your ears:

The sweets of love are mix'd with tears.

Ask me why this flow'r does show

So yellow-green, and sickly too?

Ask me why the stalk is weak

And bending, yet it doth not break?

I will answer: -- these discover

What doubts and fears are in a lover.