111 To Dianeme
Give me one kiss,
And no more:
If so be, this
Makes you poor
To enrich you,
I’ll restore
For that one, two-
Thousand score.
112 Upon Her Eyes
Clear are her eyes,
Like purest skies;
Discovering from thence
A baby there
That turns each sphere,
Like an Intelligence.
113 Upon Her Feet
Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.
114 Upon a Delaying Lady
Come, come away
Or let me go;
Must I here stay
Because you’re slow,
And will continue so;
—Troth, lady, no.
I scorn to be
A slave to state;
And since I’m free,
I will not wait,
Henceforth at such a rate,
For needy fate.
If you desire
My spark should glow,
The peeping fire
You must blow;
Or I shall quickly grow
To frost, or snow.