Thus muche was written at Westminster yesternight; but comming this morning, beeyng the sixteenth of October [1579], to Mystresse Kerkes, to haue it deliuered to the carrier, I receyued youre letter, sente me the laste weeke; whereby I perceiue you otherwhiles continue your old exercise of versifying in English,—­whych glorie I had now thought whoulde haue bene onely ours heere at London and the court.

Truste me, your verses I like passingly well, and enuye your hidden paines in this kinde, or rather maligne and grudge at your selfe, that woulde not once imparte so muche to me.  But once or twice you make a breache in Maister Drants rules:  quod tamen condonabimus tanto poetae, tuaeque ipsius maximae in his rebus autoritati. You shall see, when we meete in London, (whiche when it shall be, certifye vs,) howe fast I haue followed after you in that course:  beware, leaste in time I ouertake you. Veruntamen te solum sequar, (vt saepenumero sum professus,) nunquam sane assequar dum viuam. And nowe requite I you with the like, not with the verye beste, but with the verye shortest, namely, with a few Iambickes.  I dare warrant, they be precisely perfect for the feete, (as you can easily iudge,) and varie not one inch from the rule.  I will imparte yours to Maister Sidney and Maister Dyer, at my nexte going to the courte.  I praye you keepe mine close to your selfe, or your verie entire friendes, Maister Preston, Maister Still, and the reste.

Iambicum Trimetrum

Vnhappie Verse, the witnesse of my vnhappie state,
  Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying
  Thought, and fly forth vnto my love whersoeuer she be: 

Whether lying reastlesse in heauy bedde, or else
  Sitting so cheerelesse at the cheerfull boorde, or else
  Playing alone carelesse on hir heauenlie virginals.

If in bed, tell hir, that my eyes can take no reste;
  If at boorde, tell hir, that my mouth can eate no meate;
  If at hir virginals, tel hir, I can heare no mirth.

Asked why? say, Waking loue suffereth no sleepe;
  Say, that raging loue dothe appall the weake stomacke;
  Say, that lamenting loue marreth the musicall.

Tell hir, that hir pleasures were wonte to lull me asleepe;
  Tell hir, that hir beautie was wonte to feede mine eyes;
  Tell hir, that hir sweete tongue was wonte to make me mirth.

Nowe doe I nightly waste, wanting my kindely reste;
  Nowe doe I dayly starue, wanting my liuely foode;
  Nowe doe I alwayes dye, wanting thy timely mirth.

And if I waste, who will bewaile my heauy chaunce? 
  And if I starue, who will record my cursed end? 
  And if I dye, who will saye, This was Immerito?