A Sonnet
What ill luck had I, silly Maid that I am,
To be ty’d to a lasting vow;
Or ere to be laid by the side of a man,
That woo’d, and cannot tell how;
Down didle down, down didle me.
Oh that I had a Clown that he might down diddle me,
With a courage to take mine down.
What punishment is that man worthy to have,
That thus will presume to wedde,
He deserves to be layd alive in his grave,
That woo’d and cannot in bed;
Down didle down[,] down didle me.
Oh that I had a Lad that he might down didle me,
For I feare I shall run mad.